A Moment of Reflection on Thanksgiving 2020

This entry will post on Thanksgiving Day here in the United States, during a year that almost defies description. I decided to indulge in a moment’s reflection because these troubled times seem to call for it. 

I am incredibly fortunate. Home is a warm, safe, and happy place. For nearly two decades, this great old house in downtown Winston-Salem has been a joy to dwell in. Most of the inside just looks great, with the plaster restoration and painting and floor refinishing and furnishings and artwork. It is well-stocked with food, appliances, entertainment, professional and casual wardrobes, and love. As we reach the end of the sixth year following the attic renovation to create a grand man cave, I still marvel at how beautiful it turned out. The plot of land on which the house sits is looking mighty fine after the yard rehab and installation of the irrigation system. Most of the leaves of autumn are in an enormous pile at the bottom of the driveway, and the sun regularly shines down on us in a merciful and forgiving way. Summer, the pooch of the Roediger House, is quietly and unassumingly the best dog in the world.

I know that outside the bounds of the property there is enormous misery, strife, sickness, hunger, death, loss, anxiety, unhappiness, and despair. We are eight months into an unimaginable mess of a pandemic, in a fractured and failing republic with divisions that seem likely to be beyond repair. I cannot fathom the reality that over 70 million Americans still voted for Donald Trump in the 2020 election but I am relieved and elated that it was not enough for him to remain in destructive control of the levers of our national government. While the electoral process had its bright spots, I grieve that the politics of paralysis and obstruction were not soundly repudiated, that the balance of power on the US Supreme Court has been unethically tipped in a way that will have enduring long-term costs to things I believe in, and that what’s left of the GOP retained control of the US Senate and of the North Carolina General Assembly and even turned races for the Council of State and Judiciary. Those sad results temper the enormous relief that we are just weeks away from the end of the Trump monstrosity.

Because my profession is educational consulting, and most of my work takes place on site in schools and school divisions, I have mostly been without work. But again, here’s where I am incredibly fortunate, with comfortable reserves and a burst of mostly online work at the end of the summer and into the early fall that proved more than adequate. I am thankful to live in a house that’s paid for, with vehicles that are paid for, with no student loan or other debt hanging over me. I’ve partially curtailed my conspicuous consumption but still was able to make important political contributions in hopes of good outcomes on Election Day. Without having earned it, it feels like I’m semi-retired, and I sort of like it. I don’t have to live in fear of hunger or homelessness. The most obvious “cost” of these troubled times for me is that I don’t think I’ll be able to make my annual IRA contributions.

Unlike so many in the service industry or other vocations that are woefully underpaid, I have been able to stay mostly sequestered at home. A couple of times a week, I venture out for provisions or household needs. There have been no restaurant, bar, or coffee house excursions or adventures. Friends have been seen sparingly and fleetingly, mostly in driveway visits in the camp chairs on pretty days. I know how fortunate I am to be able to minimize risk and exposure. 

Later today, I’ll be joyfully toiling in my kitchen, making a stripped-down version of a Thanksgiving meal but with no guests here to partake of it. I’ve long considered Thanksgiving to be my favorite holiday, because most years it lets me indulge in the joys of cooking but it also means a table full of guests and dear friends, a “chosen” family gathered happily together. It is still a day of joy and thanksgiving, a day of gratitude for the wonderful life I’m blessed with.