45/52: White Thanksgiving

The term “White Thanksgiving” allows for a wide-range of interpretations. It could be a cynical statement equating the original feast as a kickstart for the appropriation of land from Native Americans. It could be a form of social commentary contrasting the spirit of “be thankful for what you have” on Thursday with the message of “you must buy this new thing now” on Friday (or even earlier now). On this occasion, it just means that we had a lot of snow on Thanksgiving—just like Alice wished for.

And in spite of the misgivings that come with the history of colonization, the explosion of consumerism, and the annihilation of a certain feathered bird, I have come to the conclusion that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

First of all, I like the focus of it. The idea of being thankful is more substantial than anything Halloween can offer. And don’t get me started on Labor Day. The message is also something that can be embraced by the religious and non-religious alike. It isn’t like a split-brained patient trying to look at Christian iconography while reaching for a handful of Peeps. Or a playlist that shuffles between “O Holy Night” and “Santa Baby” like a two-faced paramour.

And even though that first feast between the Mayflowerists and Wampanoags has been debunked and demystified as a less than Kum-ba-ya/Hallmark Hall of Fame moment, I feel that Thanksgiving still holds up an ideal of what could have been and what could be.

Of course, my fondness for Thanksgiving might simply be based on the fact that, more than any other holiday, it centers around food. A consistent, well-balanced, don’t-judge-the-gluttony meal. A meal where cranberries and turkey and rolls and sweet potatoes somehow all get along on a past-capacity plate.