A Strange Comfort

A Strange Comfort At Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving, 2011

Being the early riser in the family, I have the honor of taking the dog for his first outing of the day.  Usually I awake around 5:30 am.  I figure if I’m feeling the urge at that time he probably is too.  New England recently experienced a surprising October snow storm. Not unheard of before, but all the rage on The Weather Channel.  Boomer, my dog, and I treaded out into the powder dropped by the storm for our morning routine.

I often think about the challenge of making it through the coming day (“Keep your chin up”) while in the morning environment with Boomer.  This past year has been particularly difficult in a number of personal ways.  Not the least of which is finding myself without work and a homestead dependent on me.  The constant reminder in the news of all that is wrong and failing in our country just amplifies anxiety.  Boomer’s innocence and the morning’s welcoming often help instill a mindfulness that leaves me in the present moment.  While that provides focus for the day, a comfort that “it’s going to be OK” is often missing.

The sun was just starting to reflect orange low on a dark sky.  Enough to quietly haze the woods, meadow, house, barn, and the bend in the road.  But not enough to reveal details. Everything laced with 3 inches of fresh, untouched, new snow.  The silence of the moment struck me.  I’ve experienced this before.  It is the “same” hidden in the early hours of the day.

Glancing at our little yellow cape snuggled up in a blanket of virgin white I realized I’ve witnessed this miniature miracle many times over the 15 years I’ve lived here.  The snow and sun waltz like this each winter no matter what’s going on in the world. You can count on certain things to always be the same.  And there’s a strange comfort in that fact. 

Being one of the 14.9 million unemployed right now that comfort means a lot to me.  That waltz presented my struggles a new perspective.  Hidden within the turmoil of the economy there is this strange sort of comfort. 

One of the oddest, most perceptually jarring things about the current national crisis is that everything looks the same.  We are told every day and in every news venue that we are in The Great Recession - worst economy in eighty years.  We are in a cataclysm, staring at the abyss of the credit crunch from hell. Monthly debating: 9% or 15% unemployment. Don’t forget the 8.9% who gave up looking.  Mortgages are being called-in. The great abundance is over. The era of American Exceptionalism is a thing of the past.
Great investment banks have fallen while bailouts moved to the new “sub-prime” players of Greece, Italy, Spain and even the once Great Britain. The EU looks for its economic savior in communist China.  US debt is a 1:1 ratio with US GDP. Put all that behind for a moment, and visit the market place. Everything looks . . . strangely the same.

Everyone is dressed the same. Everyone looks as comfortable as they did at the height of prosperity. Everyone’s cell phone is texting, playing Angry Birds, taking pictures, sending emails, Tweeting, surfing, and once in a while someone is actually using it to talk.  Paid programming still dominates cable. The Home Shopping Network runs 24/7. There are lines at the movies.  People are still walking into Wal-Mart while juggling kids and half-filled carts. Everyone’s still overweight and diet plans abound at the cash register.  Folks are storing up food at Price Chopper like geese waiting for that cold Canadian air blast signaling it’s time to head south. Christmas decorations went up a week before Halloween and Black Friday is scheduled to start on Thursday. The Boston Bruins are still “wicked-awesome”. The Occupy Wall Street gang organizes through Face book, I Phones and Twitter while admiring their postings on YouTube. Just as they did before they occupied anything.  Hidden sameness in a world of turmoil. An economy in demise. Strange comfort. I’ll take a Bud Light and The Patriots by 7.  All is well in the universe tonight.
Much remains the same.  But in the past this was not always true.

In the Depression people sold apples on the street.  Corpse-looking humans shivered in line at the government surplus warehouse. They rioted for a job, bread, a warm place to sleep.  The captains of industry fought off unions with thugs, clubs and cops on the payroll.  Many went home bloody.  Many died so others could go to work in the morning.  The Dust Bowl howled just to add insult to the era.  Financiers, bond and stock traders jumped from the skyscrapers of Wall Street.  People didn’t have enough food.  As high as 28% of the American population was out of work.  Social Security and Unemployment Insurance?  No government gravy…just your family and friends’ cooking. The only place worth occupying was a railroad car heading somewhere other than where you were.  When I see pictures of the era, they look like a catastrophe was happening.  The excesses of the Roaring 20s were a distant dream.  And the nightmare of Fascism was just beginning.

This is not The American Experience today. It’s as if the news is full of tornados but we haven’t felt the wind.  The tornados may very well be coming.  But for the moment, I am comforted that much is the same, and I am not selling apples on the street.

We’ve gotten through roughness before. We are a resilient people.  We live in the only country where the lyrics of its’ national anthem celebrate winning a war of independence. Winners we are.  At our very basic and fundamental national psyche, we are still the same despite the politics and the talking heads on the nightly news. I see the hidden sameness in all of this and a strange sort of comfort comes over me.
There is certainly lots of pain and suffering out there.  America has its troubles for sure.  People have lost their jobs and homes.  Retirement accounts are emptied. Families have broken up.  Others have sought escape by ending it all.  This sort of suffering I am not immune. 

That autumn snow fall teaches something about resiliency.   Resiliency in a form of comfort hidden in a world of sameness.  The holidays arrive on time.  Thanksgiving is always first. Growing up, like most families, mine had Thanksgiving rituals and traditions.  Mom always started the turkey early in the morning so it was ready for an early dinner.  The same extended family attended each year.  The table was set with the same dishes and the usual bantering among the children and adults would take place.  Dad always ran the pool table.  Over the years some things changed a bit.  Family members passed away.  Others moved across country. New recipes were tried.  Girlfriends became fiancées. Fiancées became wives. Wives became mothers.  While many things changed, they still looked familiar. Comforting sameness continued.  Family hugs, smiles and sharing.  A prayer and a wonderful meal that could only happen once a year. 

These are places from which I once was gifted the strength to spring from.  Places I can still draw strength. Places that carry me now.  So too our country has its gifted places in the past from which it will draw the strength to spring out of this era. We are a gifted and resilient people.  This is the strange sort of comfort in the “hidden-sameness” that the October snow storm whispered.  We’ve been there before and survived. Of this I am thankful.

Of things to be thankful for, I include this metaphor from my life. I traveled by plane this year. And when I fly I say two prayers that have become a ritual. First a Hail Mary.  (Yes mom, you raised a good Catholic).  Then I pray: “Dear God, please carry this plane safely to our destination and return us safely to those whose lives we are part of.”

May you experience in this Thanksgiving the sameness hidden around you that always brings you comfort.  And return safely to those whose lives you are part of.