GODSTUFF

THIS YEAR — AND EVERY YEAR — SO MANY REASONS TO GIVE THANKS

There’s nothing quite like a stomach bug that arrives the night before Thanksgiving — while the birds are brining peacefully in the fridge — to sink me into a chasm of self pity.

Instead of popping out of bed Thursday morning to switch on the percolator and Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant” on the iPod dock, I rolled over, feverish and nauseated, and willed someone to bring me a glass of Vernors.

Poor me. Sick on Thanksgiving. No appetite and a kitchen full of food.

Meh.

Still, company was coming. Food needed to be prepared. The house had to feel festive, even if I felt like death.

I hauled myself out of bed, made a cup of tea (no Vernors in the house), and got to work on the dressing.

As I chopped figs and slowly boiled cranberries on the stove, my thoughts — like they sometimes do — turned to Oprah. More specifically, I started to think about her seasons-old “gratitude journal” idea.

The fastest way to take my mind off of struggles and woe is to focus on blessings and be grateful.

So, stirring melted butter, candied walnuts and apple juice into a mound of cubed rosemary bread, I made a list.

This Thanksgiving, I was thankful for, in no particular order:

Breath, sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch.

Being loved so incredibly well by my husband, friends, family and, occasionally, even the odd reader.

Hope. Change. Faith. Reconciliation.

Mint-chocolate flavored water by Metromint.

Handmade gold leather boots.

My mother, father, mother-in-law and father-in-law — who have all battled cancer in the last few years — still being with us, vibrant and full of hope.

The joy my cats, Cleo (also a cancer survivor) and Mousie, bring me.

Noise-blocking Bose earphones.

Creative ideas.

Pilates.

The addition of a grandson, daughter-in-law, son-in-law, two books and a Pulitzer Prize to our family’s rich collection this year.

Barack Obama being both a good man and a great man.

The bulkhead seat and the exit aisle.

Authors who elevate my soul and challenge my mind — Anne Lamott, Frederick Buechner, David Sedaris, Annie Dillard, Rob Bell, Darcy Steinke, Augusten Burroughs, Christopher Moore, Tom Robbins, Stacy Barton, Malcolm Gladwell, Margaret Feinberg, Luci Shaw, Billy Collins, and Seamus Heaney.

Stretch pants and leggings.

Jeans that fit (again.)

The 3G iPhone and the iFish application.

New babies born this year, enriching a circle of friends in ways we can’t even begin to imagine: Owen, Aviva, Kairos, and Freddie.

Woop Woop Shiraz.

Coconut water — the ultimate rehydrator — and that Whole Foods carries it in the refrigerated case at the front of the store.

Gainful employment.

Second chances. And third. And fourth. And forty-third.

The sunset and moonrise over Temple Hills.

The fact that even when the economy is in free fall, love don’t cost a thing.

My brother, who made safely through a second tour in Afghanistan.

The legacy of my friend Mark Metherell, a true hero and gentleman in every sense, who didn’t make it home safely from Iraq.

George, Walter, Katie, Jeff and Clarke for showing me how beautiful (and safe) a faith community can be.

Fresh figs, pomegranates and huckleberries.

“Saving Grace” and the patience to wait another year for a new episode.

Cherry preserves from my mother-in-law’s cherry trees.

Sunday evenings by the fire.

Learning to take a compliment, a blessing and an invitation without feeling guilty.

The 2009 Cubs season.

God’s audacious grace, infinite patience and wild sense of humor.

Connecting with old friends and new friends on Facebook…

Which reminds me of a note I got this a.m., while the stuffing was in the oven, from my Facebook friend Joe from Roselle. Seeing my Facebook status Thursday morning, which said something about being sick, he sent me a story – a Thanksgiving story.

It helped me immensely. I hope it helps you, too.

We have so much to be thankful for. I sometimes try to imagine what it would have been like to live in a different time or a different place, and I always come to the conclusion that I am blessed to live in this time and this place.

We have nearly conquered suffering, we have enough to eat and time to play, heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer. A shower every morning! More than enough material things. And time to contemplate our spirituality without the fear of being eaten by some wild animal or starving to death.

No wonder we have to assign a day just to be thankful.

A couple of years ago two friends and I took a trip to Cleveland to see Robert Lockwood Jr. — one of the last of the original Delta Blues Men. He passed away at 90 last year just before Thanksgiving.

We were lucky enough to coax him to sit at our table between his sets by lavishing him with shots of Hennessy, his favorite Cognac. He entertained us all night with great stories, and we all got a little sloshed.

At one point during the night I mentioned that one of the guys I was with was an atheist, and Robert began to tell stories of his encounters with grace. At the end of the night as we were leaving he pulled this guy aside and said one of the wisest things I’ve ever heard from any one. He said, “Kid, I don’t know what the f— it is, and you don’t know what the f— it is. Just say Thank You.”

Thank you.