I feel so blessed (in a secular way) I could cry. But won’t. Any sniffles you detect are from the chill. (Get me back to Florida!) Any tears are from the onions that go into the stuffing . . . though you will be relieved to know I’m not cooking. If I were cooking, I’d be Cooking Like a Guy™. (Step One: buy a package of sliced turkey and a can of cranberry sauce . . . )

As I’ve said so often in this space, almost all of us live better than the kings of England, czars of Russia, pharaohs of Egypt ever did. We have magic carpets with seats that recline; we have jesters, bards, gladiators and orchestras on instant call (with volume control and a pause button). We have cell phones, antibiotics, zippers — Velcro, even — Novocain and aspirin.

We . . .

have . . .

air-conditioning.

Happy Thanksgiving, dear readers. See you Friday.

 

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