The High Tech Way

Thanksgiving: Appreciating what is here

Two months before my sister-in-law Heidi died of ovarian cancer when we all lived in California, David and Jack and I came east to visit my side of the family for Christmas.

David and I planned to go out to dinner with my brother and his girlfriend, and I suggested that David drive because "he was a good driver."  My brother took offense to that statement on that particular evening, thinking this was a dis to his driving. It wasn't. But he was angry at me and couldn't let it go. He was crabby and nasty during the drive to the restaurant, when we got there, while we were ordering. And not just to me. He was making the evening less than pleasant for his girlfriend and for David too. David was trying to lighten up the mood by joking around, but I was annoyed.

And in an uncharacteristic moment for me, I expressed it. I said to him that Heidi was back in California dying at that moment, and here we were, lucky to be able to share the evening together that night and we weren't appreciating each other. I told him to cut it out. I told him I wanted to enjoy the evening with my brother and his girlfriend.

And his girlfriend and David were shocked that I said that to him, each for their own reasons. And my brother settled down then.

More recently, in the last week, there have been two incidents of people I know who have stopped talking to someone. In one case it's a couple of cousins -- one saying to the other I will not share Thanksgiving with you, or Christmas or ever talk to you again. And the other was an instance of friendly acquaintances. OK, one of the friends is me. And my friend is not talking to me anymore, and I'm not sure why.

My great aunts used to do this from time to time -- sisters, who would argue and then stop talking to each other, sometimes for months or even years.

And I don't get it. A friend explained it once saying "It's like you are dead to me," but that makes no sense to me at all. You are both alive. You obviously care about each other, or you wouldn't get so angry. Why waste this time you have together.

Heidi is gone now. I have recently learned that a high school friend who has a 3-year-old daughter was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer after suffering a stroke. Life is fleeting. We don't know when it will end. This could be the last Thanksgiving we have with someone. Why waste these days?

I'm thankful for the moments I've shared with my friends and family over the years. And I'm thankful for the moments I have with them now. That's all there is.

Thankful for what? Plenty. But who really wants to hear it?

Well, a real life colleague/friend who is also a facebook friend recently suggested that people post what they are thankful for as their facebook status messages every day during the month of November.  This seemed like such a good idea. And there's plenty I'm thankful for, too, like the preschoolers who are always exasperating and then charming me. And the friends I have online and offline. And being able to work from home (even though sometimes I get so lonely I'm ready to jump out of my skin.) And my darling husband who I hope to someday spend time with again. Not to mention my health. Or other family who I adore.

But every day when I thought about what to say I was thankful for I just stopped. Husband? Well I know people who are alone and who would like to be coupled up. Preschoolers? Well, you know. It sucks to want babies when you may not have them ever. Getting to talk to both my parents last Friday night? Yeah, I know plenty of people who wish their parents were still around.

So I decided not to post anything like that. I didn't want to add, on a daily basis, to the pain of someone who was longing for something so much it hurt. And I posted that as my facebook status and a couple of people liked it.

And then I posted something as my facebook status, which felt much better. "I am thankful for all the moments I've shared with you. Thank you :) "  That felt provocative to me. And true. And it honored the spirit of the holiday at the same time it talked about what really matters -- the moments and human connections.

And I meant it. Good or bad, all those moments have been a miracle.  And same goes for anyone who is reading this now. I'm thankful for what we have shared.

(And if you want to be my facebook friend you can click here to get to my profile and friend me. I'm only doing this in one direction right now, i.e. telling my blog friends about my facebook profile and my real life. Ya know?  I trust you.)

Two paths to media fame: Kurt Vonnegut vs. Don Imus

This whole flap about Don Imus this week seems like more of the same to me. Now, I am a total defender of the First Amendment.  But I exercise my right not to listen to crap.  I have never liked these morning shock-jocks who get their ratings from being as offensive and insulting as they can get away with.  I don't listen to them, so therefore, in a sense, I don't know what I'm talking about.  But really they spread mean-spirited, juvenile humor to insult a huge range of human beings. And they do it in the name of selling advertising, not for some righteous cause.  I don't like any of them. I'm glad that Imus is getting some crap right back at him for his recent comments.  Maybe it would be even better if people changed the station and boycotted the sponsors.  How can I put this in the kindest way?  I think he is a douche bag.

On the other side of the spectrum, author Kurt Vonnegut died overnight.  In his lifetime he witnessed some brutal things -- his mother committed suicide, he was a prisoner of war in World War II, and he worked for an advertising agency.  Admittedly, his humor was dark. But it was humor that drew the reader in rather than pushing people away.  Perhaps this is because he was a man who talked about the importance of kindness.  Indeed this exerpt is from the New York Times obituary, (one of the most moving obits I've read in a while) and pulls a quote from one of Vonnegut's books:

To Mr. Vonnegut, the only possible redemption for the madness and apparent meaninglessness of existence was human kindness. The title character in his 1965 novel, “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, or Pearls Before Swine,” summed up his philosophy:

“Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies — ‘God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.’ ”