"I have been but little in," said Ninian hastily...

Today my thankfulness vote goes "not flying anywhere for Thanksgiving". Between the tinpot -dictator TSA officers and the TSA officers who are just trying to do a thankless job for low wages, the hordes of travelers who are trying to get somewhere very far away in a short space of time and the (slightly smaller) hordes who are trying to demonstrate that their need not to have someone look at an anonymous scan of them for 30-40 seconds trumps everyone else's need to get safely and swiftly from place to place, with all the people in between who think that traveling while ill with communicable diseases is no big issue and those who think that their desire to carry 5000000 cubic feet of crap without having to check any bags trumps everyone else's desire to carry anything at all with them *and* everyone else's need to get safely and swiftly from place to place...

Basically, I'm thankful that the only human beings I need to share my personal space with this holiday are the humans in my family I choose to be with. :-)

Now, to get the work, the last bit of shopping, and the laundry done in time to get to my destination before midnight...

I'm thankful for eVite.

OK, I told you it was silly. :-) But I like being able to send an electronic invitation to people, configured with goofy images and comic replies, be able to track who's seen it and who's coming, and have it directly link them to my address and phone # so I don't have to compose directions for everyone.

Thankfulness for today is for totally fun and excellent socks, to wit, these socks, in plum. And in a larger sense, for whichever of my LJ friend it was put me onto Sock Dreams--I love their socks!

And yes, redactrice has warned me that this means I have probably become a full-fledged eccentric. Really? Did we think this train was heading towards any other station? :-)

I had my brisk morning walk today before coming in to work, and what I'm thankful for today is the beauty of nature, especially my little park and the golden and crimson leaves that are strewn about or still hanging on the trees waiting to join the drifts of yellow and orange and carmine strewn over the paths and swards and even, astonishingly, the stream. It's funny, there's a place where the water coming down our little watercourse rushes gurgling over some rocks then hits what I guess must be a much deeper patch. Because it stops gurgling and rushing; the surface becomes calm and completely unmoving. A carpet of bright autumn leaves lies still across it from bank to bank, with small gaps of mirror-still water showing here and there. A few yards further down, the same water rushes swiftly again over boulders and bit of broken concrete. The stillness is amazing, almost miraculous.

Autumn is beautiful this year. One of the fences between two houses near the far end of my walk has a vine I do not know growing over it, bearing gems in place of fruit. Green, teal, blue, and a deep, rich violet, the lightly speckled berries hang in clusters like something from an extravagant, Romantic painting, set off by the still spring-green leaves. Next door in an adjoining yard, a holly tree hangs its glossy dark green leaves over the same fence, highlighted by bright red berries. Autumn is beautiful this year.

I'd not seen this before, but I like it.

War is not a good thing, but those who serve their country in war and peace deserve, in my opinion, respect and thanks.

My family doesn't have a long tradition of peacetime service, but my Paradise grandfather and his brother served in the Great War, and my father and his brothers served in World War Two. Spoors served in the Civil War, in the War of 1812, and in the Revolution. My thoughts were with them this morning, with the other veterans who have given so much, and to those now serving.

Thank you, service men and women, past and present. At the best of times, you give up a great deal and get little enough recognition. And this is hardly the best of times.

It's a small thing to be thankful for today, but I found the British Army's list of officers on the British and Irish Establishments from 1740, apparently in its entirety and annotated as of 1930, on Google Books.

Today's is easy.

After a fun day of gaming with friends and a dinner with the Musketeers, I got home to find my grades for the comps had been posted. As I predicted, I failed the last essay and passed the first with distinction (after spending nearly three bloody hours on it, I better have! :-) I passed the second and, much to my delight, passed the third! So I receive an overall pass for the examination, completing my last academic requirement for my master's degree! Unless some administrative hiccup takes place, I should receive my degree as of the 15th.

So I'm thankful that this long, strange trip is done. I started the degree program in 2004 and gave up on it several times. I completed only 4 of the required 12 courses in the first three years. I took one the following year; in 2008 I registered for only 2 courses: I withdrew from one and dropped the other (2008 was, for the most part, a Really Bad Year). Then in the summer of 2009 I decided the effort I had put into the degree was too much to be wasted, and I blitzed, completing 7 courses in two years, ending up with a 3.97 GPA.

I started this thinking that it would be a boon to my professional career. I ended it mostly because I wanted to have accomplished it, having once started it. I am pleased, and also relieved. It's an odd feeling these days, getting to the end of the week and realizing that I can do whatever I like with my weekend--I have no reading assignments and no papers hanging over my head. Next time I do something like this, I am SO doing it full time, instead of trying to go to school *and* work.

Because I'm in this extended limbo/transition, I spend a lot of time thinking about where I'd like to end up living, or just generally places I'd like to be instead of going through the motions where I am (padding endlessly up a quiet staircase of sand in the dark--or at least it feels that way).

And that puts me in mind of the places I've traveled to, and the places I look forward to seeing. I've been snorkeling and sailing in the Caribbean with my good buddies the Vagabonds. I've wandered through ruined castles with the PoliSci Diva and restored ones with La Redactrice, the SoccerFox, and with my own versions of Aramis and Porthos. I've hiked and kayaked around Cape Breton by myself and wandered through an architectural marvel in the Sonoroan Desert. I've seen the Continental Divide and watched sea otters doing the backstroke in Monterrey Bay. I've been to Portland (Oregon) and Penobscot Bay (Maine). At one time or another I've traveled the length of Vermont. I've been given (admittedly indirectly) the Freedom of the City of Montreal and tromped at night through the closes and catacombs of Edinburgh. I've lived in Notting Hill and rowed across Grasmere, marveled at the cathedrals of Ely, Westminster, Winchester, Guildford, Kirkwall, Glasgow, St Giles, and--of course--St Paul's. I've seen moose in the Rockies and the Maritimes. I've sailed in the Bahamas and among the Small Isles and past the Old Man of Hoy. I've climbed Arthur's Seat with one love and walked down from Stone Arthur Fell with another. I've swum with pelicans in Florida and sledded down snowy hillsides in Wisconsin. I've seen forts and farmhouses, museums and monasteries, and emptied pints in pubs from the Pacific Ocean to the North Sea.

There's still far more than half a world I've yet to see, and there are so many places I want to see--for the first time or the twenty-first. I have trips planned to the Netherlands and Newfoundland that I have yet to take. There's so much of Europe I'd like to see, so much of the US and Canada I've still to explore, so many places I'd like to visit, at least to see them once (Chile or Argentina or Peru, New Zealand, Australia, China). Some day I'd like to retrace my dad's footsteps and visit India and Pakistan; I'd like to travel through Iran and and Turkey, though who knows when or if that can ever happen.

But I've been very fortunate so far. Some people who would like to travel never get to go more than a few miles from home. Some people who hate traveling never get to settle down. I have a home (have had many of them) and I get to travel (*almost* as often as I would like). I've seen some wonderful things and been some amazing places. And I'm very grateful for that.

Today I'm thankful for being who and where I am: for being an American.

I don't say that very often. It's partly a political thing: conservatives, especially those of the less thoughtful and reflective variety, are so quick to wrap themselves in the flag that I think those who have a more liberal attitude shy away from identifying as patriots. There's certainly a perception that one can't love one's country and criticize it at the same time. I think that's nonsense. It seems to me that those who have high expectations for our country are always going to be critical exactly because we want our country to live up to its lofty ideals. That doesn't mean we don't love it, any more than a parent who pushes their child to work hard and excel out of love for and confidence in their kid.

In fact, while we hear a lot about the Founding Fathers (not so much, sadly about the Mothers), I think we all need to recognize that every American is still a father or mother to his or her country. Because our nation is the sum total of who we are and what we believe and do. If we believe in, or accept, racism, bigotry, corruption, torture, injustice...that's what American will stand for. If we strive for openness, honesty, fair dealing, justice, tolerance, and mutual respect--even for those with whom we disagree...then those values will represent America; that is what America will be.

We have a beautiful country, full of the wonders of nature and all the things that human ingenuity and creativity can devise. We have a country filled with honest, hard-working people who are strong in their faith (whether it be religious or secular) and believe in justice tempered with mercy. We have an ethos that says that people who strive can achieve; not "get rich quick with no work" but "work hard, play by the rules, and you can make a better life for you and your family". I'd like our country to be famous for those things, not for their antithesis.

I talk a lot about how I much I want to live abroad and how much I like other countries. That isn't because I don't love my own or feel that it's an important part of whom I am. I woke up in a warm bed, had breakfast from food I bought in a store filled with food and drink that almost anyone can afford to buy, connected to the world through the Internet, got in my car and drove to the school my county built to educate children for free, voted for my government's leaders, and then drove to work over well-paved streets through well-regulated traffic, without being stopped or harassed by anyone. I'll go home at the end of the day and--barring a very unusual disaster--my home will still be there, undisturbed. I'll cook dinner using cheap and consistently available electricity and clean water, watch the news, and go so sleep in my own bed. There are so many people around the world who can't do some, most, or any of those things. I can do them all thanks, in large part, to living where and when I do.

I don't beleive that being an American makes me superior to anyone. But I believe it gives me opportunities that others don't have. So I am thankful for being an American.

A friend of mine recently posted a plea to her friendslist to help people she knows who are facing foreclosure. In less than a day, she's already raised a substantial sum. Who knows? It may not end up being enough, but at least she's trying, and people are responding, people who don't even know her friends, but who trust her. And if that isn't the sort of story to give thanks for, I don't know what is. :-)