As quoted in yesterday’s Chicago Tribune:
Truly, we should be thankful. And we do try to be. But the English language is so rich in terms of complaint and insult and groaning and rather sparse in the Exaltation Department, so the Lord doesn’t get praised as he should.
Instead, we bellyache, we kvetch, we get our undies in a bunch. After all, we’re descended from people who considered rejoicing to be bad luck: It tempts fate.
So they grumbled about the weather, politicians, children, popular music, new cars, anything modern, and complained about their health year after year until they died and went to heaven, where no doubt they are a little edgy even now–nice place, paradise–a little surprised at who else is here, harrumph, harrumph, but never mind–plenty of bliss, no tears and so forth–not sure how long it can last, but we shall see.
As for me, I am grateful for the functional. In our home, we are going through a series of malfunctioning coffeemakers that sputter and vomit quarts of hot brown sediment on the kitchen counter and floor, and that makes me grateful for things like this pen, which really is a pleasure. Or Google, which can bring up 2.3 million references in .03 seconds, none of which sheds light on the subject, but they distract you so that instead of writing about “The Mill on the Floss” by George Eliot, you get interested in dental hygiene.
I’m glad for the e-ticket, which frees us from standing in line at the airline counter so that we can swiftly go stand in line at the security check.
And let us all be thankful for the newspaper, a truly useful object. The press is the watchdog of a free society, and while TV reporters are styling their hair and practicing winsome facial expressions, newspaper reporters are on the phone, knocking on doors, doing the work, holding power accountable. And you read their work and absorb something from it, or not, and then you spread the newspaper out on the floor and it absorbs paint drips, or you pack it in a box around fragile objects, or you roll it up and swat cockroaches, or stuff it into cracks to keep the wind out, or stuff it under the kindling and light the fire–one simple thing with six distinct uses. Or you can recycle it and it will transcend into cardboard.
