Thanklessgiving?

Editor's Note: Commedienne Pam Stone writes her column for The Tryon Daily Bulletin twice each month from her office in the "Unabomber Shack" on her Gowensville farm. Want a chance to respond to this column? Go to Pam’s blog at www.tryondailybulletin.com.

Did I miss it?

I mean, did anyone actually see ANYTHING that had to do with Thanksgiving this year? Local towns have their Christmas banners, wreaths, and lights going up and the stores went from selling those maniacal, inflatable, ghosts with bats flying in their bellies to maniacal, inflatable, Santa Claus with snow globes in their bellies.

What the hell happened to Thanksgiving?

It's like an ignored middle child, stuck between two infinitely more interesting siblings. It's supposed to be Norman Rockwell and "Over the River and Through the Woods." It's the meal of the year! Even being a vegetarian, that's the aspect I like best: breaking bread with those you love. All great holidays, especially those with religious significance, began their early, festive, origins with breaking bread. Feasting. Sharing the best you have with those you love. The purest form of charity.

My fella, Paul, says it's because there's no money to be made at Thanksgiving. He says that, come Halloween, people have to buy costumes, jack-o-lanterns and candy, and Christmas speaks for itself. Because no one, besides the meat counter at supermarkets, make a dime off Thanksgiving, it slips through the major holidays unnoticed. What a sad commentary.

This year, I shall do what I always do, look to nature for inspiration. I must admit there's a pinch of pagan in my heart and there's nothing I love more than gathering a basket of multicolored leaves, rosehips, acorns and pinecones to create small centerpieces, anticipating the big day.

I do the same for Christmas: armfuls of holly and hemlock and magnolia leaves are brought inside to intoxicate the senses and to vacuum for months. Yeah, it can be a pain, but there's a smug satisfaction in resisting the ever-present beckoning of commercialism.

Sometimes it takes an outsider to put it all into perspective. Paul's mother, Christine, is Dutch and, obviously, she didn't have Thanksgiving in her native country, but she thinks it's just about the nicest holiday the United States can boast. "Why isn't it celebrated more over here?" she asked me in despair. "It's so uniquely American and such a lovely holiday, counting your blessings, giving thanks, and being surrounded by your family and friends!"

Because, Christine, nobody makes a buck. And that, too, is uniquely American.