Folded thought of the day:

The holiday season is upon us.  Thanksgiving.  Christmas.  
New Years.  You know the routine.  Eating.  Shopping.  
Making merry.  And so many memories of holiday's past.  

Thanksgiving was always a big family thing.  My grandparents 
would visit and sometimes an uncle or two.  Lots of food.  
The family dog begging for a scrap here and there, working 
the table.  

Times change.  

Holiday reflections.  Contemplating those things in your 
life for which you are thankful.  Big and small.  Profound 
and simple.  Real.  

I was always a bit of an oddball in the family.  I seemed 
to always go a different path than my brother and sister.  
And I was never really certain that I was actually a 
member of my family until my grandfather died.  

I never knew much about gramps while he was alive.  When 
I was young we would visit and he'd drive my brother 
and I around in his old truck.  And we'd drink soda 
and he'd talk about the old days.  But I never paid that 
much attention.  I did begin to notice a strange 
thing though.  On the dashboard and doors and just about 
everywhere I looked in the truck there was writing.  A 
date and an event that happened on that date, written 
in black marker ink.  

And it wasn't just in the truck.  He did this everywhere.  
On the walls and doors of his shed, in the cupboards 
of the kitchen, on the refrigerator door.  Everywhere.  
Dates and events.  I don't know if he did it because 
he was afraid of forgetting or if he just wanted to 
always be surrounded by the moments of his life.  
Whatever the reason, I could always find myself, no 
matter where I was in the house or on the property, 
reading about my father when he was growing up, or 
about my uncle getting into trouble, neighborhood 
events, his grandchildren, anything.  

And when he died, I finally learned the details of 
his life.  Growing up, being a man, working, chasing 
girls, drinking, getting married and having kids, 
the whole bit.  And I saw myself and my history.  
And it made sense.  I made sense.  It was a deeply 
personal and profound realization which is difficult 
to describe.  But I'm sure you've had similar moments. 

As I live my life now I am comforted knowing where 
I came from -- that my grandfather was a good man 
and that my family is real.  

I believe I gained a certain amount of my desire 
to be a writer from gramps.  I don't actually 
think of myself as a writer in the traditional 
sense, I am more of a chronicler of my life 
and about the things I experience.  Much as my 
grandfather chronicled the events of his life, 
for everyone to see and share.  

So, on this Thanksgiving week, I'd like to 
acknowledge my thankfulness to my grandfather.  

And I'd like to invite you to share something 
you are thankful for.  Anything.  Send them 
in and I'll post as many as I can.  And then 
we'll go eat.