While some of us are having rather low-key Thanksgivings in recent years, some of you are enjoying wild ones. I envy your big-group noise and merrymaking and even the fighting. It makes me wicked nostalgic.
A friend lamented when his daughter left for college, “Where did 20 years go?” For me it is, at this time of year: where did those beloved people go, those sacred homes, those raucous laughs of Thanksgivings past? Those kids all growed up. We all growed up. Sigh. Do you ever wish you were a kid again? Those older people (now frail or gone) still in charge?
I looked up “nostalgia” and found the craziest assortment of definitions, ranging from things along the lines of “a sad longing” to, for real, “mental illness.” Sounds melodramatic, but makes sense. Because if you wallow in a sad longing for the past long enough, you are probably 1. Ignoring the bad things about those times, 2. Experiencing mental anguish, and 3. Not living your life.
This is an odd topic for a holiday column, I realize. Stay with me.
Many best-loved beings have left the building. Favorite musicians, actors, friends, lovers, pets, family, neighbors. The world at large seems a giant mess. While nostalgia implies a glossing over of actual history, I feel that my generation’s past was in fact lovelier – before the major disasters (you know the names) that imperiled our overall sense of safety and trust in humans, no matter where we live. At least in the US, by and large, life was easier back then. The oceans and wildlife and all of the Lands are now at risk. Homeless tent cities everywhere. And there is so much hate now. Or else we see more hate, due to the devil that is 24-hour news on TVs and screens. So don’t feel too bad about feeling nostalgic.
In our messed-up powder keg of a world, it’s difficult to remain hopeful or sane. Especially as it seems there’s little be done about much of it, aside from sending checks and voting. But I discovered this: that making an effort to feel good can actually pay off. It’s not easy sometimes, but worth trying. I went to see a magical and upbeat band at Chandler Center for the Arts, helped collect gifts for Ukrainian kids, and baked for a dear friend in need. I plan to go back to choir. Do you know that singing in groups (even small) increases your oxytocin? And surely other good brain chemicals.
When you feel good, you feel loved. And when you feel loved, you feel good. It works both ways, right? Well, guess what: feeling good allows great amounts of what some call Life Force to flow through you. This makes you healthier physically and emotionally. This makes you better able to navigate illness and difficult situations. Energized. Motivated. Resilient. So go feel good if it kills you. Maybe right now you’d rather lie around feeling like holy hell. Go right ahead, but don’t do it for long. It’ll make you sick.
Like many of you, I always dug Thanksgiving because my mommy put on such good ones and because it’s non-denominational. We would host people who had nowhere to go, much as our family’s loud antics were no doubt technically embarrassing. The guests didn’t seem to mind. We laughed and laughed. So did the guests. I miss every single person in those blurry old Instamatic photos, whether they moved away or died or just grew up.
But in an effort to feel good, and in so doing make others feel good, this year I endeavor to focus far more on who’s here than on who’s not.
What I suggest this holiday to you and to me both is this: really marinate in communal happiness. No matter how small your group, no matter how past holidays appear happier in your mind, feel the love right where you are. When, at the table, verbally honoring the memory of our global and familial stars now gone, really savor the people that are here. Right here. Love the one(s) you’re with.
Feel good. Spread love. Bring leftovers to someone left out. Good Thanksgiving Day.
Ann Aikens’ darkly comical, uplifting book of advice, A Young Woman’s Guide to Life: A Cautionary Tale, is available at Amazon & Vermont shops. She has written her Upper Valley Girl column since 1996. Find shops at annaikens.com; more of her writing at uppervalleygirl.com.
Perhaps you, dear Reader, like your humble Columnist, hates change. 
In the history of Vermont’s 14 counties on PBS, my favorite part was when, decades ago, a visitor noticed there were no squirrels in Winooski. His host advised this was because Vermonters ate them. I’ve spotted beefy squirrels across the Land this fall – big, meaty, good-eatin’ rodents. That turkey deep-fryer sitting in the barn? Fire it up and drop ‘em in there. So they don’t have wings. Big deal. Invite others who have no family and go local this Thanksgiving, with the bounty of your own back yard.
uppervalleygirl 