let us give thanks

The Unknown Poet, Reverend Godfrey and I hopped in the red convertible (Unknown drove) and went to the old folks home to spring Uncle Ray and take him out for Thanksgiving dinner. On the way, we tried to determine whose uncle, Uncle Ray was. The general consensus was that he was my uncle and that nobody else in the car was related.

I’m not exactly sure how I’m related to Ray. I don’t remember whether he’s my Father’s brother, my Mother’s brother, my Mother’s sister’s husband or just an old friend of the family. I don’t think he remembers either.

But he made the unusual decision of nominating me family historian when he gave he me his old diaries, dating back to 1945. The diaries hold no clue to Ray’s personal or familial relationships. But they are informative in other ways.

My favourite entry, one of Ray’s longer entries, is also his final entry, dated appropriately November 11, 2002 – Remembrance Day.

I’m in an old folks home now and everything is taken care of - groceries, dry cleaning - the works. My Power of Attorney is some preacher named Godfrey. I don’t even have to sign cheques anymore. I don’t have to remember anything at all. Why keep a diary?

I’ll give them all to Huckleberry. He’ll know what to do with them.

And indeed I try to make use of them. But I struggle to know how. It may be fascinating to me to know that Ray washed his car the day Kennedy was shot or that he ate corned beef for lunch the day man first walked on the moon but most people wouldn’t care.

When we got to Ray’s favourite restaurant, Mac’s on 5th, and had ourselves comfortably settled, I decided to broach the subject.

“Ray,” I said. “I’ve had your diaries for two years now and I enjoy reading them very much. I particularly like your perspective on the 1960s. But I’m not sure what exactly you want me to do with them.”

Ray thought this over for a moment and asked, “What diaries?”

Our food arrived. Unknown, the Reverend and I all had Mac’s Thanksgiving Day special, turkey and the customary trimmings. Uncle Ray had the liver and onions. I thought at the time it was important to note that.

The Reverend asked the blessing. It went something like this.

Dear Lord, thank you for the fellowship of friends and family. Thank you for this food we are about to receive and thank you for Mac, if that is her real name.

Amen.

As we ate, the topic of conversation turned to the occasion. The Unknown Poet announced that he had laboured most of the day to compose a poem with a Thanksgiving theme but had failed. He asked each of us to tell him one thing specifically that we were particularly thankful for.

I indicated that I was particularly thankful that day for God’s gift of cranberries. Unknown told me I could do better than that. So I said I was thankful that Uncle Ray enjoyed good health, a good appetite and was able to join us for dinner.

The Unknown Poet seemed satisfied with that and turned to Reverend Godfrey. The Reverend said that he too was grateful for Ray’s company and added that he was also thankful for the post-season success, thus far, of the Boston Red Sox.

Unknown jotted that down on a table napkin and turned to Uncle Ray.

“Ray,” said The Unknown Poet, “what are you most thankful for today?”

After some consideration, Uncle Ray spoke. With clarity and resolve he stated unequivocally that blessing for which, at his age, he was most thankful.

“Thank God,” he said, “I haven’t lost my marbles. Merry Christmas.”