November 22, 1984

“But just for a moment now we’re all together, Mama, just for a moment let’s be happy. Let’s look at one another. It goes so fast.”
The words are Emily’s in Thornton Wilder’s play “Our Town.” The sentiments are universal.
Emily is talking of childhood, of family, of life. Before we can hold it, examine it, and love it as we should, it slips from us. We never seem to appreciate what we have until it’s gone.
Home is that magical, mystical, terrible place where most of our life passes. “Home,” wrote Robert Frost, “is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” It is the place we “somehow haven’t to deserve.”
Home is where life is capsulized. It is the place where hallmarks are preserved—those pencil marks on the wall measuring the growth of children, the family album with the important photographs, the box of mementos in the closet. Home is the secret place where the Christmas presents are hid.
Home is where little girls dress up in mom’s old clothes and cover their faces with makeup. It’s where boys toss baseballs through windows. Home is also where children suddenly grow too big to sit on dad’s lap. It’s where they outgrow Halloween and the Easter Bunny. Home is where the true identity of Santa Claus is revealed.
Home is for laughter. The delight of first steps, the chuckles of last laughs, the snickers of sisters and the giggles of brothers fill the home with the best of life.
Home is also raised voices and silent quarrels. It’s where the phone rings in the middle of the night to tell of a relative’s death. Home is where you go to cry.
But we are so close to home, so caught up in life, that we can’t see it clearly. We treat our days like habits. The joys come, the sorrows follow. First New Year, then July 4th, then Christmas. The field must be worked, the deadline must be met, the dishes must be washed, the dog must be fed. And we do work the field and we meet the deadline and we wash the dishes and feed the dog. The machinery continues to rumble on. And only when it rumbles past do we catch a glimpse of what we have lost.
“It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another. I didn’t realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Oh earth, you’re too wonderful for anyone to realize.” The words are Wilder’s, the thoughts are everyone’s.
Yet, there is one time of year we have granted ourselves a breathtaking. Thanksgiving is the ideal holiday at the perfect time of year. The year’s work is winding down, the chaos of Christmas is weeks away, the cool days beckon for a slower pace. Thanksgiving is the holiday for reflection—for assessing our accomplishments, for setting our goals, for looking at each other, for checking the marks in the hall, for adding new photos to the album, for holding children close.
Thanksgiving is a time for stopping for a moment and being happy with what we have. Tomorrow new marks may be added in the hall, the phone may ring in the night, a joy may be lost.
But we have today. It may go fast and we may not deserve it, but we can realize it if only we will take the time to look at each other…. ~T.Stucky