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As we get closer to Thanksgiving, I, like a lot of other people, begin to take inventory of all for which I am thankful.
Mine is a simple list. A lot of it is gratitude for family and friends and the part they played in our lives in the past year. I’m thankful for another year of good health for myself and my family. I’m thankful for security and prosperity for those around us and most of all, I am thankful for another year on this earth.
If it sounds like I am thankful for a lot of things a lot of other people are thankful for, that’s no accident. I think that we as people generally want the same things and when we get them, we are thankful. I could be incredibly wrong, but I don’t think I am. If I was, you wouldn’t hear everyone talking about how thankful they are for family and friends and health all that jazz and blah and blah and more blah.
There are lesser things I am thankful for that deserve a mention this year. These are things that go beyond the above-mentioned health and wealth and family and friends and all that boring stuff that everyone else mentions. This year, I thought I would give mention to some other things and such I am thankful for.
Keep in mind, these are mine. You are welcome to share some of them, but only if you mention how thankful you are that someone wrote goofy stuff in the paper that you can share at Thanksgiving dinner without going through the trouble of being funny yourself.
The first thing I would like to give thanks for is the phrase “lefty loosey/ righty tighty.” This phrase has helped me out more times than I would like to admit.
Now, you “righty tighty/lefty loosey” folks, don’t get upset. I’m thankful for you as well, even if you say it wrong. You have the concept, and that’s OK.
I think it would be a lot easier if the screw and screwdriver people put this on the tools to make it easier for folks like me. I am talking directly to you, Misters Black and Decker. It wouldn’t hurt for the jar and bottle cap people to get on board as well. That’s right, Mr. Mason and Dr. Pepper, you’re not off the hook.
The Tab people just put it right in their name. The can is opened by a big tab on the top. I’m thankful for you as well.
I am also thankful for the people who designed that little diagram that tells you which way to put batteries in something. I’m no scientist and would not know positive from negative without your help. Kudos to you and the whole AAA to 9-volt team. Millions of people thought their battery-operated gadgets were broken until they simply realized the batteries were in wrong. You, sirs and madams, are heroes.
I am thankful for the resolve of a veteran naval officer, one Captain Crunch. Having worn the wrong naval insignia on his uniform for many years, this fine officer has never once considered himself Commander Crunch as his insignia would lead you to believe. He is a humble captain, not one to be a braggart, and has remained in his commander uniform even after his promotion to captain.
He is one of the men, a leader who is not afraid to serve alongside his men, not just lead them. I tip my hat to you, Cap’n.
My thanks are extended to the people who put those color-coded tabs on the loaves of bread. Without you, I would never know how long my bread would be fresh to eat. If it weren’t for those color-coded tabs with the date on them, I would have to wait until the bread is dry and stale.
Because of those tabs, I can throw away perfectly fresh bread that is a day past the date.
It’s the little things that make me thankful, you see. It goes without saying a lot of the time, but I am thankful for each and every one of you who take time to read this column. And yes, I am thankful for those who read the column and comment each week about how much they hate the column.
I am thankful that you keep reading and are trying to see if I write something you might like. If I don’t write something you like, I am thankful that this part of the newspaper might be used to wrap fragile valuables or line the bottom of a birdcage. Waste not, want not, as they say.
Joe Weaver, a native of Baltimore, is a husband, father, pawnbroker and gun collector. From his home in New Bern, he writes on the lighter side of family life.