A couple years ago my grandmother presented my with a stack of index cards, requesting that a write a prayer to say before the Thanksgiving meal. By stack, I mean at least half a dozen cards: she evidently thought I was going to prepare a heartfelt, touching, lengthy statement on the bounty of the previous year and hopefulness for that ahead.
She should have known better. I don't do sentimental.
This is what she got:
Thank you for food, family, and Franciscan Starburst dinnerware.
My parents and Youngest Brother, endowed with more of a sense of humour than Grandma, were amused. She herself, of course, was less than impressed by the brevity and lack of solemnness. But it was not going to be a Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving meal anyway—with a resident alien (the Mother) in the room, my grandfather's comments about the irrelevance of foreigners guaranteed a tense dinner. So much for the family part.
Franciscan Starburst, however, continues to be worthy of gratitude, so I offer my prayer once more. Happy Thanksgiving.