Andy Young: Thankful for what I don’t have

By Andy Young

This coming Thursday is Thanksgiving, the national holiday when Americans gather together to formally express gratitude for all the blessings in their lives. In reality though, every day ought to be Thanksgiving for just about everyone living in the United States. Anyone wishing to dispute that should try residing for a spell in just about any other nation not located in northern North America.

Most Americans can, with a mere turn of the wrist, obtain water that’s safe to drink. The vast majority (though sadly, not all) of us have a roof over our heads and access to food, electricity, and reasonably clean air.

People with the correct attitude realize they have far more blessings than they can count. Anyone possessing good health for themselves and their family, a decent job, and good friends should realize they’ve hit the gratitude trifecta. It’s probably impossible for anyone with those three advantages to list every single thing that they’re thankful for, let alone do so in a 600-word essay, as I’m vainly attempting to do here.

I’m a big believer in appreciating everything I have. But sometimes I find it helpful to acknowledge some things I’m thankful I don’t possess.

For example, I don’t have a single immediate or extended family member in my life who is greedy, vengeful, selfish, mean-spirited, narcissistic, sneaky, and/or dishonest.

I’m grateful I don’t have collection agencies pursuing me over bills I can’t or won’t pay. I’m also pleased with not having a tyrannical boss, petty co-workers, or unfriendly neighbors to deal with. I’m thankful I’m not nursing any grudges, and that no one I know of is holding one against me.

I’m thankful I’ve never borrowed money from a loan shark, agreed to become a spy for a foreign power, or consorted with international drug smugglers. Had I engaged in any or all of those activities it’s likely there'd be a price on my head, not to mention a bevy of professional assassins vying to collect it.

I’m pleased I don’t live downwind from a paper mill, a slaughterhouse, or a sewage treatment plant.

I’m darned lucky to not need help getting out of bed every morning. I also don’t require any assistance in getting myself from Point A to Point B, whether that means traversing a room, a sidewalk, or a highway without aid. I’m acutely aware there are plenty of folks my age (and younger) who no longer have (or in some cases never had) those capabilities.

Another often-overlooked blessing: here in Maine there’s no reason to worry about being bitten by fire ants or poisonous snakes. In addition, I’m reasonably certain there aren’t any rabid skunks residing underneath my back porch. I’m also thankful I can remove my shoes at day’s end and leave them on the floor without having to worry about scorpions taking up residence in them overnight.

I’m thankful I don’t have hives, ulcers, acne, head lice, tennis elbow, insomnia, halitosis, shingles, nosebleeds, constipation, dropsy, bunions, jock itch, or any number of other maladies that one can acquire via insect bites, blood-borne pathogens, airborne transmission, ill-advised sexual activity, or just plain bad luck.

And like most Americans, I’m thankful to not have to endure another presidential campaign, since the next one won’t get underway in earnest for at least another couple of months.

I don’t know that there’s any verifiable scientific findings suggesting that maintaining a perpetual attitude of gratitude can extend the number of years in an individual’s life. However, based on the anecdotal evidence I’ve gathered so far, I’m convinced that doing so unquestionably adds life to one’s years. <

Andy Young: Opening Day

By Andy Young

I’ve looked forward to Opening Day ever since I was old enough to realize it existed. The only days I anticipated more were Christmas and Thanksgiving, and by the time I began my three-decade adolescence, my devotion to baseball was total.

That’s why I couldn’t wait for the day the season began each year in early April. I even attended a season-opening game at New York’s beautiful Shea Stadium one year. Certain so-called “experts” were forecasting a grim season for my favorite team, so imagine my joy when they vanquished the visiting Montreal Expos, 3-1. Ace pitcher Jerry Koosman hurled a complete game, and I knew right then Joe Torre’s Mets were going to shock the world. I was even more convinced of it after they won their next two games.

Historical note: the New Yorkers lost 96 of their final 159 contests that year, finishing last and confirming those “experts” did indeed know more than I did. Adding insult to injury, that opening day win represented one-third of Koosman’s victories that year; he lost 15.

In my youth baseball’s season-opening contest reliably took place in Cincinnati sometime during April’s second week. But these days the big-league season opens in late March, often under a dome and occasionally in a foreign country.

Today I’m no longer youthful, nor an avid baseball fan. I’m a veteran high school English teacher who has learned that things change with the passage of time. (Exhibit A: New York’s beautiful Shea Stadium was demolished 14 years ago.)

Currently I’m occupied with trying to help high schoolers unlock their full potential. The more diligently they work on their literacy skills, the more clearly that they’ll see that they’re capable of doing far more for society than striking out the side on nine pitches or clouting a tape measure home run. Few of my students will ever earn the money a major league professional athlete in their prime does, but if my colleagues, my students’ parents, and I do our jobs right, the young folks in my class will realize that in the long run, being a multi-millionaire before turning 30 years old is far more likely to become a curse than a blessing.

However, despite my waning interest in professional baseball my enthusiasm for Opening Day remains. The difference: I’ve realized the one that truly matters occurs in late August.

Teachers understand that no day of the school year is more important than the initial one. It’s our one and only chance to make a positive first impression on our new students. Equally importantly it’s their only chance to get an initial read on the person(s) who’ll be guiding their academic growth for the next 10 months or so.

Like the baseball season, a school year is a marathon, not a sprint. Any decent algebra student can deduce that 180 six-and-a-half-hour school days add up to a lot more time than 162 Major League Baseball contests do, and that was true even before several rule changes designed to speed up games were enacted this year.

Major League Baseball players earning the sport’s lowest allowable annual salary will bring home at least 10 times the money the average educator will get paid this year.

But what a teacher gives (and receives in exchange for their efforts) is arguably worth better than 10 times what even the most skilled professional athlete will produce in his or her most productive season.

It’s just as true now as it was in my childhood: for me, nothing is as exciting as Opening Day.

Not even a Jerry Koosman complete-game victory. <

Insight: Reliving the past through old home movies

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

To revive and restore my holiday spirit, I recently watched a DVD that I had a friend make for me from a collection of home movies that my family had taken when I was a child.

From 1957 to 1962, the Pierce Family had a four-door
1957 Ford Fairlane that held a surprise for its owner 
when he traded it in for a 1962 Chevy Impala.
COURTESY PHOTO

My father had purchased a Kodak Brownie 8mm camera and would film special family occasions such as birthday parties, Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas mornings unwrapping presents or summer vacation trips. We also had a Kodak 8mm movie projector and screen, so once he had the films developed, our family would gather huddled in a darkened room and view them.

Sometime after my father’s death in 1991, my mother handed me a box of these old 8mm films that she had found on a shelf in his closet. She thought that the longer that they were not used, the possibility existed that the film could deteriorate, therefore losing the precious memories contained there forever.

I was able to have a camera store transfer the 8mm films onto video tape and eventually my friend Derek Suomi converted the tape into a DVD. About 2012, I made copies for my family members which I gave them as stocking stuffers that year.

Looking at some of these home movies now, after all these years have passed, is a feeling that’s hard to describe. It’s somewhat comforting to glimpse my past, but nostalgic to see people, places and activities long gone and forgotten courtesy of the hustle and bustle of daily life in the 21st century.

I vividly remember my father’s green 1962 Chevrolet Impala, but one of the films on the DVD had him standing by his two-tone 1957 Ford Fairlane sedan, complete with a V-8 engine. I had completely forgotten all about that car.

My father once told me that my mother wanted the two-door version of the Ford Fairlane, but he insisted on buying a four-door version after my younger brother Doug was born that same year. As a family we would go to the Burger Park drive-through in Henrietta, New York on Friday nights in the Ford Fairlane for 12-cent cheeseburgers and when my parents weren’t looking, my brother and I would sometimes stuff our unwanted burgers under the back seat of the car.

Of course, with my father being a thrifty sort of person, when he traded that car in at the dealer for the Chevy Impala five years later, he removed the back seat to look for any change that may have fallen under there and discovered the remnants and wrappers of more than 100 half-eaten moldy cheeseburgers.

Watching our old home movies, I was fascinated to see that everyone attending Thanksgiving dinner at our home in 1959 wore dress-up clothes for dinner, including me. There was footage of my father carving the turkey wearing dress slacks, a white dress shirt and a necktie.

When the camera panned the living room early on Christmas morning in 1960, the film showed the image of more than 100 Christmas cards lining the fireplace mantle. And I noticed that our Christmas tree was covered with tinsel which my mother called “icicles.”

I know some people still send Christmas cards through the mail, but that practice seems to decline more with each passing holiday season. I also haven’t spotted tinsel for sale in stores for many years.

One item I did notice on our family’s fireplace mantle in that 1960 film was a set of four hand-painted antique angels holding red candles and each angel having a large red letter on them spelling N-O-E-L.

One Christmas Eve in the 1990s, my mother told me the story of how she had inherited the set from her late father in his will when he died in 1956.

She said that the ceramic angels were given to her father by his grandfather, James McIntosh. Before his death in 1924, he had told the family that he had purchased them at a shop in Scotland before emigrating to Canada at the age of 16 in 1856. He carefully protected them on the journey and then again when he moved to Rochester, New York for work in the mills there in the 1860s.

My mother gave the angel set to me along with a large box of old family Christmas decorations when my wife Nancy and I bought a home in Florida in 2007 and we still have them.

The saddest part of watching the DVD was seeing members of my family, close friends and beloved family pets that are no longer with us. My Aunt Jeanette and Uncle Bernie, Aunt Bernice and Uncle Ray, our friends Bill and Ida Topham, Marge and Bob Bartlett and Marge’s mother, Sue Coleman, have been dead for years, but their kindness to me will always be remembered. The same can be said for our family’s beloved dachshund dogs, Fritz and Weenie, who were present at many holiday celebrations through the years but have long since passed.

I haven’t watched this particular DVD for a number of years but each time I do, it’s a trip down Memory Lane for me and a great opportunity to reflect about how blessed I have been in my life.

It’s true that nothing is ever really lost to us in life if we can remember it. <

Insight: A Thanksgiving I’ll never forget

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

I had packed up my remaining gear in my truck and said my goodbyes to my classmates at the Department of Defense Information School near Indianapolis. First thing on the Monday morning before Thanksgiving in November 1981, I was hitting the road, making a two-day drive to my home in New Mexico.

Ed Pierce sits in his new Datsun pickup truck before leaving 
for the Defense Information School at Fort Benjamin
Harrison, Indiana in September 1981. This is the same
truck he drove from Indiana to New Mexico in
November 1981. COURTESY PHOTO  

After several years of being stationed at The Pentagon in Washington, D.C., and 12 weeks of specialized editor training at the school in Fort Benjamin Harrison in Lawrence, Indiana, I was ready for a break and some down time with family and friends before proceeding on to my next U.S. Air Force duty station in Arizona the day after Christmas.

This was supposed to be a leisurely 18-hour drive that would take me from Indiana, passing through Missouri, on into Oklahoma, then across the Texas Panhandle before eventually crossing into New Mexico and arriving at my home just south of Albuquerque.

In setting up the trip the week before, I had decided to not wear myself out driving, but to take it slow and stop for the night Tuesday at a hotel in Tulsa after my first nine hours of driving. My wife had flown home before Labor Day and was waiting there for me and working with her mother in planning Thanksgiving dinner.

That first part of my trip was rather uneventful as I made my way home in a new 1981 Datsun pickup truck I had just purchased in early September 1981. Part of the reason I had bought a new vehicle was specifically to take me across the country safely and then to drive it to my next assignment at Luke Air Force Base in Glendale, Arizona.

It wasn’t widely known at the time, but within six months, Datsun announced it was changing its name to Nissan, so my pickup was one of the final “Datsun” trucks ever manufactured.

Like I had originally planned, I stopped for the night in Tulsa, had dinner, checked into my hotel, watched the premiere episode of “Simon and Simon” on television, went to sleep, and then got up at 6 a.m. Wednesday for the final day’s drive to my home.

The miles and highway rolled by and soon I spotted the “Welcome to Texas” sign meaning I was just one state away from my destination. Noticing I was running low on fuel, I pulled into a gas station and filled up, confident I was within range based upon the mileage I was getting in the new truck that I wouldn’t have to get gas again before arriving home.

Outside Amarillo, something strange started happening while I was driving. The pickup would sputter and act like it was going to stall when I put my foot on the gas pedal. I pulled over to the side of the road, turned the engine off and restarted and everything would be OK for about 40 miles or so. I couldn’t get up to more than 40 mph when it would start doing it again.

Time was at a standstill for me as darkness fell and I worried the vehicle was going to break down stranding me out in middle of nowhere. Slowly I made it to the New Mexico state line and drove for another 40 miles when I spotted a service station near Tucumcari, New Mexico.

I pulled in and asked if anyone could look at my truck to find out what was wrong. The attendant said the mechanic had gone home for Thanksgiving but would be back Friday. He suggested I park the truck in their locked compound and because it was under warranty, I could have it towed to the dealer in Albuquerque on Friday.

He also said that a Greyhound bus would be along any minute, bound for Albuquerque, about 175 miles away. I parked the truck, purchased a bus ticket, grabbed my bag, and asked the attendant for one last favor. He agreed to call my family and let them know what had happened. This was before everyone had a cell phone and I didn’t have change for the pay phone outside the service station.

About 12;30 a.m. Thursday morning, the bus arrived in Albuquerque and my wife was waiting for me at the bus station. I was exhausted and worried about leaving my new truck so far away. But I was glad it was Thanksgiving and at least I had made it home safely.

That Friday around noon, the dealer in Albuquerque called and said that the truck had been towed there. Several hours later, the service department at the dealer called and said we could come get the pickup.

When we got there, I found out what the problem was. Apparently, I had picked up some gasoline that contained dirt in Texas, and the $13 tiny plastic fuel filter distributing gas flow to the engine had become clogged, resulting in the stalling and sputtering. The fuel filter and the labor to replace it was under warranty, but I had to pay the towing bill, which ended up costing me $225.

To this day, I’ve never forgotten this Thanksgiving “adventure” that ended up having a happy ending. <

Andy Young: A Good Start

By Andy Young

What am I grateful for this Thanksgiving?

Well, for openers, getting 600 published words a week to use as I please.

Dudley Do-right and Nell
COURTESY PHOTO

Also, for quality time with my children, a roof over my head, and tap water that’s safe to drink.

And for…

Friends and family who appreciate me for who I am, and don’t resent me for what I’m not.

Nice neighbors, scenic overlooks, and getting unexpected packages in the mail.

Pond hockey, beets done right, and oatmeal raisin cookies.

Waking up every morning, being able to walk unaided, and living in a place that’s currently free of toxic fumes, malaria outbreaks and terrorists.

Walking through the woods during a snowstorm, watching heavy rain from underneath a porch roof and finding enough room along the curb to successfully parallel park.

Yard sales. Farmers markets. Used book stores (as opposed to used bookstores).

Composting. Summer breezes. Fresh cherry tomatoes.

Electricity. Cloth shopping bags. Prosthetic hips.

Vegetable lo mein. Bike rides. Reconnecting with childhood pals.

My children’s teachers. Books on tape. Quiet lawn mowers.

Bugs Bunny. Dudley Do-right. George of the Jungle.

Elmer Fudd. Yosemite Sam. Boris Badenov.

Sunrises. Smiles from strangers. Applesauce bran muffins with raisins and walnuts.

Shooting the moon on the last hand to win a game of Hearts.

Fortune cookies. Walking to the library. Sunsets.

Old friends. Young friends. Friends I haven’t met yet.

A job I love. Students with unlimited potential. Supportive administrators.

Many great colleagues who are younger than I am. Several terrific colleagues who are my age. Both colleagues who are older than I am.

Generic cereals. Orange juice. Bananas that aren’t green anymore, but don’t have any spots on them yet.

YouTube. Wikipedia. Phones that identify unwanted solicitations as “Spam Risk.”

Butte, Montana. Fairbanks, Alaska. Easton, Connecticut.

People who say “thank you.” People who open doors for others. People who pick up trash that wasn’t theirs.

Human bank tellers, human grocery store cashiers, and human phone answerers.

Sharing a border with New Hampshire, Quebec, and New Brunswick, but not with Florida.

Morningstar Farms vegetarian meatballs. Red peppers. Crisp Cortland apples.

St. Johns, Newfoundland. Schnecksville, Pennsylvania. Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

My children’s teachers. Comfy Sneakers. Maine’s paucity of rattlesnakes, scorpions, and fire ants.

Preservative-free cider. Real mashed potatoes. Apple pie.

A life totally free of tobacco, alcohol, caffeine, and social media.

Being less than a day’s drive from New York, Boston, and Montreal.

One of our two U.S. Senators, although in the spirit of nonpartisanship I won’t mention which one he is.

Remembering what it was like to score a goal, block a layup, and catch a touchdown pass.

Dreaming about my parents and my grandparents.

Dreaming about hitting a home run.

Dreaming about finding a Canadian quarter while walking a North Carolina beach with Oprah Winfrey, an old baseball teammate, a girl I liked in high school, and two kids who lived next door to my cousins when we were kids.

Heat pumps. Windmills. Solar panels.

The quilt my grandmother made for me. The pillows my mom made for me. My grandfather’s key ring screwdriver.

Dave Chappelle. Steve Martin. Chris Rock.

Dolly Parton. John Denver. Tina Turner.

Books written by David Halberstam. Commentaries written by Leonard Pitts. Anything written by Carl Hiaasen.

Dried apricots. Almonds. Blueberries.

Smoke-free public spaces. Pre-1973 baseball cards. Ravenous, mosquito-consuming bats.

Cribbage. Gratitude journals. Being the first to figure out it was Miss Scarlett with the candlestick in the conservatory.

But what I’m most grateful for is discovering yet again that when it comes to taking stock of my many blessings, 600 words still aren’t even close to being enough. <

Insight: A Thanksgiving memory to treasure and remember

By Ed Pierce
Managing Editor

In August 2021, I was asked by an elderly friend, Dave Twomey, if I could find out more about his uncle’s involvement in World War II. He had heard snippets of that life as a child, but after decades lost to the ages, his uncle’s story had been mostly relegated to the annals of history.

Dave Twomey's uncle George Edmond Tourigny served in
the U.S. Merchant Marines aboard the Deer Lodge ship in
1942. The vessel was damaged twice by bombs while making
runs delivering supplies and weapons to Murmansk, Russia.
COURTESY PHOTO 

Twomey had lived upstairs from his uncle, former U.S. Merchant Marine George Edmond Tourigny, in Massachusetts in the early days of World War II. His uncle had long since passed away, and Twomey had tried unsuccessfully over the years to learn more about him to share with his family. When he found out I was a journalist, he asked me if I could help him shed light on a forgotten chapter of history as his way of thanking his uncle for his service to America.

As a child, all Dave really knew about his uncle was that he was part of what he thought was something called the "Mermaid's Run."   

I wasn’t sure what I could do, but I liked Dave and knowing his health struggles were mounting, I agreed to see what I could uncover and maybe write a story about his uncle. When I had free time, I researched every available resource at my disposal, including U.S. Merchant Marine records and the Library of Congress, and kept Dave informed about facts I had discovered or where I would look next.

Slowly, I was able to piece together a remarkable tale of courage and not one I was very familiar with.

Tourigny was 24 and working as a lineman for the Gardner Electric Light Company in Massachusetts when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, leading to America’s entry into World War II. He visited the U.S. Navy Recruiting Station in Gardner to enlist, but the office was swamped with applicants, and he was advised that the U.S. Merchant Marines were in dire need of immediate volunteers.

He knew he could be sent to sea, which is what he wanted, so Tourigny then enlisted in the Merchant Marines and was sent to basic training at Sheepshead Bay, New York. After rudimentary training, he was assigned to a commercial vessel called Deer Lodge bound for Iceland. The ship was to be part of a convoy of commercial and hastily manufactured “Liberty” vessels transporting tons of vital military supplies for the Allies’ war effort in Europe.

Even though Merchant Marine jobs were classified as “non-military” in nature, it turned out to be the most dangerous and perilous service for Americans during World War II. Merchant Marine convoys and ships were often unarmed commercial vessels sailing without military escort and highly vulnerable to German U-boat and aircraft attacks. One in 26 U.S. Merchant Marine seamen died in these attacks, making it the highest fatality rate of any wartime duty for Americans.

Arriving in Iceland in May 1942, Tourigny’s Deer Lodge cargo ship became part of a convoy known as “The Murmansk Run” bound for the Port of Murmansk in Russia. Two days out of Iceland on May 18, 1942, an enemy aircraft’s bombs severely damaged the vessel and the Deer Lodge limped back to port in Iceland for repairs.

After being determined seaworthy, the Deer Lodge set out again for Murmansk as part of an 11-ship convoy. It made it through to Murmansk, but on the return voyage on May 27, 1942, another enemy aircraft strafed the Deer Lodge ship and dropped a bomb that exploded and burned seven of the vessel’s 17 crewmen before the ship somehow made it back to Iceland.

In July 1942, Tourigny was reassigned to another freighter, the Olapana, as a deck hand. While sailing to Murmansk carrying fuel and tanks, the Olapana was shelled and then torpedoed, and sank. Tourigny spent 61 hours among other crew survivors in a freezing lifeboat before rescue, and five of his fellow crew members died.

His next duty in the Merchant Marines came aboard a freighter called the John HB Latrobe that made six successful runs back and forth to Murmansk before being shelled and damaged in November 1942. Once again Tourigny survived the attack, but two of his shipmates were killed.

While home on leave for Christmas, Tourigny received notice that he had been drafted and was to report in January 1943 to Newport, Rhode Island for U.S. Navy boot camp. He entered Officer Candidate School, eventually rising to the rank of U.S. Navy Lieutenant.

After the war, Tourigny rarely spoke about his military service to anyone and years later, nobody in the family knew of his ordeals and heroism. I completed the article the day before Thanksgiving, and it was published in newspapers in Maine and Massachusetts in early December.

Dave was thrilled that I had discovered his uncle’s story and wanted to pay me for my efforts, but I told him that I did it for him simply out of friendship.

This spring I was notified that Dave Twomey had passed away, but before his death, he had called me to say he was grateful for my research about his uncle.

I never know where a story will lead and this one confirmed for me the true meaning of Thanksgiving and how lucky we are for those who sacrifice to defend our freedom.<

Insight: A Thanksgiving not to be forgotten

By Ed Pierce

Managing Editor

It came upon me without much fanfare as a small backache over Thanksgiving weekend in 1998, but it left an indelible impression on my life and I’m thankful to still be here to relate the story.

I was covering youth football playoffs for the newspaper and standing on the sidelines taking notes when I felt a dull pain in my back that grew more pronounced as the day wore on. By that evening I felt nauseous and weak and went to the Emergency Room to see what was wrong.

That started a chain reaction of being examined, poked, prodded, and tested by four different physicians over the course of the next month as my symptoms grew worse. One of the doctors then arranged for me to have an x-ray of my chest.

Results showed a spot on my lung and I was referred to a surgeon, who set me up with a CAT scan the next morning and made an appointment for me to review that test at 9 p.m. in his office the same day. The surgeon didn’t waste any time and in my weakened condition, I liked his aggressive approach.

In looking over the CAT scan, he told me that he couldn’t be sure without surgery, but he felt I might have lymphoma, a type of cancer, and that it could go two ways, treatable or not-treatable. He told me if it was the treatable kind, I was in good hands and he could pull me through.

It was exactly what I needed to hear at that time and was a small measure of hope. The surgeon was cocky and arrogant, but I felt if anyone could help me feel better, it was this guy. I mean what other doctors have office hours at 9 p.m., right?

I went in to the hospital on the day after Christmas and the surgeon performed exploratory surgery, took tissue samples and sent them to the lab for an exact diagnosis.

After almost a week in the hospital and my mother keeping vigil at my side, the surgeon walked into my room and told me he had good news and bad news for me. I asked for the bad news first and he said that on the first day after the exploratory surgery, he had told my mother that the type of cancer I was suffering from would take my life in less than 90 days.

Stunned at hearing that news, I meekly asked him what the good news was. He told me that just to be safe, he got a second opinion and sent my lab results and findings to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. They disagreed with the local findings and believed that with a regimen of six months of chemotherapy and follow-up surgery to then remove any residual vestiges of my cancer, I could expect to continue to lead a normal life.

The chemo treatments were utterly awful. I lost all my hair which fell out and within a few months had dropped from 171 pounds to 100 pounds. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink anything and was in bed by 5 p.m. every night. Everything tasted like ballpoint pen ink to me. I had trouble standing and walking and could barely make it from the car in the driveway into the house after numerous doctor visits and checkups.

When the chemo treatments ended it was summer and slowly my appetite returned and I was able to build up enough endurance to walk to the mailbox at the end of the driveway and then to walk on the sidewalk a couple of houses away and back again and then eventually walk around the entire block.

But another CAT scan showed a spot of residual cancer on my left adrenal gland. Within a week I was having that adrenal gland removed in the hospital before it spread to my kidney.

Two more surgeries followed that, but by the time Thanksgiving rolled around in 1999, I was back to reporting for the newspaper and much more cognizant about cancer and treatment for it. Within two years, I was told I was totally cancer-free.

I’ve gone on to become an editor and lead a number of newspapers and was married to a wonderful first-grade teacher in 2005.

But each Thanksgiving I pause, give thanks for my life, and recall how lucky I am to have lived through that. I’m proof that modern medicine truly is amazing, and that a cancer diagnosis isn’t the end of the world. <           

Andy Young: What is there to be thankful for in 2020? Plenty!

By Andy Young

Special to The Windham Eagle

By any reckoning, 2020 has been a terribly trying year. But Thanksgiving isn’t for reflecting on life’s imperfections; it’s for consciously acknowledging what we’re truly thankful for. I try to keep that in mind when listing the multiple factors, tangible and abstract, that I truly appreciate not just this week, but every day of the year. Pandemic-related travel restrictions altered our large extended family’s traditional Thanksgiving Day dinner this year, but the fact we were able to hold it electronically is yet another blessing to count.

I’m thankful for having a loving and healthy family, a meaningful job I truly like, and being allotted 600 words with which I can publicly express my gratitude.

I’m thankful for my car that gets 55 miles per gallon, for reduced-sodium vegetable juice, and for my son’s cooking.

I’m thankful for memories of past Thanksgivings at my grandparents’ house, which included visits with Chief Squanto (my peace-pipe-smoking, blanket-clad grandfather); turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberries, pearled onions, plus my mom’s apple pie for dessert; watching some team beat the Detroit Lions; and turkey soup and sandwiches that night. I’m also grateful for parents who didn’t make us eat those nasty turnips Uncle Eddie insisted on having every year.

I’m thankful for the three-person interviewing team at Kennebunk High School who, individually and collectively, took a chance on a 44-year-old novice English teacher who applied for a job there nineteen years ago.

I’m thankful for dried apricots, stewed tomatoes, and anything written by David Halberstam or Carl Hiaasen.

I’m thankful for my house that’s warm in the winter, but cool in the summer. 

I’m thankful I live where I’ll never step on a fire ant or a poisonous snake while walking barefoot. I’m also thankful for having the good sense not to walk barefoot outside!

I’m thankful for all the wordless smiles I’ve shared with people I’ve never seen before, and likely won’t ever see again. 

I’m thankful for neighbors I can talk and laugh with, used bookstores (as opposed to used bookstores; who wants to buy an old store?), and fresh spinach. 

I’m thankful for every word of encouragement I’ve ever gotten from friends, colleagues, or total strangers.

I’m thankful every time I hear someone, but particularly a young person, say “please” or “thank you.”

I’m thankful for my children’s past, current, and future great teachers.

I’m thankful for students who stop by after school not to angle for a higher grade, but because they truly want to improve their literacy skills.

I’m thankful for cold milk, bike rides, and curbside recycling.

I’m thankful for individuals who sincerely enjoy my attempts at humor, even on those rare occasions when I’m not really all that funny.

I’m thankful for friends and relatives who write, call, e-mail, or invite me to dinner every so often just because.

I’m thankful for having a sister who found the ruins of the long-lost baseball quilt our grandmother hand-made for me over five decades ago, quietly had it reconditioned, and presented it to me years after I had thought it was gone forever.

I’m thankful for having a brother whose phone calls never come at inconvenient moments, even though he lives 12 time zones away.

I’m thankful for garden-fresh cherry tomatoes, raw almonds, and You Tube videos of the Smothers Brothers.

I’m thankful I still have the copy of Go Dog Go that says “Merry Christmas, 1963” in my mom’s handwriting inside the front cover.

But I’m most thankful for learning while constructing this essay that when it comes to counting my blessings, 600 words aren’t even close to being enough. <

Insight: “Thanking” outside the box

By Lorraine Glowczak

This is an early week for the newspaper, arriving in your mailboxes on Wednesday - just in time before we celebrate the day of thanks. Tomorrow most of us will be sitting around the table enjoying the usual turkey fixings with friends and family; taking the opportunity to share our gratitude toward our loved ones – and for life itself.

Now that the holidays are about to go into high gear with decorating, shopping, family gatherings and holiday parties, we might begin to feel overwhelmed - so much so that we will forget the gratefulness we felt at Thanksgiving.

But we should not despair if we neglect appreciation during these stressful moments as we try to create the “perfect” season of merriness. You – and I - certainly do not need to add guilt to the package that comes with the holiday busyness.

We all know the benefits that come with feeling grateful; benefits such as improving physical and mental health, reducing aggression, enhancing empathy and improving self-esteem. But there seems to be more. I recently learned two things about gratitude. First – more is not necessarily better. 

According to Psychologist, Dr. Amy Gordan, “people who tracked their gratitude once per week were happier after six weeks, whereas those who wrote and tracked their gratitude three times per week were not.”

Secondly, I discovered that if one consistently expresses or feels gratitude on a weekly basis, it changes the chemistry of the brain – and the benefits can last over time.

In an article entitled, “How gratitude changes you and your brain” written by Psychology Professors, Dr. Joel Wong and Dr. Joshua Brown, research indicates that gratitude can train the brain and be long lasting. Wong and Brown tested nearly 300 adults, mostly college students who were seeking mental health counseling at a university and discovered the following:

 “When we compared those who wrote the gratitude letters with those who didn’t, the gratitude letter writers showed greater activation in the medial prefrontal cortex when they experienced gratitude in the fMRI scanner. This is striking as this effect was found three months after the letter writing began. This indicates that simply expressing gratitude may have lasting effects on the brain. While not conclusive, this finding suggests that practicing gratitude may help train the brain to be more sensitive to the experience of gratitude down the line, and this could contribute to improved mental health over time.”

So, if you miss a whole week and the grateful feelings escape you, no need to panic. Scientific findings indicate that the attitude of gratitude is long lasting and will carry you through the rough holiday spots.

And speaking about those rough spots. I’d like to “thank” outside the box and remember those who may be experiencing the holidays without a loved one or are facing some form of hardship. If this is the case for you, I promise not to tell you to “count your blessings” as I wish to respect your grief.

So, whether you are in a “full throttle ahead” holiday spirit and the stress causes you to forget to be thankful or if grief is your journey this year, remember that studies indicate that past spoken gratitude will carry you for a while. And for that, I am grateful.

Insight: The science of gratitude

By Lorraine Glowczak

Snow turns the world into one huge outdoor adventure for my dog, Zarah. She prances, runs, eats it and sticks her nose as far into the snow as she can. The fact that she is unable to speak my language, her joyful play makes it obvious how grateful and happy she is.

A happy dog in snow

The snow this past Friday was no different, but I noticed something that I hadn’t observed before. Once the newness of the snow wore off, Zarah let the beagle in her take over and began sniffing out the voles that make their home under the snow. At one point, her nose and head were buried so deep in the snow, intent on catching her prey that she missed an easy catch as a vole popped up from the white ground behind her and ran in a hopping manner toward the woods.

Smiling, I remember the times I was so intent on reaching for a goal that I missed what was right before me. They say feeling grateful helps to correct narrow vision, at least that is what Annette Bridges suggests in this week’s quote, “Gratitude helps us to see what is there instead of what isn’t.”

Thanksgiving reminds us to be grateful for those things we have, and in doing so, it helps us see those things we often miss throughout the year. There is some evidence that being thankful on a daily basis contributes to psychological health and makes us more joyful.

Before I continue, I think it is important to recognize that the holidays can be a time of sadness and anxiety for some who grieve what is not there (family, friends, etc.) The absence of these things cannot and should not be easily dismissed nor the feelings associated with those absences. If this is the case for you, may there be some peace in your heart as you go through this holiday season.

But, for the typical, everyday experience, Harvard Health online states, “Gratitude is strongly and consistently associated with greater happiness. Gratitude helps people feel more positive emotions, relish good experiences, improve their health, deal with adversity, and build strong relationships.”

A Science Daily article concurs with the above findings. “Numerous studies show that expressing and experiencing gratitude increases life satisfaction, vitality, hope, and optimism. It contributes to decreased levels of depression, anxiety, envy, and job-related stress and burnout. Perhaps most intriguing is that people who experience and express gratitude have reported fewer symptoms of physical illness, more exercise, and better quality of sleep.”

But if you are still not convinced that being thankful plays a role in a more joyful life, you can perform your own study. You don’t have to be a traditionally trained scientist to discover if these findings are true for you. Test it out. Try gratitude for a certain amount of time and – see what happens.

Now, back to the gratitude experienced by my dog last week. I’m curious how grateful she might be about the snow if she had to shovel the sidewalk.

From our home to yours…..Happy Thanksgiving.

Insight: Thanks for giving

Lorraine Glowczak

It’s hard to believe that when everyone receives next week’s edition of The Windham Eagle (arriving early in your mailboxes on Wednesday), preparations will be underway for Thanksgiving Day celebrations. I, for one, am astonished that most of us will be carving a turkey in less than a week - which will then open the doors to countless holiday parties and invitations.

As the excitement and holiday flurry begin, so will the increased invitation to help others who are facing hardships in various ways. This is an inspiring time of the year and the action to serve others falls under the true meaning of the season. But many among us have pointed out that we slide back into our old and comfortable ways after the tinsel, candles and lights are packed away for another year - foregoing the spirit of giving after the holidays are long gone.

Although there is truth in that statement – it’s been my observation that the spirit of giving continues in the Windham and Raymond communities beyond the holidays. I am lucky that I get to see these actions more frequently since many amazing stories land before me in my role as a writer and editor. As a result, I have the advantage to witness these good deeds more than the average person. I am often humbled by how this community digs deep, rolls up their sleeves to serve in ways that are needed and appreciated.

It is true that we are far from being the perfect community as we face many challenges – but that should not take away from the reality of our endeavors that create positive change and a better life for others. Here is a list of just a few examples this community provides for each other throughout the year:

*Weekly free Monday Meals provided by the collaborative efforts of area churches for all members in the Lakes Region.

*Local school efforts to help those in need such at Windham High School’s annual Powerserve in May.

*Raymond’s Age Friendly initiative that serves the older generation and fosters intergenerational community with intention of creating safe places for all.

*Various and almost weekly fundraising efforts by individuals, organizations and businesses that help victims of cancer, accidents, fires and more.

*The Windham and Raymond Food pantry and the organic, fresh vegetables given to them by local farmers and gardeners.

*This list could go on and on, but I only have limited space in which to share with you the many, many ways in which this community freely gives.

So, I’ve decided this Thanksgiving, when it comes time for me to express my gratitude, the one thing that I’ll be most grateful for is that I am part of an exceptional community that gives every day, keeping the spirit of the holidays going all year round.

Quote of the week

Insight: Ways to be grateful when you don’t feel like it by Lorraine Glowczak

Ready or not, the Holiday Season is upon us. As for me, I am ready for the most part. It is fairly easy for me to be ready since my family in Maine consists of my husband and a dog. 
 

Although we may not be a typical American household and we won’t be sitting around the table with our larger, extended families who live in the Midwest, the three of us are doing good. We are healthy, well-fed, live in a warm home and have many caring and loving friends. We feel grateful, joyful and content. However, this is not always the case for all of us during the holidays.

The celebrations. The bright lights. The carols of good tidings and great joy. The ideal “Norman Rockwell” family gathering can all be overwhelming. The perfection expected of the holiday experience can come crashing down on us and the feeling of gratitude is difficult to muster. In fact, some might have difficulty coughing up a sincere “thank you” no matter how hard they tried.

First - for those of you who have lost someone special, I want to take a moment and recognize your grief. My wish for you is that the pain you may experience will lift sooner rather than later.

For those who may be experiencing challenging circumstance or whose families are either miles away or estranged, being grateful during a time of celebration and thanksgiving can be difficult. 

As a result, I have researched some ways in which we can reach deep into our pockets and pull out a “thank you” when it is not easy to do so. Here are some ways I found that may be helpful, if not to utter the words of gratitude but perhaps shift the feeling of such:

·         The first suggestion I came across was, “stop focusing on the negative and stop complaining for 21 days.” According to psychologist, it takes 21 days to learn a new habit, retraining the brain and the way you approach and view things in the world. I have never tried the 21-day challenge – so I don’t know if it will work. But it wouldn’t hurt to try it if you’re up for it.

·         Upon waking or just prior to going to sleep, think of just one thing you appreciate in your life. During an especially difficult time in my own life, I did this. Some days, the only thank you I could muster was, “I’m thankful for this warm coffee.” It worked for me. Although the difficult circumstance remained for a while, my sadness actually started shifting and I felt better.

·         Being okay with your “non-traditional” life. Most of us don’t live that Norman Rockwell family and existence. Whether you are a single parent, live alone or must dance to a weird family dynamic – remember that you are not alone. In fact, I suspect there are more people like you than you think.

·         If you don’t have family, create a “fremily” (friends who are family). I have hosted these gatherings and thoroughly enjoyed the best of both worlds. In fact, at one fremily get-together, I invited one of my husband’s co-workers who was alone for Thanksgiving. We didn’t know each other that well but enjoyed each other’s company so much that a year later, we travelled to Italy together.

·         My all-time favorite suggestion came from a Real Simple magazine article. It recommended, “For Pete’s sake, stay off Pinterest.” It’s true. Not only for Pinterest but Facebook and other social media connections. These sites give the impression that others live the perfect, happy life with friends galore – most of which does not reflect, with honesty, their personal reality. Don’t compare your life with others’, sometimes misleading, presentations

I hope this small list is helpful in some way as we dive into the holiday season. If not, well, I wish you luck anyway. In little over a month it will be a new year with new possibilities of change ahead. Maybe that’s something to be thankful for.

Insight - Giving Thanks - By Michelle Libby

There are times when the whole country pauses to give thanks for all we have. We give thanks for our family, friends and co-workers. We give thanks for our health and happiness. Even if we are discouraged or depressed, we can find something to be thankful for. 

This year go out of your way to find things to be thankful for. The Windham Food Pantry, St. Ann’s Essentials Pantry, Pineland Farms for their cheese curds, and parents who go out of their way to help you succeed. These are all things we can be thankful for. 

With Thanksgiving coming, we try to focus on these things. Sometimes that’s what it takes, focus. It’s easy to complain about a test grade, a long work day, or a backstabbing ex-friend. Recently, I was reading a magazine article about a gratitude journal. They’ve been mainstream since Oprah introduced them years ago. I did one back then, it was hard not to duplicate things I was grateful for. The first week was easy. I named everyone in my family, good attitudes, work jobs, then it got harder. “I’m thankful for indoor plumbing.” (I’m not sure that’s what Oprah had in mind, but if you’ve been camping…you know what I mean.)

What can you be grateful for this year? I challenge everyone to find a place to jot down things you’re grateful for - things that make you happy and content with your life. Even if you feel that you were given the raw end of the stick, there should be something you’re thankful for like shoes, a hat, people who are willing to share what they have. Each day write down three things. Keep the list going until Thanksgiving. Then on Thanksgiving, go back through what you have written. You don’t have to share what you wrote unless you want to. 

With that much positive energy, it can’t help but creep into other parts of your life. What if you smiled at the veteran at Hannaford or held the door for a woman loaded with packages at the town hall? Create gratitude and pass that good feeling on to your fellow man.