To give thanks

It's Thanksgiving again - not that there is any sign of it here in Leeds: no children still out, relishing the prospect of a day off school, no television specials, no national shortage of brightly coloured construction paper - nor any flocks of paper turkeys, or inedible but lush paper cornucopias. I don't think my neighbours have given much thought to the pilgrims; there aren't many leaves scattered artistically about the streets - but when I was walking home from work tonight, I caught that smoky, earthy tang in the air and remembered - it's Thanksgiving!

Okay, that might have been mostly for dramatic effect. I might have remembered it before the poetic moment of the gloaming. Betraying my preparation, behind me in the kitchen, we have a most beautiful fore-rib of beef from the best butcher in Leeds - fresh from the farmers' market. Not to mention sprouts still on the stalk - potatoes roasting in the oven - huge flat mushrooms...It's not very traditional - but it'll do. Finding turkey in England anytime before Christmas is a chore anyway.

I'm reading about the Early Modern Period right now - a fantastic book by Julian Yates called Object Lessons from the English Renaissance. I'm thinking of it right now because it opens with a reflection on Derrida - "or was it Rabbi Hillel" - who says that the only true giving must be done in isolation, without announcement or acknowledgment. 'Thank you' or the reciprocated exchange we're so used to isn't real giving at all - it's just that: exchange. True giving must be an end - not a circle or a ripple or any other corny Hollywood plot engine. So what about giving thanks? What does that mean? - Aside from screwing up my face like a kid's - concentrating fiercely on somehow manifesting that source of all my happiness in order that I might present my thanks like so many heartfelt art-class projects.

I don't know the answer to this. But I like to think that there is something deliberate in the thanks given in homes all over Canada today. And maybe that is what I like about Thanksgiving - the only holiday named with a verb - and a gerund! It's lovely and continuous - everything about it resonates: why does everyone sit down for dinner? Thanksgiving! Why do we get a day extra of rest? Thanksgiving! Perhaps, in a genius bit of soft propaganda, whoever came up with it realised that if you say something enough - repeat it enough times - it can be true (a positive spin on it can become meaningless). The sheer number of times 'thanks' must be repeated on telly, and radio, in print and in conversation all building up to some grand and polyphonic grace.

So I give thanks alone and quietly and loudly and in company. Giving without acknowledgment is too cold and martyr-like for me. I'd rather the exchange - it feels messier and more real. And it's time for dinner.