There are some recipes that are keepers and the above ingredients (port wine, figs and cranberries) make up the most complexly delicious Thanksgiving sauce that is definitely a keeper!  The port-soaked cranberries are even better the next day over ice cream- indescribably good!

But there’s an even better Thanksgiving recipe that lasts longer than what lingers on your tongue and in your belly.  Gratefulness and kindness are the main ingredients.  I love to regularly take mental notes on what I am grateful for, but I especially love to do this during Thanksgiving time.  It makes me feel rich, full of love for all that I have and happy for where life has taken me.

When I really think about it, it is actually the simple things that really fill me with bliss.  The cool autumn breeze on a cheerful, sunny Maui day (reminding me that there are seasons even if we don’t really see them); a bite of really good pumpkin pie (which I know how to make now that my Uncle Mervyn shared his pie making recipe with me and my mom bought me a Cusinart); a sweet, loving look from my husband and my children; and amazingly powerful small acts of kindness.

Recently and throughout the year, I’ve been surprised again and again with how many kind, caring people there are in my life who do things for me out of the goodness of their heart.  It may seem like a small thing to them, but the intention and loving energy behind it lasts even longer than the incredibly kind deed that they did for me.   Even if I thank them with words, I feel a deep well of emotional gratitude that is not actually expressed.  What happens for me is that I feel compelled to be kind to someone else who really needs it at that moment.  And I am again rewarded by seeing that I’ve eased someone elses pain or made someone smile.  Living in this cycle of gratitude and kindness is a way to set yourself up for unending happiness and love. Why anyone would want to live any other way?

The story below shows how a simple act of kindness can be life-altering and more meaningful than you might think.  It was sent to me by a friend so I don’t know the original author.

RED MARBLES
I was at the corner grocery store buying some
early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged
but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the
display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new
potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing
the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy
next to me.

‘Hello Barry, how are you today?’

‘H’lo , Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’
them peas. They sure look good.’

‘They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?’

‘Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.’

‘Good. Anything I can help you with?’

‘No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.’

‘Would you like to take some home?’ asked Mr.
Miller.

‘No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.’

‘Well, what have you to trade me for some of those
peas?’

‘All I got’s my prize marble here.’

‘Is that right? Let me see it’ said Miller..

‘Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.’

‘I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is
blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?’ the
store owner asked.

‘Not zackley but almost..’

‘Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with
you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble’.. Mr. Miller told
the boy.

‘Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.’

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came
over to help me. With a smile she said, ‘There are two other boys like him
in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves
to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come
back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like
red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green
marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.’

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with
this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the
story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the
previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that
Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.

They were having his visitation that evening and
knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at
the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to
offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was
in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and
white shirts…all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller,
standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket. Each of the young men
hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her, and moved on to
the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by
one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the
cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his
eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who
I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she
had told me about her husband’s bartering for marbles… With her eyes
glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

‘Those three young men who just left were the boys
I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim
‘traded’ them.. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color
or size……they came to pay their debt.’

‘We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of
this world,’ she confided, ‘but right now, Jim would consider himself the
richest man in Idaho.’

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless
fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely
shined red marbles.

The Moral: We will not be remembered by our words,
but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by
the moments that take our breath….
Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A
fresh pot of coffee you didn’t make yourself…An unexpected phone call from
an old friend…Green stoplights on your way to work….The fastest line at
the grocery store…A good sing-along song on the radio…Your keys found
right where you left them.

Your Sensible Girlfriend, Angeline

Oh, yeah, here’s the delectable Port wine, fig, cranberry sauce recipe.  This is something you can start being grateful for:

Cranberry Sauce with Port and Dried Figs Bon Appétit | November 2001

(photo by: Leo Gong)