Editorial: Joy to the world – a thank-you column on Thanksgiving!

Here are a few classic thank-you’s just to get the gratitudinal juices flowing...|

“My mother thanks you; my father thanks you; my sister thanks you; and I thank you” – George M. Cohen, ever gracious on behalf of the family

‘Tis the season of thanking. We thank Mother Earth for her bounty; we thank family members at the holiday table; we thank god we have a Thursday off.

While we prepare to face the de rigueur Fourth Thursday of November questions as to what we’re thankful for, here are a few classic thank-you’s just to get the gratitudinal juices flowing:

Thanks from 238,900 miles away: In 1994, upon the 25th anniversary of the lunar landing, moon-man No. 1 Neil Armstrong wrote a thank you to the team that built his space suit – the all-important Apollo mission tool that kept his body from expanding to twice its normal size in the great beyond. “It’s true beauty was that it worked,” wrote Armstrong. “To all of you who made it all that it was. I send a quarter century’s worth of thanks and congratulations.”

Thanks from the Walrus: Best part of this one is that it’s got a Sonoma connection in Tommy Smothers. It seems that one night in 1974, John Lennon, already three sheets to the wind by 8 o’clock, was at the Troubadour in L.A. heckling a Smothers Brothers show. Inevitably, fisticuffs broke out which, also inevitably, featured L.A. tough gal Pam Grier. To whom Lennon wrote the following day, “Dear Pam, I apologize for being so rude, and thank you for not hitting me. P.S. Harry Nilsson feels the same.”

Thanks for keeping the dream alive: In Roald Dahl’s “The BFG,” the big, friendly giant possesses bottles containing dreams – a plot point one 7-year-old girl took to heart by sending the legendary British children’s author a bottle of dreams or, to the more world weary, a jar of colored water, oil and glitter. If there was any doubt to its authenticity, Dahl was having none of it: “Dear Amy, you are the first person in the world who has sent me one of these and it intrigued me very much. I also liked the dream. Tonight I shall go down to the village and blow it through the bedroom window of some sleeping child and see if it works. With love…”

While I’m not as fanciful as Dahl, poetic as Lennon or, well, as grateful as Armstrong – if that space suit was a dud, his “one giant leap for mankind” would have ended in a bloody splat on Mare Tranquilitatis – I’ve got a couple of thank you’s of my own to hand out.

To my coworkers: For kindly disguising your thoughts of contempt behind nods of condescending encouragement whenever I suggest something completely asinine. And for being thoroughly enjoyable to work with.

To our advertisers: Getting the word out about your business or nonprofit is essential in any hyperlocal-focused community – it’s a privilege for the Index-Tribune to be that vessel.

Finally, to the Sonoma community: For reading, writing letters, sending feedback and keeping the dialogue going. You’re an informed bunch, who keep us honest and on our toes (boy, do you). Without you, we’d be blowing our trumpets in a tuneless vacuum and, perhaps more to the point, we’d be out of a job. There’ll be plenty more to weigh in about in the coming new year as we barrel ahead toward a print redesign, a new look to sonomanews.com and more thought-provoking stories and features. Keep your keyboard fingers warm, folks – we want to hear from you.

Happy holidays, Sonoma.

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Post Script: Apparently, space scientists dispute the head-imploding, blood-boiling, instant-freezing hypotheses of what happens when your space suit rips beyond the Karman line. The consensus seems to be that, whatever ultimately happens, you’ll die from suffocation after about two minutes, like in any oxygen-less situation. That being said, 25 years for Armstrong to write a thank-you note about it seems a tad overdue.

Email Jason at jason.walsh@sonomanews.com.

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