Thanksgiving! A time of food, family, but most importantly thanksgiving. When the Pilgrims had the first feast, they really had some thanking to do. They had just met the Indians, who taught them how to farm and hunt. The Pilgrims had just been scraping by before the Indians came along. Now they had plenty of food to survive the winter and they were free to worship how they chose. The Pilgrims took the time to thank the magnificent God that had made all of this possible. We also have plenty to be thankful for, we just need to take the time out of our busy schedules and realize it.

Well, I have been doing pretty good. Basketball season has started, as most of you know, and I am greatly enjoying it. From my mom's blog ya'll know how the games have turned out so far, but I am mostly happy that I am having fun. We won't be having another game until December 9, so I am hoping that I can stay in shape. This will be hard especially with Thanksgiving coming right up, and with all of the good food that I know will be at my Aunt Gendy's house.

I am still working at Sonic, enjoying it more and more every weekend. I love the people I work with, and this makes it a lot more pleasant. I have stopped carhopping and I am mostly taking the orders. Having stopped carhopping, my pay has drastically decreased because of the tips I am no longer getting. I still make pretty good money without the tips so I do not know why I am complaining. Well, that is about all for me, hope everyone has a great Thanksgiving. Love, peace, and soul.

Isn't everyone a little afraid of death? Maybe some are just a little uncertain about death and life after death, but a poet named John Donne was not. John Donne was born in London in 1572 and wrote many poems during his lifetime. In the final few years of his life Donne became very obsessed with death and wrote many poems on it. He even preached his own funeral sermon a few weeks before his death in a work he titled "Death's Duel."Here is one of his famous poems:


This is a statue they have of him in London


Death Be Not Proud

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.