I am not much interested in Donald  Trump’s tweets – our new President has a Pavlovian genius for making his political opponents jump up and bark when he wishes to distract them and gain attention. I have better things to do than Tweet, maybe the reporters will once again leave their studios and go out and talk to people.

The President-elect has as much right to shoot off his mouth as I do, it is not for me to tell him what to Tweet or not to Tweet. I am grateful that I spend almost no time on Twitter, it sounds like a nightmare to hang out there, raging mobs of the righteous and angry and politically correct.

A new poll finds that most Americans – 59  per cent – think Trump should shut down his Twitter account.

Gracious Acceptance reminds us not to tinker with another person’s way of life, or give them unwanted advice. I am taking a break from worrying about Donald Trump. I’d rather see impulsive billionaires tweeting than running loose in the streets. At least we know where he is, and he has the right to as much freedom as I have.

I’m hoping that all of us have better things to worry about.

My choice instead this week is Gratitude Week. I am focusing on the things I love and I want to be conscious of them and grateful for them, that is what I am trying to salvage from this cannibalized holiday, more now about electronic  bargains than appreciation for what sustains us.

I am not into the faux bargain shopping we call Black Friday, Corporate America’s successful takeover and exploitation of the Thanksgiving Day holiday. And I am grateful for my Iphone.

I am living in the Post-Argument Bedlam Farm realm, I am not fretting about the end of the world, or democracy as we know it, I am not looking to replay or re-argue the election, or wring my hands about the future.

I am also not celebrating the Pilgrims, I think they were, in some ways an incomplete myth. The more I learn of them, the less inclined I am to celebrate their holiday.

For one thing, Black Friday to me is the desecration of the Pilgrim idea, their very worst nightmare. it is now a Bacchanalian Feast of Greed and Hype. It is not a fitting remembrance of a simple feast of survival.

As with the election, Thanksgiving is a celebration for some people, a black cloud for others. The Native-Americans see the arrival of the Pilgrims as the beginning of their own continuing Holocaust. It may be time for a new kind of American holiday.

I realized late in life that while public education in America was a wondrous public experiment, it was also a kind of massive propaganda machine, the real history of the country is always coming out in drips and drabs, and like life itself, it is not always pretty.

The Pilgrims were a hard-working, brave,  devout, joyless, cruel and intolerant people. They came her looking for religious freedom and instantly set about taking freedom away from everyone else. They were grim and intolerant, horrific to the Indians they supposedly were grateful to, and prone to witch hunts and persecutions.

America has never been a happy place for all, only for some. We are just beginning to understand that.

It is said that the Pilgrims did not  leave us one great piece of art, or one memorable book, or one compassionate act. They considered art and books and poems and genuine freedom  the cultural spawns of Hell.

My choices are to abandon this outdated holiday, join the mobs heading for the Apple Store and Best Buy or Amazon, or re-invent the day for me, since it is a day off from work.

Maria and I are going to Vermont Thanksgiving Day,  to have dinner and spent one night in the Inn where we honeymoon that joyous day in 2010.

I am working on my Grateful List this week. I have rejected whining and complaint and self-pity and argument and nostalgia, cleaning out the poisons of the mind.

I am grateful for Maria, who has altered my destiny.I will write about them throughout the week, one or two at a time.

I give thanks for Maria, for her warmth, her great heart, her courage and profound creativity. She is the best and most genuine person I have ever known, and I give thanks for her almost every minute of every day. I cannot believe I am worthy of her, or my good fortune in meeting her in a desolate and remote place, where there is almost no one to meet.

She has changed the way I see the world, and in every way for the better. Our love does not fade, it grows and deepens, a fusion of two troubled souls who can help one another heal.

Every day with her is better than the day before, and every day we are together is a celebration and an affirmation of life and hope. Maria suggests to me that there is, in fact, a God of one kind or another, and he does care for me. I was preparing to die when I met Maria, I had given up on life and love and promise, I had given up on me.

I have all of the things I had given up on.

How’s that for a start?

I am grateful for my farm, too, it is my refuge and teacher and inspiration. Before I bought my first farm in 20013, I had never set foot on one, and I was stunned to find that farms are my grounding place, my natural home, the place where I belong and can live my life.

And I should say I am grateful for my country. It is going through a challenging, even schizophrenic time, painful and frightening to many people. It is a good country, with a good heart. It is the best idea for a country that I have seen. It is a work in progress.

I have faith in it, and there is no place I would rather be. If i can’t connect to the Pilgrim’s Thanksgiving, I can connect to mine. The great American experiment in democracy is before us, asking us yet again to commit ourselves to the idea of liberty for all. I’m in.

I am not a Summer Soldier, I will not run away or hide from it. I give thanks for it.

I’ll write more about that and the other things I am grateful for later in the week. I think it is going to be a meaningful holiday for me.