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Perhaps, with Thanksgiving in the air, it‘s as good a time as any to make a personal inventory of what we have to be thankful for, if anything. Maybe you‘d like to join me, sub stituting your minuses for mine, your pluses for mine. On second thought, I haven‘t really a single minus. Oh, there are a lot of little nuisances: arthritis in my foot; rambling bursitis in shoulders, knees and neck; dewlaps; a few less teeth than I‘d like. ‘But everybody has these things. If we didn‘t, we wouldn‘t appreciate how great it is when the pains clear up for a few days, or the fact that there‘s always plenty of good grub to mumble with those ancient molars. I do have some negative thankfuls. I‘m glad I am, by choice, not living in a city, with everything that entails in the line of human harassment: dirt, traffic, crowds, coldâ€" ness. Especially when I can, as right now, look out my window and see the yellow October sun blazing into the gaudy flamboyance of the maples, and a little further off, the blue of clean, unpolluted water, and know that if I stepâ€" ped outside, the air would be champagne, not cheap, scentâ€" ed wine. I‘m glad I don‘t have six children. Two of them almost brought the Old Lady and me to our knees, economically and emotionally. o o f I‘m grateful that I haven‘t got stuck into some job that I loathe, as so many men have. What could be more soulâ€" destroying than hating to go to work every morning? | _ 1 couldn‘t begin to list them in this space, but will touch on a few of the highlights. I‘m extremely grateful, even thqugh it should last only a few more years, that, despite the machinations of the oil companies and the stupidity and shortsightedness of our "leaders," I can still turn up the thermostat on a cold morning and know that I and mine will not shiver through the day. I‘m glad I‘m not sick, or feeble, or potâ€"bellied, or hamâ€" handed, or tightâ€"fisted, even though I am bowâ€"legged, forâ€" getful and sometimes, after a sharp exchange with my wife, have a ringing in my ears. Those are just a few of the negative thankfuls. They are vastly outweighed, to the point where it is no contest, by the positive thankfuls. â€" o S I am extremely thankful that I am not a young man, reâ€" cently married, mortgaged to the ears for life, in an effort to provide a roof and food for a family. _ _ â€" It‘s taken 30 years of slaving on the old plantation, toting many a barge and lifting many a bale, but I own my own house and don‘t owe anybody a nickel, and I‘m grateful. Another thing to be thankful for is the fatherly benevoâ€" lence of Pierre Trudeau and his gang (I use the word gang advisedly). They and their provincial and municipal henchâ€" men are content with separating me from only about half of every dollar I make, and there is no indication yet that they will shortly want an arm and a leg each year as adâ€" ditional tribute. Only a few toes and fingers. _ _ I‘m very thankful that I live in Canada. It‘s a magnifiâ€" cent country; a people who could be magnificent, but reâ€" fuse; and they don‘t throw you in jail for speaking disparagâ€" ingly of the gang in power. (They haven‘t got enough jails, and who would pay the rent? ) I‘m happy with my immediate family, though thousands wouldn‘t be. My son is a failure, in the ordinary middleâ€"class sense. He has never made more than $2,000 a year, has no home, except ours, and couldn‘t produce the proverbial pot. But he is working with ultraâ€"poor peasants in a South American country, trying to make a better life for them, eating their food, catching their diseases, and I‘m proud of him. My daughter, after adventures in the spbâ€"culture that make me shudder still, knocked them dead with her writing in a university course, got her degree, is in fourth year of a second degree in music, has had a baby, and is about to proâ€" duce a sister for Pokey, my grandbaby, who is a whipperâ€" dipper, like all grandbabies. Not bad for a rotten kid. My wife (careful now, Buster, watch it) is still a smashâ€" ing looking woman, though a granny, an excellent cook, great company. and is becoming virtually serene. She hasâ€" n‘t thrown anything at me for nearly two years, except a wet discloth or something like that. It used to be plates of food, telephones, Eaton‘s catalogue, you name it. She did, actually, throw my typewriter downstairs last year, when 1 made some mild remark about the bad temper she used to have, but she didn‘t throw it at me. That‘s progress. I like my job, working with kids, who are at least alive, not just going through the motions, like so many of their elders. My blood pressure is great, I don‘t wear glasses, my heart hasn‘t given me a bad knock, I‘m chipper as the average eightyâ€"yearâ€"old woman and I‘m already at work on the book I didn‘t get around to writing last summer, or the one before, or . .. _A have a few friends, whom I cherish, a few enemies, chiefly the town engineer, who does not cherish me, and a host of likeable contemporaries and acquaintances. _ _ It‘s just great to be alive, and I offer my sincere thanks to God or Whoever is responsible for it. How about you? Thanks but no thanks 2 Bill Smiley Waterioo Chronicle, Wedne: