My favorite meal is turkey and mashed potatoes. I love

Hear, O children of time, the joyful words of Cindy Margolis, who with simplicity yet with depth proclaimed: “My favorite meal is turkey and mashed potatoes. I love Thanksgiving, it’s just my favorite. I can have Thanksgiving all year round.” At first, one might think these words speak only of taste and appetite. But listen more deeply, and you will find they carry the fragrance of memory, of belonging, of the heart’s longing for gratitude unceasing. For in her love of the feast, she reveals the truth: that the spirit of Thanksgiving is not confined to a single day, nor bound by calendar or custom, but can be lived every day, in every season.

Mark the foods she names: turkey and mashed potatoes. To many, these are but dishes, but in the culture of her land they are more than sustenance—they are symbols. The turkey, roasted golden, is the centerpiece of the Thanksgiving table, a bird of abundance. The mashed potatoes, warm and comforting, are the companion of the feast, a symbol of home, of earth’s nourishment made tender. When she says these are her favorite, she is not merely speaking of flavor, but of memory, of warmth, of the bonds of family gathered around the table. Her words remind us that food carries stories, and to eat such a meal is to taste tradition itself.

Think on this: In ancient Israel, the people did not eat bread thoughtlessly. They blessed it, they broke it, they remembered. The bread was the story of their journey through wilderness, their covenant with God, their survival in desert places. So too, when Margolis speaks of Thanksgiving all year round, she is saying that one may remember the bonds of family, the spirit of gratitude, the joy of abundance—not once in November, but every day. The meal becomes a living symbol, an altar at which the soul gives thanks, whether in feast or in famine.

Consider a real story from history: during the Great Depression of the 1930s, many families in America had little to place on their tables. Some had only beans, bread, or broth. Yet even in those lean times, families gathered and gave thanks, sometimes pretending their meager meal was a Thanksgiving feast. What mattered was not the turkey, nor the potatoes, but the spirit: the unyielding gratitude that bound them together and gave them strength to endure. In their hearts, like in Margolis’s words, Thanksgiving could indeed be all year round.

This teaching is both simple and profound: gratitude is not seasonal. To confine it to one day is to starve the soul. True thanksgiving is a daily posture, a way of life. If you love the feast, then let every meal, no matter how small, become a feast of the heart. If you love the gathering, then seek to gather often with those you cherish. And if you love the spirit of the day, then carry it into every dawn and dusk, until your whole life becomes a song of gratitude.

O listeners, take this as your practice: when you eat your daily bread, pause and remember. When you gather with your family, speak thanks aloud. When you walk through the troubles of life, remember the feast and say, “I can have Thanksgiving all year round.” For gratitude is not in the table spread, but in the heart awakened. It transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary, the meal into a memory, the day into a blessing.

Thus, the lesson shines clear: live not as one who waits for a holiday to give thanks, but as one whose every breath is thanksgiving. Feast when you can, share when you are able, and rejoice always. For in doing so, you will discover what Margolis herself revealed: that the joy of Thanksgiving, rooted in love, family, and gratitude, is not fleeting but eternal—ever at your table, ever in your heart, all year round.