I remember all too well the food served in public schools back in the day. In high school, the main course offerings were, um, basic: “Lasagna” (perfect square, little piece of bread to go with it), Salisbury “steak”, Filet-o-”fish”, and yes, a perfectly rectangular piece of pizza. I also recall actual vegetables, like green beans and salad (nondescript iceberg lettuce with cherry tomatoes).

Time for more austerity!

And, of course, that economic panacea Texas – as asserted by Rick Perry – leads the way.

Almost every month, as the calendar winds down, I start getting calls in my office on the phone or in person from people who have more month than money. “Pastor, I’ve run out of money for food, and don’t get paid until the first of next month. I’ve got two kids, and need some help.” The specifics of the conversation vary, but the underlying substance does not.

Now, though, I’ve been hearing a different item tacked on at the end: “Pastor, you follow the news out of DC pretty well. Am I going to get my Social Security check next week?”

Making matters worse, DC seems hell-bent on budget cuts, right at the time the economy needs government spending more than ever. For the folks coming into my office lately, this is more than a mistake. It’s a disaster.

On how my father affected my food choices, cooking, and my relationship with eating. I think dads are largely ignored when it comes to the role that they have in terms of food. — And cheesecake.

The Copper River is under increasing pressure from every direction, but the number of fish caught annually there over the past 40 years has stayed remarkably close to the same from decade to decade. The first year I caught a salmon at the Copper River, was as a commercial gillnetter, in 1974. The most recent ones were on Thursday, as a personal use dipnetter.

Once Upon A Time, there was this organization in Los Angeles which wanted to promote kids’ growing organic gardens at their schools. Let us call this Organization A and it has people such as Rosario Dawson and Ed Begley Jr. working with it to promote this worthy cause. And because there is Organization A, there must, per force, be an Organization B, which is a company which produces fertilizers and compost products which are labeled as organic and which are described as “products you can trust.” A high level manager (and it would seem family member) of Organization B is on the Board of Directors of Organization A (you’re hearing the scary “Jaws” music too, right? Me, too.).

One in seven is a sad commentary on the state of life in one of the wealthiest nations on earth.

For me this year, I think I’ll skip the discussions of pilgrims and native Americans dining at Plymouth. I’m more caught up in the shift from Thanksgiving as a bunch of local harvest festivals to Thanksgiving as a national holiday — an act undertaken in the midst of the bloody battles of the Civil War. Indeed, on this day of thanksgiving in the midst of massive economic turmoil, I give thanks for those things which transcend haves/have nots or winners/losers, and bind us together in our shared humanity.

The fox isn’t guarding the henhouse anymore; corporate foxes have outsourced the hens, leased the henhouse in an interest rate swap to Dubai, collateralized the egg stream in a CDO with Singapore traders, and re-hired the egglayers into at-will employment.

There’s a lot to yammer about, from tasty food and eating bugs to whatever is bugging whoever.