I have spent so much time recently writing about how incredibly terrible everything is these days. Naturally, I’ve also shared the many methods I’ve developed to blissfully ignore all the terrible.

This Thanksgiving, though, I wanted to do something different: focus on what I am truly grateful for. I don’t mean in an ironic “numbing my brain to the rot” way, but in the most sincere spirit of understanding that there are people, places and pronunciations that make my life better. Remembering that keeps the truly horrible days at bay, at least enough to scurry to the next beam of light and keep going.

In no particular order, here’s who and what I’m giving gratitude for over my gravy.

The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade

For as long as I can remember, I’ve started my Turkey Day by getting up early, starting whatever dish I need to first and then turning on NBC’s annual over-the-top stroll through New York City. No matter who’s performing or hosting, there are reassuringly consistent features every year: the network stars cheerfully but obviously promoting their new series; the high school marching bands having a once-in-a-lifetime experience while the dancers try to pretend they aren’t freezing; performances from the Broadway shows I’ve never heard of; and the random pairing of lip-synching pop stars and floats. It’s random and delightful. Rock legends Chicago once performed “You’re The Inspiration” on a float sponsored by Wonder Bread. A toast to them! (Ha ha. I’ll move on.)

The Baltimore accent

I used to be mad at how outsiders make fun of the way we talk — the “hon” and “Aaron earned an iron urn” of it all. But since moving back to town five years ago, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Every flat vowel, every “d” where a “t” should be, is like a warm, delicious hug that smells like Old Bay.

My cat

Last year we adopted Cass, this sometimes persnickety older fancy feline with some extra fluff. It took her a while to warm up to us, but I assure you that I cannot imagine my life without her as my constant companion. She sits next to me on the couch as I write and reliably shows up at my bedroom door around 3 a.m. to remind me who’s in charge. She proves all of the arguments for having a pet: I’m less stressed and lonely when I’m with her, and I love knowing she’s going to be there when I come in the door. Though she doesn’t run to greet me. She’s a cat. They don’t do that.

All-you-can-eat crab night at Captain James Crabhouse

If you’ve ever driven past the corner of Boston and Aliceanna streets in Fells Point, you’ve seen Captain James Landing, the giant ship-shaped restaurant. Across the street is its waterfront sister, where Monday through Thursday from 4 p.m. to 9 p.m., you get all the steamed blue crabs you can crack for two hours, along with a bowl of Maryland crab soup and an ear of corn. If it’s nice out, you can sit on the deck and stare into the water, watching the boats and trying not to get crab seasoning in your paper cuts. A perfect Baltimore night.

My air fryer

As I continue my quest to eat more healthily, I’ve come to lean on my favorite kitchen appliance. You can just throw anything in there with a squirt of cooking spray, walk away and soon have something crispy to eat. Tofu. Brussels sprouts. Veggie burgers. Frozen fries. I’ve lost more than half the weight I gained in the last year, and I know my air fryer is in some way to thank. Would this stuff taste better deep-fried? Probably. But it’s almost as good, and better for you.

My kid and his goofy middle school friends

I don’t know what the heck they’re talking about most of the time, and you have to remind them to throw their pizza crusts and napkins in the trash cans that appear approximately every 50 feet in my home. But they bring so much joy, so much noise, so much dancing and Kendrick Lamar lyrics and Green Day jam sessions. They aren’t always going to be this much fun. I’m so glad I know them when they are.

Knowing how to parallel park

I spent a good bit of my adulthood living in homes with driveways or a designated space. We returned to Baltimore in 2020 and picked a home without those privileges, so I had to brush up on not only squeezing into tiny spaces with a line of cars waiting impatiently behind me, but also master back-in parking. I was so darn terrified of hitting somebody that for the first two weeks I would drive around the neighborhood looking for easier spots. Now I’m a whiz at it, proving that it’s never too late to master a new skill. (I also bought a car with a backup camera, so there’s that.)

All of you

I want you to know that I will never take for granted that anyone other than me and my mother care about my opinions about … anything, really. Sometimes I’ll get an email or a comment on a column that reminds me that so many of us share similar human experiences, and it makes me feel like my words are somehow reaching you. Even those of you who write me to tell me I’m wrong, that’s fair. At least you’re reading.