Now that I look at it again, my Hillary T-shirt, the official brown one with the blue signature, doesn’t say anything about President. The name Hillary is scrawled on the front. On the back it says, “Make history!” That’s all.

I made sure I ordered one from the campaign last spring when things were not going Hillary’s way and she was expected to concede. I thought it would be a historic keepsake for my female descendants. But that T-shirt has a future. Even if Hillary Clinton didn’t get the job she spent two years going after, it looks like she’s getting a job that will make history happen somewhere in the world.

As secretary of state she’s going to be center stage in a changing world with new hot spots igniting seemingly every week. America will be in the middle of each one and so will America’s top diplomat. No doubt she’s got the chops for the job. “Able, tough and brilliant” is what David Axelrod, Obama’s strategy guy, said about her this week.

She already has great international contacts. She’s already respected in many parts of the globe, and liked - maybe even more than she is in some sectors of her own country.

The other good thing about Hillary being secretary of state is that she is always a story. Wherever she goes the media pack follows. Think how much we’re going to be learn about geo-politics just by following Hillary around the CNN map.

The press pounced when word got out that Obama wanted his former rival for the plum cabinet job. She still makes some - mostly male - pundits sputter in annoyance. But like her or not, Hillary was “it” again. Would she compete with Joe Biden for influence? Would her husband’s work get in her way? Could Obama trust her? How would they resolve their differences on going to war in Iraq? Was he giving her the job just to keep her out of the running in 2012? Does Hillary know how to be a team player?

That last one hardly seems fair. This is the person who in Denver said of Obama, “He is MY candidate. He MUST be our president.” With grace and passion, she reminded her followers that the election was about something much more than Hillary Clinton. And then she went on to help make sure Barack Obama won.

As a member of the Hillary generation I applaud her for re-inventing herself at 61.

Hillary has always managed to bust stereotypes. She didn’t bake cookies. And she’s probably never hanging up her Superwoman cape to go play golf.

During the campaign Hillary tried to not play the gender card, but others did. And others also played the too old-too late card. But now here she is, going to work for a young male boss who recognizes and values her energy, intellect and experience. And what a heavy job assignment. To go clean up our shattered image abroad. To try to get old and new enemies to sit down and talk before blowing each other up.

So, I can unpack my Hillary shirt. It goes well with the hat my daughter gave me for my birthday. The one that says Sisterhood of the Traveling Pantsuits for Obama. I wonder if Hillary has one.

I’m taking a new exercise class. A kind of Afro funk workout. We dance for 30 minutes and then we do 30 minutes of weights. Bones, body, brains – all on fire.
The dance part is a combination of slides and slithers to loud African drumming music and those who are new to it tend toward the improv more than the choreographed. I think we look strong and agile and lovely. But I am nearsighted and leave my glasses off at the gym so all I see in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors is a vaguely familiar form that thrills me with how well it shimmies, twists and sways to the delicious beat.

When we’re finished, Kris, our long, lean teacher with blonde hair pulled into an early morning ponytail urges us to yell out, “Yay, body.” I think of how many years the women in this room have spent worrying about physical inadequacies. Too much of this. Too little of that. And here we are celebrating our wonderful moving parts and putting body image aside.

My favorite form of exercise is still yoga but I love reviving my inner dancer, even at 7:30 in the morning, before coffee. I try to remind myself the rest of the day to be grateful for a body that can keep up. Now I’m teaching my two-year-old granddaughter to say “Yay Body.” You can’t start too early to love it.

Thank goodness for Thanksgiving’s timing. It’s perfect now that we’re officially in a recession. Thanksgiving is the ideal hard times holiday. No gifts are expected. The feasting is relatively low-cost. The food is traditionally simple. And even though it can be an over-eaters’ holiday, Thanksgiving can be good practice for the belt-tightening ahead.

You have your economical big bird centerpiece and some root vegetables. Nothing fancy is expected. There is no item on the menu that would break the bank, were there any banks left to break.

Thanksgiving is a holiday that suits commoners and budget-minded people who know that with a small outlay you can feed the family plus the in-laws and if, if you throw in a couple of extra yams, the neighbors, too.

It is a day to remember that our ancestors, the first American foodies, cooked what they could hunt down in the woods and find in the ground and were grateful. On Thanksgiving we also honor those who came later and discovered the casserole as a way to get the most from a little as long as you mix it with cheese.

On Thanksgiving we resist the trend to tiny foods on little plates with big prices. We stay home and cook big in the name of leftovers, so that Thursday’s turkey becomes Friday’s enchiladas and Saturday’s soup.

Thanksgiving is the ideal hard times holiday.

Thanksgiving asks only that its celebrants get together and share. All contributions to the table are welcome, including Aunt Julia and her jello salad with cream cheese.
Thanksgiving is a humble collection of peasant tastes. The bread we break together does not have to be artisan. The potatoes need only be boiled and mashed. There’s little exotic on the menu, although someone may slip in the special green beans that have been in the family since her grandmother discovered canned mushroom soup in a Ladies Home Journal recipe.

As for that irresistible indigestible menu item called gravy, what could be more of a hard times concoction than flour and water and meat scraps?

Beyond the eating and the talking, and maybe imbibing in a a jug or two of cheap wine, Thanksgiving demands no special entertainment. No karaoke, no tango dancers. Only the free and natural pleasures of TV football, maybe a little nap on the couch, a long walk before pie, perhaps some political give and take as long as the guests are of like mind and stay away from the knife drawer.

Thanksgiving, the least commercial of holidays, has always been a time to remember that true wealth, success and happiness are measured by family and friends. This year, more than ever, we need to keep telling ourselves that.

It is a sentimental time, a nostalgic time, a time to give thanks for what we have been given and are about to receive, and, holy-guacamole, let’s pray the pension fund holds and Obama hurries up with health care. Because this time next year we don’t want to be carving up the Spam.