Warm hands, soft rains and thanks

A few things to be thankful for, while

waiting for the yams to cool and the

Dallas Cowboy offense to heat up:

Turkey, 19 cents a pound.

Double reverses. Triple reverses.

Doubles entendres. Triple plays.

Pumpkins on the porch, long after Halloween is over.

Wide receivers who don’t wear gloves.

“Dad, I’m home!” yelled from some college kid.

Stores that don’t start Christmas too early.

Members of the military, who always work the holidays.

Bond. James Bond.

Berry. Halle Berry.

Touch football in the rain.

Tackle football in the snow.

The Chicago Bears’ new battle cry: “Wait till last year.”

Ribs, extra crispy.

S’mores, medium rare.

Tums.

The dog, sleeping on your feet like a big, hairy slipper.

Lake Tahoe in winter.

Lake Tahoe in summer.

The office pool, when the secretary who doesn’t follow football wins it all.

The snap of a ski binding.

The rifle-crack of a wood fire.

Early autumns. Late winters.

Short speeches. Tall drinks.

Radio stations that don’t begin playing Christmas songs midway through November.

Coaches who go for it on fourth down.

Underwear that stays under.

Cops who don’t mind being called cops.

Firefighters. Paramedics. Nurses.

Coaches who don’t whine about the refereeing.

Overtime (in any sport).

A mug of coffee, warm against the hand.

Back rubs. Front rubs. Foot rubs. Neck rubs.

The teachers you never forget.

The smell of a pipe.

The sound of rain against a window.

A good bookstore.

Lake Tahoe in spring.

Lake Tahoe in fall.

Hot dogs, with everything.

Bloody Marys, with a splash of hot sauce.

Bratwurst boiled in beer.

“Hey, Dad, come watch this play!” yelled from the other room.

Old tools with wooden handles.

Digital cameras.

Yard sales.

Shaq.

Any food you can properly eat with your hands (drumsticks, popcorn, baked beans, pie).

Books recommended by a friend.

Movies recommended by a friend.

Plastic soccer trophies, treated like gold.

Pumpkin soup.

“Somewhere Over the Rainbow” (the classic that will outlive all the rest).

The fact that Eminem doesn’t write children’s songs.

Playing catch with the boy.

Playing catch with the little girl.

Playing catch with just about anyone (even my buddy Eisen).

Reruns of “Taxi.”

Kathleen Turner saying, “You’re not too smart, are you? I like that in a man.”

William Hurt replying, “What else you like? Lazy? Ugly? Horny? I got ‘em all.”

Pancake breakfasts. Kiwanis lunches.

People who don’t always let the answering machine get it.

“Hey, Dad, dessert!” yelled from the kitchen.

My friend Irv.

My buddy Paul.

Rhymer, the funniest guy I know.

Ulf, a very close second.

A grandfather’s favorite stories, still filling the house.

Turkey skin, crisp as a potato chip.

The smell of a holiday pie.

This week’s great feast, and all the small comforts that go with it.

Happy Thanksgiving.

*

Chris Erskine’s column is published Wednesdays. He can be reached at chris.erskine@latimes.com.