BY JOE HUDSON

I was on the front porch when you drove by and I waved, having been chased all week by small joys, like the wonderful singing of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” at church on Sunday, the happiness at 7:30 a.m. of little children in a school bus on Davie Avenue, the euphoria of a baby given his milk bottle in the waiting room of my ophthalmologist, and lunch with a friend, a brother by another mother, as we reminisced about growing up on a farm. So many small blessings lately have put so much scoot in my boots that I want to boogie.

You’re reading this column by a guy of 72 who has lived what he’s about to tell you: Life is good, things work out, be thankful.

Alas, Millennial writers are disillusioned, Gen Xers are confused, and Gen Zs do not feel appreciated.

But not this Boomer (moi); I’m delighted because I have lived long enough to appreciate progress.

We live in an age of media-driven disgruntlement, which I ignore because now we have Thai takeout and dental whiteners. We have same-day delivery by a company named after the largest river in South America. There are more fragrances of soap than ever before. The options for toothpaste and shampoo are endless. I’m thankful for ATMs and for email that helps me keep in touch with my scattered family.

We have blood pressure medications, without which I’d probably be dead. Technology today lets you stream a Mozart sonata in your kitchen while you eat a first-rate BLT.

Electronic wristbands now count your steps. One day wristbands will tell you your joy-to-country-music ratio.

Suffering from anxiety, depression, fatigue? Just take a pill.

In olden days, your mother told you to take a deep breath and get over it. Sometimes that didn’t work so you took a long walk and because cell phones and GPS did not exist then, you didn’t know you’d walked into a rough part of town and when you asked a stranger for directions, they showed you their pistol and now you were lost, alone, and lighter by seventy-three bucks.

Surgery has improved by leaps and bounds. Some medical issues once called for you to be sawed in half; now it’s a snip here and a snip there with soft background music while you read a novel on your cell phone. Back in the day, surgical stitches resembled a large zipper on your body, which meant a career modeling two-piece bathing suits was out of the question. Now? No problem. The zipper is out. Snip is in.

And, thankfully for me, life expectancy has increased. Old is now new. People in their sixties and seventies can be immature and silly again. Like the old guy who walked into a bar, sat down next to a young woman, smiled, and said “So, tell me, do I come here often?”

And now it’s Thanksgiving, a time of profound gratitude centered around a meal. Let us give thanks for the small humble cranberry, the heart and salvation of a Thanksgiving dinner.

Cranberries? Don’t look so surprised.

Sure. You don’t want a holiday feast that distracts you from your blessings, so you serve roast turkey, a meat so unexciting that you normally eat it only once a year. Same with pumpkin pie. But cranberries bring color and zest to the table. They are the Clark Gable of fruits, the Michelangelo or the Frank Lloyd Wright of side dishes. Overcooked turkey is often saved by cranberry sauce that makes you want to stand and yodel.

So, be thankful for small blessings, my dears. In 1986, I came to Statesville alone and unknown, hoping to be lucky, and I was — a brilliant loving wife, three boys, two careers, and wonderful friends. Blessings abound, more than we imagine, and some blessings even chase us. Look around you; life is good. Be thankful and have a happy Thanksgiving.

Readers can write to Joe at Joehudsn@gmail.com and Facebook (View from the Hudson). He is author of “Big Decisions are Best Made with Hot Dogs” and “A View from the Front Porch.”