The headline of a recent New York Times feature story was, “How to Make Your Thanksgiving Dinner Less Boring.” What? “Boring” is working hour after hour day after day in a third-world sweat shop making the shirts and underwear you and I buy. “Boring” is a job I once had counting the blows of a pile driver. Thanksgiving is not boring. Not to me anyway.

On first impression, the writer seems to be saying that turkey with all the trimmings is boring mostly because it’s always the same. That’s a little wide of the mark, though. A careful reading shows that she just prefers other food to the traditional offerings. She’ll get no argument from me about that; I don’t care what she eats. I will argue, however, that the sameness of the Thanksgiving feast does not make it boring; sameness makes it ever new and refreshing. It’s not empty repetition, it’s a meaningful ritual, and it’s more valuable than ever in this time when change sometimes seems overwhelming.

To set tables all over the country with the same basic dishes every fourth Thursday in November constitutes a small counterforce to the pernicious effects of Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, and hyperactive technology. The taste of that turkey on the table is less important than its function as reassurance.

Ann and I will not be having turkey, but not because we think it’s boring or because leg of lamb tastes better. For the sake of the universe and our health, we avoid eating animals. Ann’s abstention is unqualified; I occasionally eat free-range fowl or fish, but not this Thanksgiving. Apart from no turkey, everything else on our table will be by the book – cranberry sauce, creamed onions, and all the rest.

Our celebration will also include the usual ancillary traditions: singing along with a recording of “Now Thank We All Our God” and “We Gather Together to Ask the Lord’s Blessing,” saying grace (we usually do not), listening to Garrison Keillor’s “Goodbye to My Uncles, Goodbye to My Aunts,” wearing holiday clothes, talking on the phone with relatives and friends, and deliberately calling to mind our blessings. Altogether it offers a sense of connection with – in the words of the old hymn – “all things that on earth do dwell.”

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When I taught English composition at the University of Texas, I would sometimes direct students to write about whether the campus buildings were more uniform or more varied in appearance. There was no right answer, of course. The point of assigning that topic instead of something else was to encourage close observation.

Another anecdote. Once at a formal affair, a woman said to me that she thought men in tuxedoes looked boringly alike. We did, and we didn’t, and “boringly” was arguable. Her husband’s shirt collar was unlike mine. Some tuxedoes had shawl collars; others notched lapels. Some cummerbunds were black; some brightly colored. Some tuxedoes fit well: some did not. Some cuff links were of expensive jewelry, some looked like they may have been Cracker Jacks prizes, and one man (who happened to be quite well-off) sported a twisted paper clip on one sleeve. These were variations on a theme, like different family recipes for the dressing at Thanksgiving dinner. The sameness of “black-tie” and “long dresses” was what made the event what it was – a special celebration.

Ann and I go to Mass knowing that it will always include the five elements known as the Ordinary – the Gloria, Kyrie, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. They are always the same and never the same. The words and their meanings do not vary, though sometimes they are in Latin, sometimes in English. When sung, the settings are by various composers. In these elements and others, we twenty-first-century New Yorkers connect with centuries of worshippers past. Those who fault liturgically observant churches for meaningless repetition are not seeing what goes on in the Mass.

Back to Thanksgiving dinner. It can indeed be unappetizing. Turkey can be dry, overcooked, undercooked, too salty, not seasoned enough, or otherwise messed up. I once made the NPR recipe for Mama Stamberg’s cranberry relish, and it was disgusting. Mashed potatoes can be too lumpy or school-cafeteria runny. But culinary excellence is not the point of the gathering. It’s about reaffirmation of ties with family and friends and about being grateful. The same meal (with minor variations) year after year is celebratory, different from what is eaten on any other day, and welcome in its sameness. Not only that, it also includes days of planning and eager anticipation before pulling a chair up to the table, and afterward, the lingering pleasure of leftovers and big thick sandwiches that is almost as lovely as the afterglow of sex.

Boring? Not to me. I can hardly wait.