Bob Parrillo, a Providence lawyer, has been sending out the cards for years. “Now Is The Time For Thanksgiving” are the words on the front, accompanied by a photo of healthy foods in a bowl. Underneath the photo are the words “We give thanks for…”

Open up the card and there is Parrillo’s list of the things, from hybrid cars to Kevin Garnett, digital cameras to Roy Orbison, that he is thankful for.

It’s a great exercise for the head, especially in times when there is so much we could do without. It’s a chance to pull back and sort out and realize that the stuff that really makes life good is usually right in front of us.

It’s also one heck of a way to fill a column with the holidays up ahead.

With thanks to Parrillo, I offer this partial list. I will think of 15 more items on the way home tonight.

Fall foliage reflected in still waters, Kevin Spacey, watching kids in the neighborhood grow up, big dogs on the bed, James Lee Burke, Cool Hand Luke, Colt State Park, old pickup trucks, Roddy Doyle.

Diners where you can still make your jukebox selections from a booth, Little Richard, “Gimme Shelter,” J.P. Donleavy.

The corner table in the bar at the Abbey Grill in Fall River, T Bone Burnett, scotch by the fire in December.

A guy with sparse hair driving a perfectly restored MG with the top down on a sparkling October day, The Avon, The Cable Car, Rich Lupo, Bill Reynolds’ Saturday column, the really smart, funny woman who calls me from Charlestown, The Fund For Community Progress, the distant sound of a train whistle.

Cinema Paradiso, “Paradise By The Dashboard Light,” Alan Furst, Vanity Fair, Elvis, Gary Cooper as Sergeant York, the scene in To Kill a Mockingbird when Gregory Peck walks from the courtroom.

John Prine, early Stones, newspapers, birds in the birdbath, Paula Kerr, Tim O’Brien.

Ray Davies, farm stands, golf in the fall, Barney Frank, the old mills of Fall River, Bobby McGarry, Rob Bartlett, Vietnam at peace, The Belmont Club, banana cream pie, Two and a Half Men, the first album by The Paul Butterfield Blues Band, the RISD Museum, cheeseburgers.

Coffee in the morning with your best friend, the papers, your dog and National Public Radio.

Diana Krall, riding the train to New York, Bob Seger, letter writers, Randy Moss.

Sam’s Bakery for meniche and chourico pies and a taste of Fall River.

Vietnam veterans, Trinity Rep, Ry Cooder, Oliver Stone.

Firefighters, Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler, cigars, Gunsmoke, The Vietnam Memorial, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Henry Shelton, liner notes, walking China Beach while smoking a $20 Cuban cigar artfully concealed in a Journal expense account.

The waitresses at The Lobster Pot, Nighthawks, Jimmy Carter, muscle cars, Edith Piaf, teachers, morning glories, George Trikoulis at The Coffee King, Sunday Morning, McCoy Stadium, beaches in the winter, Marvin Hagler, Jackson, N.H., Paul and Al, The Narrows Center For The Arts, Says You!, barroom shuffleboard.

Meatloaf, Tony Bennett, Mel Brooks, Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid, literacy volunteers, unions, the moment when a really good bar band hits the first slamming note, Ken Burns, “Whammer Jammer,” Edward Hopper.

The smell of freshly cut grass, Honeysuckle Weeks, beer, Doonesbury.

I feel better now. So many reasons to go on. And I’m going to add to the list every day.

bkerr@projo.com