Some weeks in American politics feel like someone’s juggling chainsaws while riding a unicycle on a frozen lake: impressive in a terrifying way. This past stretch gave us two reminders of how wobbly our institutions have become: the Pentagon reviewing Senator Mark Kelly’s “illegal orders” video, and Georgia finally dropping its long-simmering 2020 election-interference case against President Trump. Different stories, sure, but both reveal how politics keeps swinging the hammer at the granite foundations of our institutions.

Take the Kelly dust-up. A retired Navy captain and current senator addressing active-duty troops about refusing “illegal orders” is already skating on thin ice. The military has to stay apolitical: it’s not a prop, a pawn, or a platform. But responding with the threat of recall and potential court-martial? That’s using the UCMJ like a turkey carver on a marshmallow.

Then there’s Georgia, where prosecutors finally realized the 2020 RICO-style case against President Trump was about as structurally sound as a gingerbread house in July. The new prosecutor called it what it was: a case built on shaky jurisdiction, political overtones, and legal theories stretched thinner than Thanksgiving leftovers after a week of sandwiches. Dropping the charges wasn’t just prudent; it was necessary. Justice shouldn’t be a performance, and prosecution shouldn’t be a hobby for whoever gets the loudest applause from their political base.

Both stories point to one truth: our institutions are being asked to carry loads they were never built to bear. The military shouldn’t become a political battleground, and the courts shouldn’t be used for political theater. When we bend the guardrails for our own side, they tend to stay bent and, eventually, everyone pays the price.

This Thanksgiving holiday isn’t just about turkey, pies, or the annual debate over whether stuffing belongs inside the bird or safely at a distance (I take no stance; I’m not trying to start a civil war). Thanksgiving is about gratitude for the blessings we have, for the nation we inherited, and for the fragile, imperfect institutions that still hold us together. It’s a reminder to slow down, to give thanks, and maybe — just maybe — to put aside the political weapons long enough to appreciate what unites us.

If we’re serious about preserving this Republic, then maybe we should approach our institutions the way we approach Thanksgiving dinner: with humility, respect, and a determination not to make an absolute mess of the table. And if we can manage that, perhaps America can rediscover a bit of the peace and steadiness we’re supposed to be thankful for in the first place.

Happy Thanksgiving, and may your politics be mild, your turkey be juicy, and our institutions remain sturdier than a folding chair after dessert.