As Thanksgiving weekend approaches, I got to thinking about what I am really thankful for, you know, like what really in my day to day life am I thankful for.
Well, to state the obvious, I am grateful for my every day life. I suppose that makes me borderline optimistic. There is something so simple in the gift of every day. I often forget to see it that way when the alarm clock starts blaring it’s warning that I’m late, I’ve over-slept by hitting snooze eight consecutive times. Eventually, (after the second cup of coffee), I appreciate being alive and the fact that I have coffee. What more could you ask for?
I am grateful for a hot shower and smelly soap that claims to come from fruit but really, it doesn’t and I know that. I appreciate the clothes in my closet that I am never really totally in love with, but they stop me from parading naked around town, and I think we’re all pretty thankful for that now, aren’t we? Hey, at least I smell good.
When I’m not yelling at my children to hurry up, get dressed, find their own primary school agendas, finish their breakfast, stop yelling at each other, brush their teeth for the love of God and get in the car after they’ve fed the cats, I am extremely grateful for being blessed with two of the most amazing children on the planet. I couldn’t ask for two better people to love. Despite my vocal badgering, they love me back.
Mind you, I probably wouldn’t be yelling so much if their father, the Carpenter, hadn’t kept me awake all night with his baritone snoring riffs and his own tennis match with the alarm clock at 4:30 am that same morning, while he too forgot to be grateful to be awake, alive and sleeping next to the slightly irate but sexy goddess that is Me.
The days go on, as I load everyone into the rusted station wagon that sputters in reverse and then conks into drive with such force that my young mouthy passengers are thrust into fits of laughter. Then we agree to turn up the radio loud enough to hear the really bad Top 40 music over the rumble of the muffler that wheezes between gears, slipping instead of actually shifting from one to the other, then nearly ceasing as I attempt a hill out of town.
This doesn’t get me down though. Oh no, I appreciate that car. I even welcome the tailgaters that try to coax my car along by trying to intimidate me, weaving in and out of the lane. Then I give a silent thank you to the school bus that stops fifteen times along the route I drive each morning. Late again. Oh well.
No need to panic. I get to play with words all day and meet really amazing people in my all over Wellington County. Who wouldn’t want my job? I constantly learn, get inspired and help people. It’s not a bad gig.
The point is: I am one happy cookie. I’m grateful for mundane tasks, the insane speed of which I travel and the utterly silly things that amuse me. I am thankful for luxury of being alive, of giving love (without need of a restraining order) and feeling loved.
Give where you can and be thankful that you can. It’s Thanksgiving after all.
Writing has been my passion since I learned how to hold a pencil (which I still cannot do properly). Despite my father’s insistence that I would starve to death in this career, I remain well fed and eager to write more. They say you should do what you love: I love to write.