It’s Gratituesday! Today I am grateful to those people who learn the hard words, study for years, understand anatomy and biology and math and science and medicine to become doctors and nurses and technicians and clinicians and caregivers in hospitals and medical facilities.
There’s no way to thank someone enough for the hours and years they have dedicated to excelling in their field. Having the life of a person as your responsibility must weigh heavily every day. Knowing what steps to take, what tests to run, how to help, where to go, what’s next must feel stunning. Having the guts and knowledge to cut open a skull, break open a chest, or work on the miracle that is the human body simply amazes me.
How thankful I am this week for all the doctors, medics, nurses, therapists, anyone responsible in any way for saving my Mother’s life. Gratitude pumps through my veins this week. I breathe in thanks and exhale hallelujahs.
She continues to progress with stunning rapidity. (Yay, Mom! You go girl!)
I want to hug every doctor or nurse I see, every med student, EMT, phlebotomist, x-ray tech, even receptionists, to vicariously share the inexpressible gratitude I feel to those who worked directly on and in behalf of my Mother.
If you are in the medical field, this thanks is to you, for your selflessness, the hours of paperwork, your kindness and diligence, and your skill.
It’s Gratituesday! Today I am grateful that we’re adding to our family tomorrow. We’re getting a son-in-law! My youngest daughter gets married on Wednesday!
As predicted years ago, this happens before my oldest daughter ties the knot.
Not that it was ever a contest. It’s all about personalities and differences. They’re both unconventional in completely different ways, so we all knew it would play out this way. It’s kind of fun to watch things unfold. This daughter getting married is the very one I wrote about in my Beanie Baby post.
This daughter loves dancing. She always danced her own steps and made up her own moves. She’s been that way with her whole life. Free spirited, wanting to do things her own way, confident, independent, persevering, determined. What a beautiful young woman she’s become. What a stunning bride she’ll be!
Since there isn’t a mother-daughter dance at a wedding, I’m taking a moment here for a mother-daughter song. So here it is:
“When you get the choice to sit it out or dance…I hope you dance!”
You might be saying to yourself, wait a minute, didn’t you just marry off a son a couple of months ago? Yup! Sure did! What vitality and light our new daughter-in-law brought with her. Lucky us! And my son? I’ve haven’t seen him smile this much since he got his Big Wheel at three years old.
I suspect something similar of my daughter, once the jittery, excited, nervous, busy, chaotic ride of the wedding day events unfold, I’m pretty sure her smile will be unending and blissful. For now, she’s holding it all in, like a firework, keeping things in check and under control until the last possible moment. Once she lets that smile break out, showing her real emotions, we’ll all bust out in contagious laughter and smiles.
I have to admit, I’ve definitely let my emotions run amok lately. Lots to do to prepare, plenty of everyday stress mixed in, plus the record-breaking heat we’ve had.
I’m sure I’ve been motherzilla-of-the-bride lately.
But, now that I think about it, I’m sure I can blame it on the denial I’m in about her moving out and moving on. Sure, I’ve been ready for it, praying for it, happy for her, for this next big step in her life. But at the same time, she’s my baby!
What’s next?
Holy mackerel, what isn’t next? It’s not like, once she leaves I’ll have nothing to do, hardly so.
But there’s this sense of loss when children progress, and this one I haven’t really addressed, until now, strangely out loud and in public. But I’m only acknowledging it briefly, to remind myself to think about it later. After all, Thursday will be just another day.
(Photo credit: THEMACGIRL*)
Or not.
Sigh…
Sniff…
Until then…
Wednesday is Wedding Day, a joyous occasion, a new beginning, a day for laughter.
A day for cheers.
A day of dancing,
A day for tears.
Here’s wishing my daughter a beautiful marriage with the love of her life!
This woman, this writer of real things, of simple, ordinary days, of frontier life, of chores and one room schoolhouses of family, struck a chord in me that still echoes.
Author Laura Ingalls Wilder (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A story of life in the woods captured my heart as seven-year-old and has held me prisoner ever since.
I made a mistake when I listed my favorite books. How could I have left off “Little House in the Big Woods“ by Laura Ingalls Wilder? That book changed my world forever. That book triggered my insatiable craving for words.
Every book since then must measure itself against this one book.
Some fall short with a thud. Others nearly reach the high standard set here. A few rarities exceed the mark.
If I could reach into the past and meet “Half-pint” I would hug the stuffing out of her. Thank you for your life. Thank you for writing it all down so well. Thank you for providing a key to countless worlds and lifetimes.
Sweet and simple. Real.
Laura Ingalls Wilder. Master storyteller. Writer. Woman extraordinaire.
Half the people I know have fled town for cooler places. I had plans to flee, but alas, here I am, in the final throes of wedding plans for my youngest.
I must admit I am envious of all the absent, traveling, vacationing, escapees from the heat wave we’re in.
A little Ultimate Frisbee anyone? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
And not just because they’re getting out of the heat. Oh no. I’m missing a family reunion that I also had to miss last year due to partial insanity and (mostly) very low to non-existent funds. This year I scrunched, pinched, saved, cajoled and weedled my way into a plane ticket so I could go early, visit with the fam, enjoy the festivities, stay long and visit more with other fam and pretty much relax for a week.
But love waits for no man, or future in-law.
So here I am, celebrating freedom by feeling slightly, begrudgingly, unfree.
That’s just silly isn’t it?
Instead I am here, in the desert, free to enjoy my freedom, my independence, my life. And what a life it is! A quick review of this past year’s Gratituesday posts alone reminds me I am blessed beyond measure.
Sure there’s some strange happenings afoot in our little land of the stars and stripes, but it’s still an exceptional place to be. It’s an abundant life by any measure you choose.
What will the next 365 days bring? Will we give up some of our privacy, some of our freedom for a pottage bowl full of something that looks and tastes like, but isn’t necessarily security? Or will we hold our ground? Can we keep the haters at bay? Can we tolerate each other and our polar-opposite opinions or will we insist on everyone agreeing with our view of things? Will we still feel free?
If I go to a parade, or a rodeo, a picnic or a reunion, will I still be grateful? Will I still recognize this country as the one I’ve spent a lifetime in? I sure hope so.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I’m counting on attending next year’s family reunion, seeing all the new babies, stunned at the growing up they do so magically, amazed at how the uncles and aunts have morphed into slightly younger version of Grandma and Grandpa, renewing friendships with cousins. Of course, my own siblings keep aging while I stay perfectly young (cough) and that is fascinating to me, too.
I’m glad I’ve stayed in town for my daughter’s sanity, her last few days of single life, the little details that need attending to. She’s only a bride this one time. I’ve got a long list to get busy with today. I’d best get to it.
Tonight’s local barbecue and sparklers…will do just fine for celebrating this country’s birthday and my freedom.
It’s Gratituesday! Today I am thankful for firefighters. I stand in awe of such willingness to rush into danger, the unknown and the chaotic.
On several occasions they brought relief and reassurance, along with their skills and knowledge.
Firemen at work (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
My son was still an infant being cared for during the day by my mother when a house fire broke out in midwinter in their home. I raced from work to the home I’d grown up in, all the while seeing a pillar of black smoke marking my destination. The roads were snow packed and icy in our neighborhood and blocked off by the police. As I ran the last two blocks to my childhood home, the smoke changed from black to gray to white. I ran beside huge hoses pulsing with much-needed water to douse the flames.
I stood by helplessly at the neighbor’s home across the street as a gaping hole over the garage and kitchen smoked and sputtered in the huge sprays of water from those hoses. How grateful I felt then that someone had trained and prepared and was willing to help in such an emergency. Thanks to the quick response of the firefighters that day, more than half of the house survived the fire so Mom and Dad rebuilt.
Later one of my brothers became a firefighter. I learned through him how often these men and women show up for emergencies real and perceived. I learned how much of the job is psychologically difficult, seeing such suffering, dealing with death regularly, working with loss and heartache and tragedy. I gained even greater respect for firefighters as I saw things a bit more through his eyes. He became a hero to me.
My own children have needed the resources and cool-headed quick response of these angels. Twice they have come to my home for different reasons and both times treated me and my family with kindness, reassurance, professionalism, honesty and courtesy beyond what one might expect in an emergency. They also bring with them a feeling of hope that’s difficult to describe.
Just two years ago there were angels and heroes of all sorts, firefighters included, who saved my son from a car fire.
I have a dear friend (who helped save my son) who needed these resources three times in one month. Once for a house fire, then a week later for her husband who fell off the roof . The third time the firefighters arrived at the same grocery store to shop where she had been the moment she learned her little sister had committed suicide a few days earlier. Like angels they talked with her as she walked inside, heard her story, offered condolences and made her feel safe and cared for. Pretty amazing, if you ask me.
(Photo credit: Coconino National Forest)
This weeks horrendous loss of almost an entire crew of firefighters clutches at my heart and takes the breath right out of me.
Where does such tenacity and courage come from? What kind of person willingly goes in toward what others are running from?
If words could bestow honor and gratitude worthy of such people I would pour out volumes. But words seem inadequate in the face of such sadness and loss. My condolences to their families. My thanks to them and all their brothers and sisters who give and serve so selflessly.
It’s Gratituesday! Today I am thankful for the power of words. That may sound silly until you think about words in varying contexts.
(Photo credit: mojoey)
For instance, the power of words spoken in a prayer. I’m not thinking about rote prayers, repeated utterances we make with little thought. The words I’m thinking about pour out of a place deeper than a person’s mouth. Words birthed in loss and heartache and heaviness. Words searching for a foothold. Words struggling for sense in a senseless situation. Those words carry power and heft and potential healing.
Sometimes the mere act of placing words into the heavens is all it takes to see things clearer, to feel enabled to keep going forward. Sometimes a need requires action words added to the spoken ones. Sometimes answers arrive in unexpected packages. Sometimes answers seem elusive. But the power of the words remains unchanged.
what are word for? (Photo credit: Darwin Bell)
Power rides on the words we speak or withhold. Expressions of love carry a potent, almost magical strength that binds and seals. Failure to let words work such charms can leave a vast emptiness that a lifetime may never fill.
Words accompanied by music make up life’s most power-filled elixirs. Nothing else prompts action, conveys emotion, shares thoughts as well as music with words. Better than a prescription, well-chosen words combined with a perfect tune can make a gray day brighten. Carefully placed words in a melody that touches the heartstrings can open doors long shut with hinges rusted over.
I haven’t even touched on the incomparable time-traveling properties of words, or the artistic nuances available in poetry and prose. And laughter? What elicits a laugh easier than a few just-so words? Words offer condolence. Words may lift an aching heart. Words connect, intertwine, link and hold fast.
Such powers that words possess will lift and heal and hold me today. And everyday.
It’s Gratituesday! Today I am grateful for those good kids, the ones that disprove the “teenager’s are all rotten theory.” I know some amazing teens who are respectful, kind, thoughtful, conscientious, giving, selfless, happy, easy-going and still fun to hang out with. They continue to step up that way even when others their age revert to two-year-old behaviors of selfishness, tantrums. disrespect and disruption.
I want to hug these out of the norm happy wonders of the human race! I want to thank them for trying so hard. They deserve kudos and congratulations. They give me hope for our future.
(Photo credit: dontstealmypen)
These kids volunteer without complaint. They show up for assignments without whining. Listening without interrupting or texting is one of the most respectful things I’ve seen. They smile or wave at grownups without getting embarrassed. They say “thank you” and “please” and “sure, I can do that.” They show up to class on time, prepared, with homework done. They babysit siblings and neighbors and can be trusted to be responsible and reliable. They don’t back talk or make snide remarks or respond with sarcasm or a demeaning tone. They use appropriate terms like “Sir, Ma’m, Mrs. Ms.” They express appreciation to others. They want to make a difference where they can.
Being in the “betweenness” of childhood and adulthood isn’t easy. It looks easy to the adults because they have selective memory of their own teen life being all fun and hanging out. But if they’re honest with themselves they’ll also remember how tough it is trying to figure out who they are, what they want to become, where they’re going, how to manage the maze of hormones and emotions and angst and homework and social insanity.
If you are a teen who’s giving it your best shot, trying to make good decisions, working to help your family, being a good friend, being respectful to the adults and others in your life, pat yourself on the back, buy yourself a shake, give yourself some well deserved credit. And know that you’re noticed and appreciated and yes, even loved!
If you have a teen in your life who is one of these great people, please let them know you appreciate how hard they work at being a good person. Let them know in real, tangible, out-loud ways, that they are wonderful and cared for and doing a great job.
Don’t blow smoke and make something up either. Praise the real things you’re seeing. And don’t sandwich it between criticism of what they aren’t succeeding at. Just let it be out there all by itself. Here’s a few suggestions:
“You are doing a great job at being kind to your brother.”
“I love how you hold the door for people!”
“Thanks for helping out with dinner today, it means a lot to me when you step up like that.”
“I know it isn’t easy holding down a job while going to school, you’re da’ bomb!”
“I appreciate how respectful you are to your mother and other adults.”
How glad I am to see such good stuff happening in the lives of young people. I’m making it a priority to send out more appreciation, live and in person to these good kids. I hope you’ll join me.
It’s Gratituesday! I’m thankful for sweet surprises out in the natural world this past week.
Two mornings in a row I encountered an elk herd grazing near my campsite. Majestic, serene, bigger than life, these animals seem unruffled by humans and all their noise. They tolerate our presence. They look on in what I imagine is amusement at all our accoutrements and fluff and necessary survival gear. Meanwhile they wander the forest finding what they need, surrounded by family.
Myriad numbers of squirrels crossed my path. Big fat ones, the size of cats! I’m afraid they might be getting too many munchies from the human side of the food chain, i.e., green apple flavored hard candy, (lick, lick, lick, lick, lick…) tootsie rolls, “cheese” covered corn chips, hot dogs, marshmallows, chocolate, taffy. Can you just picture their little food storage dens loaded with acorns, random candy and assorted junk food? They probably get through the winter on their body fat alone. Cute little critters though. I credit them with keeping the forest clean, the little foragers seem to love it all.
I also witnessed a variety of lizards, large and small, striped and plain, tailed and tail-less.
Butterflies visited a damp spot nearby every morning. I’m not talking your average run-of-the-mill monarch, although they are stunning. No, there were nickel-sized periwinkle blue fluttering songlets, yes, songlets. Their wings beat in a rhythm I couldn’t match and they flitted about like notes on a page, tones on a scale. Breathtaking. And the yellow butterflies were flower-petaled in their grace and color, elegant fliers with direction and purpose and no hurry to them at all. One morning a wasp or hornet of a variety I’d never seen before stopped by the butterfly watering spot. The stinger on that yellow and black sleek body was three inches long or more. Maybe it wasn’t a stinger, maybe it was a feeler, an antennae. I didn’t stick around to find out. Looked fierce enough to give it a wide path.
Did I mention the wildflowers? I need to learn their names. A snapdragon-like cluster of three-foot stems with pale blue curling petals lined our hiking path several times. And always there were ground-hugging miniature purple throw rugs of flowers. Bright yellow mini-daisies jumped out in surprising places. Even the Manzanita trees had blossoms on them, highlighting the deep brownish red of their bark. Fresh needles, soft to the touch and new-green, tipped the branches of every pine tree. There’s no air-freshener in the world that matches that scent!
Luckily nature didn’t provide too many snakes, bugs, spiders or stinging or poisonous plants. I got lucky that way. Sure there were a couple of blisters, a cold night or two, some scorching days, but all the beauties that nature provides makes time out in the mountains a cornucopia of things to be thankful for.
If it’s been a while since you’ve experienced the joys of the mountains, maybe you can enjoy Julie Andrews singing about that particular joy. If you listen closely at the beginning you can hear birds in the background. Nice touch.
It’s Gratituesday! Campfire songs fill my head this time of year. I grew up in the era just before “Kumbaya” hit the sarcasm wave. I’m certain I never knew what it meant, but it sounded nice with a fire glowing on everyone’s faces and a few people throwing in harmony. Same with the “Michael Row the Boat” song.
Campfire (Photo credit: JelleS)
When I was half-pint, then there was this young woman and her dog that wandered into campsite. We were there with a bunch of other families, so we were a pretty rowdy and varied group. This lady managed to make a pretty big impression on every one of our from what I could tell. Maybe it was her story, but I think it was her music.
Hiking and hitchhiking across the country, with her guitar strapped to her back, she’d join whatever group looked interesting and offered hospitality and a meal. She played sang a lyrical song and her dog looked properly mournful, then she played and sang some upbeat stuff and her dog’s ear perked up. I decided that very night I was going to hitchhike across the country with my dog and guitar and bring joy and music to people’s lives. Fortunately for my mother’s sanity I lost that dream somewhere along the road.
But the singing outdoors around a campfire, that never left me. It’s firmly wedged into a permanent spot next to my heart.
My cousins sing this really hilarious version of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” I haven’t mastered this one yet. Gotta work on it at this year’s reunion.
A bunch of years ago I learned a camping song about “MILK!” of all things. Fell in love all over again with the singing thing. During part of the chorus you do some cow milking action while you sing, “Moo, moo, moo, moo.” It’s really fun, funny. Cute. Really, it is. Sorry, I guess you have to be there.
That’s the thing. It doesn’t work unless you are there. Glow of the fire, smoke following beauty, a stick stirring the coals, marshmallows browning, a couple of good jokes, maybe even a scary story or two. Then the singing. Ah yes. Life is good then.
Campfire’s happen less and less often. Not for lack of camping, well, maybe, MSH would say we don’t camp often enough. Ninety percent of the time high fire danger restricts the building of campfires. Singing is less likely to happen without that glow to ward off critters and mosquitoes and, of course, to set the mood for a great tune or two.
The memories are almost enough though. There’s surely a bunch of ’em.
It’s Gratituesday! Today I am thankful for the concept of gratitude. I know that sounds like a circular thought, but it’s not, at least in my case.
Seesaw also known as a teeter totter
Consciously looking for the good things in my life brings a bit of balance into my mental equations. I lean toward the depressed and pessimistic side of life. I tend to hover on the precipice of what bad thing is going to happen next. I’m scouting around for whatever it is, worrying, fretting, anxious. It’s as if by anticipating the difficulty I might be able to keep it away, or gird myself for its onslaught.
Then I stumbled on the idea of something quite the opposite to my natural inclinations. The idea of gratitude found a foothold in my negatively charged brain. Now gratitude is my fence, my force-field against depression, my castle wall of fortification against an abyss of sadness that seems to always be pressing in. Gratitude bring balance to my varyingly unbalanced mental life.
More effective than medications, gratitude has kept me, for the most part, balanced and reasonable. I may not be outright optimistic, but I’m at least not wallowing in self-pity and overwhelmed by life’s constant barrage.
So I look for the good stuff. I’m thankful for the simple things. I embrace the happy parts of my day. As a result, my mental health stays healthy-ish.
Yeah, the tough stuff is there, hovering everywhere, clamouring for attention, screaming for acknowledgement, crying out for my time and efforts. It occupies plenty of my time and energy. Like junk food for the soul, it’s very tempting to give in and indulge in sorrow, self-loathing, criticism and cynicism.
Gratitude serves as mental fruit and vegies, healthy food for my starving psyche. Gratitude quietly saves me from myself and helps me feel whole and well.
Kami's Beautiful Morning 