I am filled, always, with love and gratitude.
Even when the snots pour out of my brain onto the sheets of my childhood bed, I hear JQ’s series of alarms (first Simon and Garfunkle’s “Old Friends”, second Neil Young’s “Helpless”) go off, see the cup of coffee in his hands outstretched to me, and smile.
Even when the winter wind blows and blows and sneaks in under my scarf and around my legs, I huddle deeper inside my practical and cold-weather-ready mother’s coat, and cheer on the ones who wake early on Thanksgiving morning to run nine miles in pursuit of diamonds.
I am loved in my tall orange socks and New Zealand cardigan and omnipresent cat dress. When I think of the ones I love in return, I realize I could be many places simultaneously, happily, but usually I am glad to be just where I am. Today that is White Haven, fireside, all but my Poochcat here to dine together. Scattered across this land and water are other gatherings of warmth– the ones in the wooden house by the bay with the dog who smiles and the cat who stares and the woodstove that breathes into the air all day, the desert dwellers, the bus riders, the dog mothers, the kolsch sippers, the baby carriers, the grandmothers of the west and midwest.
Here are other things for which I am thankful.
from MIKE SHEA