I went to bed last night feeling a little sore and stiff from sitting in front of the computer working essentially a double shift yesterday.  I awoke early, feeling even more sore and stiff; not exactly welcome on a day when there are so many things to be done.

 I pour a cup of coffee and check in with work.  There is some good news.  The great sucking sound from a project in Europe that has been the most recent source of my long hours seems to be abating.  With my U.S. colleagues attempting to be on holiday, too, it looks like I can put my attentions where they should be today.  On cooking and cleaning and, most importantly, on the reason for this holiday:  a day to spend giving thanks.

 And so it is I start this day thinking about all those things for which I am grateful. 

 Even though I’m sore and stiff, it means I have a body that allows me to do pretty much whatever I want.  Its complaints about my choices of activity simply mean everything is functioning properly and provide clues as to adjustments that need to be made; whether that is getting more exercise, more sleep or simply eating better.

 The soft hum of the furnace in the early quiet reminds me that, even though it has leaked from the first winter it was replaced and the contractor has refused to fix it since that first winter and the house is no longer worth what it was just a couple of years ago, I have a roof over my head.  The bills are all paid and we are warm and snug on this cold, rainy day.

 I take a sip of hot coffee and feel its warm, sweet power doing its job of waking me up.  And I am grateful that I only have to pad a few steps into the kitchen of my warm, snug house to get it by doing nothing more than pushing a button.  Thank you, Bob, for always setting it up before you go to bed (and for not complaining if I drink it all before you wake up!)

 As my mind slowly revs up into its normal speed of 60,000 rpms, it starts to make a list of the day’s chores; the biggest of which is cleaning this warm, snug house.  The dining room is Work Central and the table inevitably becomes filled with the paperwork we must use to track our lives.  Today the dining room table also sports extra computer equipment since my work laptop is being replaced and though hardware setups and filing are among my least favorite chores, I realize this current mess means that I have a job that pays and allows me to hold other non-paying jobs that let me to give back to the community.  And for this I am grateful.

 Soft rustlings are heard as the animals begin to awaken, too.  Cage cleaning and floor mopping can never really be crossed off the to-do list, but I am grateful for this opportunity to be a part of their lives.  Though it is a situation for which neither of us would have ever asked, they have a second chance to live and I receive lessons that could not be learned any other way except by spending so much time in such close proximity to them.  Though they will have no idea why, special treats are planned for them today and I am thankful I am able to provide them.

 All of the ingredients to create a small feast are tucked away in cupboards and ‘fridge, and though it appears all the time and effort to put it together will be for just the two of us, I am grateful we may eat such traditional fare.  Those who grow the food, those who package and transport it, those who stock the nearby stores from which we may buy it have my thanks for making it so easy.  The handful of hours we will spend cooking it are but the smallest link in what is truly a marvelous chain.

 But to think of today in terms of a chain, one must follow it to its real beginning.  So at the end of the short list I give thanks for those who had the courage to go forth and begin their lives anew.  Both those famous Pilgrims and, later and more especially, the Founding Fathers; all of whom risked everything and are the real reason for this day and the real reason we may celebrate it freely.  It follows then that those who have defended their efforts lo these 234 years must be thanked as well.  Life would be very different if any of them had not chosen to pursue and protect true liberty.

 Thank you….

 

She stood on the porch under the grey morning sky, photographer’s eyes keen on the juxtaposition of silver and gold that greeted her on this, the final day of the natural year.  The strong winds of the night before were still gusting high above the ground; a harbinger broom that had come through to sweep the leaves from the trees.  What would normally have been a rather dull scene was oddly bright, for every horizontal surface was temporarily coated with the fallen leaves and her small world felt just a little larger as she looked up and was able to see more of the sky once again.

It was a warm morning, all things considered.  Though she knew the behaviors of the wilds portended a long, hard and bitterly cold winter, for the moment, at least, spirits both corporeal and non- would find themselves in relative comfort as they geared up for the annual celebration.  Indeed, the small backyard was filled with the usual ragtag assortment of furred and feathered visitors, all eagerly awaiting her distribution of treats.

She filled the big feeder, left a few small piles of nuts to minimize furball squabbles, took a few deep breaths of the sweet-smelling air, and with a small prayer of thanks went back inside.  The house was still quiet and she could hear the wind as it sporadically reached down low to race along the street.  It was all about the wind, she thought; quite rightly symbolic that it had come through with such cleansing power last night.  This was the time for fresh starts, for new beginnings, and the near-naked trees represented in some small measure the nakedness of her circumstances.  Circumstances not entirely unwelcome but, as is usually the case, change does not come easy and her recent losses, while clear signs of where she was headed next, had not come without emotions of the most tearful sort.

Having been quite literally too busy to eat for most of the past week, she decided to do something different this morning and put two eggs into a pan of water on the stove.  It reminded her of her late grandmother; they had shared many happy breakfasts of boiled eggs with toast in this very house and it seemed fitting to start this special day that very same way. As if another sign, the eggs cooked perfectly and, though not one overly fond of bread, even the buttered toast was delicious.  when she finished, she thought to herself that even the king’s chef could not have made anything more tasty, nor more suitable.  She took a last swig of coffee and felt prepared to tackle the never-ending chores that awaited her.

Just then, the clouds parted and the sun made a brief appearance to gild the tiny landscape in beckoning brightness.  With a mess of furballs vying for treats on the back porch, on a Saturday morning the temptation was too much.  She pulled on a fleece-lined jacket, grabbed her big camera and went outside.  Positioned off the porch towards the middle of the yard gave her a splendid vantage point to document the furry feeding fun.  She was rewarded by the appearance of the tamest of the chipmunks, who was making its final, furious forrays to stock its burrow with foodstuffs before heading underground to hibernate for the winter.  Bold as brass, it gave her a smile as it marched right up next to the larger squirrels and vacuumed up the smaller pieces of nuts right out from under their noses before hurrying off again.

It was a few moments in heaven.  Too much time had been spent working and on other pursuits; with every click of the shutter she felt her Self moving cloer to its normal state of balance.  To some, the day’s results would be “just some pictures of squirrels”, but to her they were a key part of her life’s work and each bushy-tailed life she recorded had, in so many ways both large and small, touched hers and thereby given her gifts both immeasurable and of lasting consequence. 

“Just some pictures of squirrels” in many ways defined her and when she finished, it was with both a lighter step and lighter heart she returned inside to tackle the mundane housework.

The last month had been so hectic that something as simple as the laundry had been ignored until the day she realized she was wearing her very last pair of clean underwear.  Wearily, she loaded the washer and later, even more wearily, she moved the clean, damp clothes into the dryer.

The next morning she made her way downstairs to the laundry room.  Opening the dryer, she was greeted by a big, fluffy pile of white.  She reached in and pulled out a sock. A thick, white athletic sock; her favorite kind.  She found a mate for the sock and then pulled out a white t-shirt.  Suddenly, she found herself smiling.  This was another one of her favorite work-at-home “fashionista-not!” items and it occurred to her that it had been far too long since she’d worn them. 

She pulled out a white pair of underwear, thinking happily that, at least for this early-morning moment, today was a good day.  She’d be wearing her comfortable uniform of well-broken-in jeans with a clean white t-shirt and white socks; clothes that, to her, represented both simplicity and the fact she was able to work from home.

And somehow, it made the long day still ahead of her welcome.