From

I am from mountains of books.

I am from the little multiyellow Vicarage on the street too busy to cross.

I am from the goldfinches, the lady slippers, the peonies and evergreens and changing leaves and Mount Monadnock.

I am from blowing out the lights and lost-in-time-and-spaceness, from ghosts of Lucy and Bobby and Charles.

I am from looking it up and generations of genealogy.

From be always kind and good and don't get your hopes up.

I am from eucharist and women's ordination and coffee hour, from you-don't-have-to-believe-this-but-you-should-believe-something.

I'm from New Hampshire, New Hampshire, New Hampshire, even when Wayland and Arlington and Our Nation's Capital were home, but also from Cambridge and Shreveport, Maine and Michigan, peach cobbler and beans and rice.

From first dates to go vote, fixing plumbing with gum, and getting chased — but not chased off — by the bad guys.

I am from piles of scrapbooks, in the Westchester and the house in Jaffrey and the heads of my parents and remaining aunts and uncles and me, from tales never forgotten but rarely told — or often told but too easily forgotten.



...inspired by Whimsy, who was inspired by Clueless But Hopeful Mama, who got the template here.

Aren't you so excited to do your own? Link in the comments, please.

Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for where I'm from and how I am who I am.

Alice

I did get home — home to my house, and then home to my parents' house, and then off to my aunt and uncle's for a fantastic Thanksgiving with the extended family around. Thanks, those of you who expressed concern or support, and for those of you who kept me entertained by phone on my drive home.

I have a Thanksgiving tradition of scanning the radio on my drive, looking for "Alice's Restaurant." I don't catch it every year, but I catch it many years, and I caught it this year — the tail end, at least. There was something magical about the whole idea of it when I was an idealistic post-Vietnam Cold-War-Era 15-year-old, and there still is something magical about the whole idea of it now that I am an idealistic post-Cold-War Occupy-Era 40-year-old.

There was an interview with Arlo Guthrie after "Alice's Restaurant," and he talked a little bit about stopping by Occupy Wall Street a little while back. He talked about how many folks, like himself and Pete Seeger, who'd been so active in the 60s, were glad to lend support to a movement that didn't really need their support — a young person's movement with proud old people around it. He sounded proud, more than anything.

And then at Thanksgiving dinner, one of my relatives called Occupy Wall Street "a waste of time." I was surprised, and said so, later. "Well, isn't it?" asked another relative.

And here's the thing: No, I don't think so. I think real changes will happen. I do. And furthermore, I think if the only thing that changes is the narrative, which had been saying that the left wing was complacent while the right wing was riled up, that had been saying that who people in power needed to pander to were the only rabble-rousers they could hear, who were in the Tea Party — even if the only thing that changes is that people know there are folks on the left who are tired of the status quo — I don't think that's a waste of time. I think it's amazing.

I double don't think it's a waste of time for the folks who are already part of that 20% youth unemployment rate. What would be a better use of their time? And no, it's not a perfect movement. What is?


Day 24 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for people who are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore, for folks like Arlo and his dad, for folks who have ideas and are ready to change the discourse.

Lift

[Here's Part 1 of The Plattsburgh Saga.
This is Part 2.
Here's Part 3.
Here's Part 4.]

I hardly know where to start updating you on yesterday's situation, so I will start with the chat I had with my Rock Star friend from my smart phone in the tow truck (edited only slightly for length and clarity):
me: I am on my way to lake placid

  And I am having the most ridiculous adventure

  Including my transmission dying

 And the transmission place coming to tow me

  And them sending a trailer instead of a regular tow truck

  And the tow guy throwing out his back

 And me having to help load the car myself.

 she: what?!?!

  that is nuts

 me: I have also been informed I'll get a discount if I pay cash, so they "can avoid uncle sam"*

 she: awesome

  where are you now?

me: Keeseville? Is that a place?**

  I'm in the tow truck

  Listening to loud rap

  While the tow guy smokes

 The transmission place is in plattsburgh

 she: keenesville maybe?

  awesome

 sorry you're having such wonky transportation issues

 me: I called the transmission place initially to say I was calling aaa

  They said not to

  Turns out, that was to avoid me getting charged

Which I wouldn't have anyway

  Because I have aaa plus

  But they didn't ask

  They just sent a truck

 Car is definitely broken

Unclear what exactly the issue is

  But we assume transmission

 she: that sucks. can [favorite Adirondackian] come get you? are you going to have to spend thanksgiving in a garage in plattsburg?

 me: We is me and the two tow guys

  [favorite Adirondackian] is getting me

  Car may be done tomorrow

  Which would be good

  If not, then friday

  Also, the flashing yellow light fell off the roof, so now it is in my lap

 she: ha!

  seems like a real professional situation you have going on there

 me: Also, the trailer's license plate fell off

 she: sorry that you are having such a ridonkulous time

 me: It would be worse if it wasn't so hilarious

This is something that would happen on sister wives

 she: ha! except then you'd be with your sister wives?

 and also maybe wearing a long jean skirt

 me: No, the sister wives wear regular clothes

  Which is almost weirder

 But yes, i'd have them

  And also fortyleven kids

 she: but then maybe you'd have four other broken down cars to be towing around?

 me: That's what always happens when they go on a trip

  Or move to las vegas

  All the cars break

 often hilariously

she: i am glad you are not a sister wife

  for a variety of reasons  Yeah, it's about like that.

Oh, no, wait, there's more.

• Regarding the tow truck driver: He went to the hospital after dropping me off, and has, so he told me, a pinched nerve and a fractured chest.
• Regarding the weather: Oh, yeah, big snow storm.
• Regarding my car: It's going to cost an arm and a leg (more than the Blue Book value of the Olds, way less than a new car), and it's not getting done until Monday or Tuesday.
• Regarding me getting home for Thanksgiving: Taking a bus would take 24 hours, due to transfers. AAA would tow my car and me back, but since I only have AAA Plus, and not AAA Premium (or rather, did only have AAA Plus — you can bet I've invested in the Premium now), it would cost $3.50 per mile after the first 100 miles. I have talked to every car rental place anywhere, and have finally acquired a Dodge Stratus I can use for the week —from Lake Placid, which is an hour away from Plattsburgh, where my car is. Just for the record, just because the Enterprise website takes your reservation, doesn't actually necessarily mean the Enterprise location you've reserved at has any vehicles on the lot.

It's about like that.

Day 23 of my month of gratitude: I am so thankful to be fortunate enough to have family who are able to be both emotionally and financially supportive in an emergency.
I am also glad, for a variety of reasons, that I am not a sister wife.

* And another one if I donate a toy for their "Toys for Tots" box.

** It is a place, but it is spelled "Keesville."

Wait

[This is Part 1 of The Plattsburgh Saga.
Here's Part 2.
Here's Part 3.
Here's Part 4.]

I'm writing this one from the front seat of my (stopped) car.

I had this whole thing written in my head, see. I'm on my way to visit my favorite Adirondackian, and for some reason the GPS sent me a different way than usual. It's not longer, so I took it, and it led me down lots of smaller country roads, places where I could think and enjoy amazing views of Lake Champlain. I was thankful, I thought, for roads less traveled by.

And then.

And then the transmission died, about an hour from my destination.

I mean, probably.

No one's looked at the car yet, but when the car stopped accelerating and then slowed nearly to a stop, I pulled over. I called my friend and asked him for the name of a mechanic closer to him I could have the car towed to. I called the mechanic, who wasn't going to be able to take me for a week, but who recommended a transmission-specific place I could call. I called that place and arranged for a tow, and then called my friend back to arrange for him to pick me up at the garage. I called my mother so she wouldn't worry that I hadn't let her know I'd arrived yet.

And now I am in my car, scribbling* out blog posts on a notepad, safe and waiting for the tow truck.

Day 22 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for roads less traveled by — and also for cell phones and AAA plus.


* I think "scratching out" sounds more like printing, and "scribbling out" sounds more like handwriting. Thoughts?

Rolling

I'm starting this post at 11:55, but am determined to finish it today.

Tonight was bowling night, see, as Monday nights are.

I'm in a GLBTQ league at the local bowling alley, see, and my team, Sneaky Pudding, consists of some fantastic folks, and we have a fantastic time. It's just good fun. And it's community is a way that's hard to come by in small-town New England. There are no gay bars here, no gay clubs. Rainbow Bowl is what we've got. Tonight, after bowling, we hung around for a bit to watch the Pats game. So, a late night before an early morning, but I'll take it.

Day 21 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for good friends and weekly nights out, for play time and community and the two (out of three) thoroughly decent games I rolled tonight.

Grab

Have you been wishing you were as grateful as I am? Or have you been thinking about putting your gratitude to the test? Need some jumping-off points? I know I got a lot out of this post from the woot! blog.

Day 20 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful that sometimes, other people have the ideas. Also, you should feel free to share yours in the comments.

Helping

The other day, my aunt, who hosts Thanksgiving for a giant mob of extended family every year, sent out this e-mail:

We plan to have turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce (whole berry), pies - the usual. If there's anything particular you want, or want to be sure we don't leave out, be sure to let me know so we can arrange it. For example, we don't usually have rolls.

And usually, I just respond with a "I'm delighted with whatever we have; I just care about the company." Some years, I decide I care a lot about creamed onions and say so. But this year, I realized that one of the high points of Thanksgiving for me comes pre-meal, and I e-mailed to say so.

We do hors d'oevres, you see. And usually those hors d'oevres are prepared and then passed by the youngest members of our clan. When someone tiny walks around with a dish of mixed nuts (which one always does), it's sweet, and you take a couple and thank him or her, and continue your conversation.

When a small child takes a tray of deviled eggs around, or celery sticks with peanut butter and mayonnaise and raisins, the adults keep a little closer eye on things, because that tray is going to tip a little, and it will go badly if it tips a lot.

But when someone tiny is serving up the tiny glasses of sherbet and cranberry juice —with spoons in them — everyone stops and holds their collective breath, because of course we can't deprive a happy tyke the opportunity to help, but ohmyGod it's full of cranberry juice ohmyGodohmyGod.

Really, there is nothing in my life like that particular combination of cheery helpfulness and danger/precariousness.


Day 19 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for moments lived on the edge, and tradition, and traditions of moments lived on the edge.

Muffie

My bed is my shrink each morning, and I therefore lie in it, in Nick and Nora starry sky pajamas from Target that were recently a Halloween costume, between flannel sheets with woodsy illustrations on them from TJ Maxx — for far too long. After I emerge, I put on Tommy Hilfiger jeans from my favorite thrift store, biala shoes from the same thrift store, a short-sleeved red cotton sweater my neighbor gave me as a hand-me-down that I think looks cute even though it now has several pulls, and the same long-sleeved black t-shirt from Target I wore yesterday — not in that order, because that would be a strange way to dress. For jewelry, I went with earrings and a bracelet from a certain very exclusive direct sales company I used to work for, a necklace my cousin gave me that is a shell and a stone on a string (made by her friend Wheels who used to be a bike courier), and my grandmother's seal ring.

I went to work, at which I had several meetings, and lunched with a favorite administrator — while still wearing the same clothes.

After work, I will likely decide that these jeans are a little snugger than I prefer, and change into the Bella Elemento jeans I got at a clothing swap last night (I originally purchased them on ebay for $8, then swapped them away to a friend, then got them back last night because I'm running out of jeans without holes), keeping the rest of my ensemble intact. At that point I may decide to go out to a favorite watering hole, donning a 13-year-old red down vest from Eddie Bauer, which clashes whimsically with the red of my sweater.

Day 18 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful that I am not Muffie Potter Aston, and that I can reliably say that having my children compliment my outfit is unlikely ever to be "as good as it gets" for me. That may be because I have neither children nor a Badgley Mischka Couture silver sequin mermaid-style dress with double tulle overlays, but I don't think so.

OK, now I feel like I have a little bit spoiled the month of gratitude with snark. I'm keeping the snark, obviously, because it's funny to me, but I'll also give you some actual gratitude that isn't just being mean to someone else.

Day 18 of my month of gratitude, seriously: I am thankful that there are clothes on my back, that it is a gorgeous fall day in New England, and that others do not judge me as harshly as I sometimes judge.

Bulletins

When I came in this morning, my office bulletin board was covered with lots of stuff — as it has been for a long time. My leave reporting form, crosswords from my page-a-day calendar, the schedule of when I'm supposed to take pictures of campus, that kind of thing.

This morning, I decided it was time for a change. Important stuff only. Nothing that distracts from what's important.

Which leaves me with only two things on my now-excellent work bulletin board; this:

and this:

Day 17 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the ability to focus on what's important. Sometimes.
I am also thankful that I am still inhaling and exhaling, and that I am awesome.

Training

I wrote about my last year's trainer; it's probably time to introduce you to this year's.

On paper, they're similar: college seniors, long blonde ponytails, excited about helping folks get fitter. But their personalities are night and day.

Last year's trainer was tough, serious. She was very nice, and very good, but also very firm. When we talked, it was mostly about her future or her studies or her work. She had me deadlifting 125 pounds or something ridiculous. When I couldn't do something, or thought I couldn't, she scoffed at me, and insisted I could. I want her on my side in a zombie attack.

This year's trainer is bubbly, fun, maybe a little unnecessarily worried about going too hard on me — though she's learning. (Example: Last night, we were doing stirpots. She had planned to have me do 10, but then decided to let me do as many as I could — which was 30.) She knows everyone in the gym, and greets them all. She is very encouraging, pointing out every rep done with good form, praising every completed set. And when we talk, it's about everything — her classes and her roommates and their girlfriends and local bars. I want her to coach my (hypothetical future) children in gymnastics.

Either way, I love this cheap, healthy, fun interaction I get to have with our students.

Day 16 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for today's slight muscle soreness, and for how I got it, and for my own brute strength.

Drainplug

It's been a rough week for me in some ways:

• Sunday was taxing to the point of wanting to curl up and go to sleep at 6 p.m.
• Monday wasn't bad, but I was still recovering from Sunday, and spent four hours in a car for a three-and-a-half-hour meeting.
• Tuesday and Wednesday were just head-bangingly frustrating.
• Thursday has been full of meetings on a day I needed to spend working on a newsletter.

There's obviously more detail here thank I can give — friend stuff and work stuff and house stuff. But really, it's just this: I'm weary, spent, worn out. (And still need to write that newsletter.)

And throughout the week, what is keeping me aloft is a combination of time alone writing or curled up watching Murder, She Wrote (what?) and time spent with friends, venting or crying or running or drinking or bowling or laughing.

Day 15 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for alone and together, in balance.

Saving

Tonight (that's the tonight that I'm writing and posting this, not the tonight I should have written and posted, which was two days ago), a friend from high school was in trouble. In minutes, other high school friends had rallied around, determined where he was and helped him to get the help he needed.

I was not involved in this effort; by the time I was even aware of it, the ordeal was over. But I was amazed to watch it unfold after the fact. I know there are those who think social media is stupid or impersonal, that "friends" you only interact with through the internet are not friends at all. But my experience is that people care, deeply, about the people who have touched their lives, and that Facebook (and this blog, ahem) facilitates that caring.

Day 14 of my month of gratitude: Tonight, I am thankful for the "social" in social media — and for the safety of someone who might have been less safe.

Long

This past weekend, I:

• Caught up with an old friend
• Went bowling
• Got my hair dyed
• Got my nails done
• Went to two birthday parties
• Played with my niece and nephew
• Danced
• Mediated
• Got adjusted
• Bought presents
• Made two new friends and several more new acquaintances
• Ate a lot of delicious food in a lot of different settings
• Hardly thought about work at all

Day 13 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for three-day weekends.

Seeing

A few years ago, I was at lunch with my parents in D.C.

To get the full effect of this story, you need a little description of my mother. She is, as I think I've mentioned here, an Episcopal priest. She's a "better safe than sorry" type. She plans, carefully. She dresses modestly. Her personal style and mode of dress could best be described as "conservative." She's not a big makeup-wearer, aside from occasional very neutral lipstick "to look like she gives a damn," as my sister would say. Unless she is actually at the gym (or sometimes in the garden, but only sometimes), she wears skirts — to about mid-calf. She likes boiled-wool jackets. That's the kind of dresser my mother is.

Anyway, a few years ago, I was at lunch with my parents in D.C.

And mid-sentence, my mother just broke off, distracted. At the next table was a young family, with two little girls, probably about 2 and 4 years old. And my mother was staring, infatuated, at the older girl, who was wearing bright red, sparkly, glittery red shoes.

"Oh," whispered my boiled-wool-jacket-wearing mother, breathlessly. "Everyone should have shoes like that."

I have remembered it since, and periodically think about buying her a pair, though I don't think she'd wear them.

But a few days ago, I saw a pair of much subtler red shoes in my size for practically no money at one of my favorite stores. They're burgundy, really, and totally work-appropriate, but a far cry from the blacks and browns that make up the whole rest of my shoe wardrobe. And I will think of that lunch every time I wear them.

Day 12 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for wonder where you least expect it, and for red shoes.

Wish

Day 11 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the survival of every servicemember who lives to become a veteran, and pray for the safety of all those who will continue to come home this year.

Following

Some years ago, when I lived in Greater Washington, as we called it, and worked for a newspaper there, I had a great idea for a feature story: I would write about people who had other people's dream jobs, and tell our businessperson readers what it was like for them.

I thought of about a thousand dream jobs: Bookstore owner. Coffee shop owner. Pilot. Astronaut. Dancer. Firefighter. Professional athlete. Massage therapist. And I reached out to folks in several of those jobs, and wound up with an actor, a novelist, and a brewer.

The story was fun to write. All three of my interviewees really loved what they were doing. All three  were firmly in the follow-your-dreams category. All three are still following those same dreams, and apparently still enjoying it.

I found the actor in a roundabout way. A woman who'd interned at the newspaper had gone on to work at America's Most Wanted. I called her, and she put me in touch with a producer there, who connected me to a woman named Jacque Temple who had participated in a few reenactments, but had graduated to being one of their "operators" — the actors who pretend to answer the phones on-air while real operators handle calls in a call center off camera.

I met her twice, I think, when I was working on the story, and have met her once since then. I have closer friends, of course, whose impact on my life is more tangible, more clear, easier to explain, but Jacque is absolutely my hero. She is passionate and fun and supportive. She is stunningly beautiful, I think — it is hard to separate her outer beauty from the radiance that touches everyone she meets — but they're both there, to delightful effect. I invited her to join a group of friends for dinner in New York one night, and she immediately connected with one of my very best friends, and they maintain that connection still, two years later. She lives a life almost too brave for me to comprehend, much less live, in which she pursues vigorously what she feels called to do. She is unfathomably optimistic.

We recently had this exchange:

Jacque: I'll bet you didn't know meeting you was a turning point in my life, and your friendship has made all the difference on the world. xox
[bzzzzgrrrl]: Aw, Jacque, I don't know what to say. Everything happens for a reason — but here I thought all this time the reason was so I could soak up your inspiring words (and deeds!). xox back atcha.

I still don't know what she meant, exactly. But I know exactly what I meant.

Day 10 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the people who so clearly happen into our lives for a reason. And for people who follow their dreams with so much joy that it seems to even the less brave among us like something that can and should be done.

Through

I had this whole awesome sarcastic post written in my head that only about three of you would have gotten for the sarcastic sarcasm it would have been and the rest of you would have wondered what the hell I was talking about, and it would have been just brilliant, better than "A Modest Proposal," but somehow sarcastic rants that could also come back to bite me did not seem in keeping with the spirit of the month of gratitude.

I also had a very loving, very sincere post half-written in my head, totally in keeping with the spirit of the month of gratitude, but the only way that one would have made any sense would have been if I'd divulged information that is not mine to divulge.

It is one of those kinds of days.


Day 9 of my month of gratitude: Days like this, I am thankful just to get through. And I did.

Drunk

Today, I've drunk:

• Water
• Cider
• Throwback Pepsi 
• Herbal tea
• Water with effervescent cold medicine in it
• Cider with effervescent cold medicine in it (note: BAD idea)

I am probably not dying, but if I am, it is not of dehydration.

Day 8 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for fluid. So, so much precious fluid.

Pot

For the last few years, I've been doing "years of."

38 was the year of cute shoes.

39 was the year of time management.

And 40 is the year of having people over.

Now, the year of having people over started months ago, and mostly, so far, I've been adhering to the letter, but not the spirit, of the year. I've had individuals over, mostly — one friend here, another friend there. Since the goals of the year of having people over are to:

• enjoy my house for the excellent entertainment space it is,
• socialize more, and
• have reasons to keep the house clean,

having one friend — generally, one trusted friend who I don't mind seeing the mess my house is — over at a time doesn't do the trick.

This weekend, I had a pot luck. It was initially supposed to be an LGBTQ evening (I called it "family" dinner — cute, right?), but the folks who actually showed up proved to be much more L and Q and much less GBT. And we had a blast. Lots of laughs, lots of good food, some bridges built; it was just a gay old time (I've got a million of 'em).

It reminded me why I love Sunday night pot lucks so much. Maybe I'll have one every week, with different themes — sometimes camp people, sometimes queer people, sometimes the neighbors, sometimes work people, sometimes potpourri! I used to do pot lucks (always potpourri) in D.C. monthly, and I have missed that particular form of community-building.

Belated Day 7 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the range of personalities and flavors that come into my life, old and new — for peanut noodles and chicken hominy chili and brie and glorified rice and ice cream and chicken adobo and cider — and for smushed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and orzo salad and fried cicadas.

Dreamy

I've been home sick — you don't want the gory details, but I'm achy and sneezy and my nose runs like a faucet until I take medicine that dries me out to the point of pain and nosebleeds. I guess that is the gory details. Sorry.

This morning, I had a dream, and the details are fading fast, but my sister brought me to a church service that she said would be pretty much like my regular church, and it was not (lots of running around) and I was very confused.

Then I was taking a class through work at the college that had something to do with sex, but when I got the textbook (which a friend gave me at church), it seemed to be about Cerebral Palsy. I almost accidentally left it in the pew, and as I was going back to retrieve it, I thought of you — while still dreaming. I thought, "Here's a funny story for my month of gratitude — I'm thankful I didn't accidentally leave my sex textbook in a church that isn't even mine." I was sooooooo amused.

That was before my dream self had read the back of the book (while trying to find my car and crossing busy streets in Brattleboro, Vermont) and knew that it was about CP.

Belated, sicko Day 6 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful I didn't accidentally leave my sex textbook in a church that isn't even mine.

Heh.

I feel like this month of gratitude has been very serious. Like, each post by itself feels like me, and feels like something I would write, but as a collection so far, where's the laughter? Where are the wacky antics? Have no high jinks ensued?

There's plenty of that in my life right now, actually, but mostly, it doesn't come in story form — it's been moments that were hilarious if you were there, but that aren't translating so well to web posts — bowling in costume, that kind of thing.

Oh, but if you want funny? You know what was funny? The Halloween episode of The Office. It particularly showed off James Spader to excellent advantage, I thought. Here, treat yourself, if you haven't already:




Belated Day 5 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for every belly laugh and chuckle. And for finally understanding what the fuss is about with James Spader. Never really got that before.

Motto

This one by Langston Hughes has been rattling around in my brain a bunch lately, for a bunch of different reasons:

I play it cool
And dig all jive.
That's the reason
I stay alive.

My motto,
As I live and learn,
         is:
Dig And Be Dug
In Return

OK, and yes, one of those reasons was that one episode of Law and Order where Briscoe quotes it to his lieutenant. But there have also been some big heartfelt conversations with friends who've brought it starkly into focus.

There's been a lot of that in my life these days, recurrent themes that are everywhere. They feel like whispers of the divine, or my subconscious, or both, telling me to Pay Attention to this One Very Important Thing Right Now.

A belated Day 4 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for poetry, for reminders from the universe, and for their intersections. And boy howdy, am I thankful for the work of Langston Hughes.

Pushing

I just posted this to Facebook:

[bzzzzgrrrl] just got home to a big envelope, hand-addressed, no return address, with three Forever stamps, seven five-cent stamps, and one one-cent stamp — all uncancelled. It is so intriguing that instead of opening it I obviously want to make you guess what's in it first. You have half an hour before I open it and tell you what's inside. Go. 

And as I watched the responses roll in (a trip around the world! cookies and a t-shirt! a thermos ransom note! bison burgers!) it occurred to me how very much I do not live in 2002-era D.C. anymore. There was a time when that exact combination of things would have been enough to have me a) trembling with fear, and b) not opening my mail, no way, no how. In this time and place, not one person guessed, "anthrax."


Day 3 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for safety, for peace, for not always remembering when The Terrorists Were Winning.

Powerless

One of my college roommates shares a gmail account with her husband. I saw them online this afternoon, and asked if it was she. It was not. I wished her husband, also a college friend, a very happy birthday, and he suggested I call my old roommate, who'd been home for days with two kids but no power, heat, or running water — that's what happens when we get big snowstorms while the leaves are still on the trees. He was only online because he was at work.

Um, YIKES.

I did call, of course, and my friend, was remarkably chipper, considering. See, the town center, which had also been without power, had finally reopened, so, for example, they could buy gas to go somewhere else, even if their own power wouldn't come back for days and the kids would be out of school the rest of the week. Tomorrow, the Y will be open and they can take showers.

Obviously, I invited them to come stay with me, but my friend thought, since her husband had to work, it might be unkind to leave him alone in a cold, dark house on his birthday.

That, my friends, is the kind of sacrifice that leads to strong marriages. I'm told.

Day 2 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for water, and power, and heat. And Roku and the internet and all those other things so many other folks can't take for granted.

Care-full

I liked this exercise when I did it last year. And so, it seems, did some of you. I did not reread last year's, so there may be some repeats, but that's what you get.


Day 1 of my month of gratitude: In honor of finally finishing a class about giving care, I am thankful for caregivers: For those who provide safe and happy homes for children, for those who ensure that the rest of us are mostly unafraid, for the one friend and reader to whom I owe a lengthy e-mail, who has made saving lives his life's work. Thanks for people who give care to us all.