#gratitude

blogger-image--747211023They say the secret to having it all – is knowing you already do. But it’s the knowing that sometimes escapes us.  That’s why thought Thanksgiving is a pretty good time to put on my grateful glasses. Well, naturally a quick things on the thankful list easily come to mind like caramel, my dishwasher, Amazon, pajamajeans (don’t laugh until you tried them) and Trader Joe’s. But those are just the fluffy things. It’s the times I feel my grandkids’ hugs or have a sleepover with my beautiful, bride-to-be granddaughter. It’s when I hear a friend’s sweet support or even watch the daily parade of backyard wildlife. Those are the things that get me big time.

They say that even when you have 99 problems, you probably still have 99,000 blessings. We can always be thankful, even if it’s merely for all the troubles we DON’T have. On the worst of day, I can still fill a a ream of paper with things I’m grateful for. Hey, anyone who gets constant hugs from tiny boys saying ‘I yuv you, gramma” has reasons to be thankful.

The stuff of gratitude can be pretty great. Sometimes, though, when life is really hard or really hurts, gratitude seems like a foreign word.

I’m thankful for my struggles for without them I wouldn’t have found my strengths.

My Thanksgivings have changed over the years. I no longer make the turkey; I bring the sides. My table no longer hosts a throng of kidlets; I head to their homes. Not to worry. I have dibs on Christmas and Easter and, to be honest, I much prefer tagliatelle to turkey anyway. Still, Thanksgiving is that time honored holiday when gratitude is the main course; that is if we do turkey day right. Continue reading

Advertisements

An Attitude . . of Gratitude

host_57e0ff669606ee684d675f3e

The first time I knew Thanksgiving was never going to be a Norman Rockwell painting was the year my little brother died. His absence from the table – and our lives, was immeasurable. It changed all of us in many ways. My father, who was never the biggest cheerleader of any holiday, finally had a reason to hate them indefinitely. One year, a nicely browned turkey found its way, platter and all, to the wall putting makeshift ham sandwiches on that day’s menu. That was the only year turkey didn’t quite make it to the table, but real joy never quite made it either. A somber spirit lasted for years where my brother’s quirky, prankster personality had been.

As the years went on, husbands and children joined the mix and our Thanksgiving tables were full once again. We bought our first houses; grandparents and parents died, children and grandchildren were born. The full gamut of life’s events unfolded in my gratitude journal with blessings in abundance. There were always more than enough reasons to be grateful.

But last Thanksgiving, my gratitude journal went on hiatus. Continue reading