Just before
the holiday season takes off like a Christmas cactus in full bloom, I'm making
a list. No, not a list of stuff leaving me open-mouthed with desire, but of my
blessings. Mundane as they may seem, their absence would be noticed and result
in varying degrees of discomfort. And as we all know, discomfort is downright
unpatriotic. Not on this list are my family and friends. For them I am always
thankful.
The number
one, top-of-the-list item, for which I thank God every time I step into the
shower, is hot water. Hot water, you say? Where did she come from, some rural
backwater with an outhouse and well? No, but I do remember my family members
schlepping down to the basement to fill a portable tank with fuel needed to
keep the house warm and the water hot. Forget about electronic this and digital
that; if we wanted to keep toasty and wash in something other than ice water,
someone had to do the work.
Once we had
hot water, a passel of us got to share it in one bathroom; we are talking a
small bathroom, roughly the size of what these days some people consider an
undersized walk-in closet. Still, there were some interesting times while some
uncle or other was shaving and I perched on the edge of the claw foot tub
weighing the merit of his words. So I am thankful for the bourgeois luxury of a
second bathroom.
On the subject
of rooms: I am privileged to have a room of my own where I can shut the door
and go about the business of contributing words to a world already awash in too
many of them, or dream up my next painting, or type a letter to a friend. A
room of one’s own is a supreme luxury and I am humbled by my good fortune and
forever grateful.
And I am
profoundly thankful I lived up to my father's praise when he delighted in the
fact that I was able to root around in the refrigerator and come up with an
edible meal. Over time, this knack transmogrified into an ability to cook.
Cooking well, and taking pleasure in it, is a blessing I can share. Sharing
makes it all the more precious.
I am thankful
for the wind chime outside our front door, because it reminds me of God's
breath and, despite efforts to purge them from our modern lives; magic and
mystery abound in the universe.
Perhaps more
than anything, I am grateful for the ability to laugh at myself and the world
around us. If there were a heaven, I am sure it would not be populated by dour
righteous types, but rather by folks who would share a bawdy joke with God
after splitting the wine, doing a jig, laughing over creation and raising their
voices in thanks for the music.
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