Lucky Me

30 Days of Gratitude

Day Five

I woke up this morning, well before first light, and peeked one-eyed and furry-headed at the clock. Said clock is across the bedroom and getting harder and harder to see without my glasses, which sometimes puts me in a grouchy mood before my feet even hit the floor.  

But this fine fall morning was a SATURDAY, so my first emotions were relief and thanks that I could snuggle back under the covers, throw an arm across the sleeping giant next to me and snooze for another hour – or what the hell, TWO! I’m feeling generous! And lazy!

That warm, mushy feeling was painfully short-lived. About 7 a.m., Buddy and Blue came barrelling into our bedroom, barking as though ax murderers were right outside the door, threatening to come inside and hack us all to pieces. Or maybe a possum; it's hard to tell with them sometimes.

A growly "SHUSH, puppies!" fell on deaf ears. They ran to the bed, whining and bouncing and spinning around all jiggly and frenetic, then ran back to the door that leads to the deck, whining and barking like they'd just polished off all the water in their bowls and hadn't been out to pee in 37 hours. I was about to fire a pillow at them when I heard the source of their puppydog angst: A dozen or so workers had just shown up next door to start putting a roof on the house that's for sale. Did I mention that it was barely light outside??? And that it was 7 a.m.? Sheesh.

Once they cranked up the forklift-looking vehicle and backed it up -- BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP -- and started hammering up on the roof, it was all over but the crying.

I had planned to write my Gratitude first thing this morning, but I was so surly and pissy that I thought perhaps I'd wait, get in the right spirit, have a bowl of cereal and chill out on the couch. But
(refer back to the second part of the last sentence) that didn't exactly work out. I picked a fight with my teen first, then I picked another with the hubby. (Is it HIS fault that he can sleep through a jackhammer next to the bed?)

Sigh.

So ... the day started off a bit stompy, and I just wasn't in the mood. Harrumph.

But now it's quiet, it's nearly midnight, and I'm looking back on a day that was actually pretty spectacular, all things considered. Hubby and I are still married, still talking, still laughing at --and with -- each other. The teenager is still alive -- and truthfully, did some amazing stuff today. The bedroom is clean (I didn't even have to threaten to barge in in riot gear and toss in teargas.); her toilet's been scrubbed; she did some homework, practiced her trumpet and even spent a few hours walking around the neighborhood, taking some very cool photographs and writing a little poetry. The kitchen is clean. My 26-year-old washer/dryer held on for another day and we all have clean underwear and T-shirts to wear tomorrow. The mini cheesecakes I made for Game Night were scrumptious -- AND I won the second game!

I have an amazing life. And I am absolutely grateful for every inch of it.

HOME

30 Days of Gratitude
Day Four

On this chilly, drizzly, gray November afternoon, I am thankful for my warm, cozy house.

I complain about it a lot -- it's drafty, the rooms are like a rabbit warren (tiny!), there's always something breaking down, some major thing like plumbing or the roof that needs a complete overhaul, but it's warm, it's nearly paid for and it's where my family lives!

I think about all the people who don't have a roof over their heads, or blankets to curl up in, or people they love living in the next room and I'm humbled ... and a little ashamed. Yeah, it would be cool to have a house built in the '40s, one with more "character" and funkier spaces, but how lucky I am to have a roof that doesn't leak (anymore) and toilets that flush (most of the time) and a nice, soft bed to snuggle in on cold winter nights.

So this weekend I'm going to clean my little ranch-style abode and treat it with a little loving care and maybe even plan a winter project for the two non-handy English majors who own it!

The Funnies

30 Days of Gratitude
Day Three

There's nothing better than laughing out loud ... or trying desperately to stifle a giggle when it's threatening to erupt into full-fledged guffaws in a totally inappropriate place -- like when you're covering during a murder trial (it was a lawyer's fault, I swear) or when you're trying to reprimand your teenage daughter.

Try as I might, I'm not personally very funny. I'm a little surly, in fact, and I can flat ruin a good joke in the retelling. But I love to laugh, so I surround myself with silly people.

So today, I'm thankful for them and their silliness, and all the other stuff in life that makes me cackle, chuckle, snicker, grin, whoop, smile or smirk.

Don Sears. Without fail, he can inject humor into even the most serious of moments. His dry wit and amazing timing leaves me giggling, every time.

My friend Rivan. When she gets tickled about something, she's like a hysterical mime -- her giggle is all body language and no sound, and you just know it's gonna explode any minute, but it never does. Cracks me up.  And her husband, John, who just has to look at me sometimes to make me start laughing.

My buddies at work. Especially New Chris, with his sly humor. Plus, he likes all the same comedians I do, and we have a lot of fun laughing about things Old Chris doesn't get.

My silly hubby. Poor Luther ... not everyone gets his sometimes esoteric brand of humor, but he can make me laugh in the middle of a knock-down, drag-out fight, and for that I am TRULY thankful.

My daughter. She's 14. 'Nuff said.

Mike Tucker and Ann Wilson Floyd have the most contagious laughs on the planet. I can hear either one of them howling about something and it doesn't even matter that I don't know what they're laughing at ... I'll giggle 'til my sides hurt.

Sharon and Mandy -- especially when they're arguing about something. Which is almost all the time. How can twin sisters be so completely alike and so completely different at the same time?

Richard Pryor. George Carlin. Patton Oswalt. Tosh.O. (I don't want to laugh but I just can't help myself.) Lewis Black. Dane Cook (oh, don't scowl. You know he's funny.)  Monty Python -- all the movies, and especially "The Flying Circus" TV reruns. Louis CK. (Check out his "everything's amazing and nobody's happy" YouTube video.)

"The Office." The addition of James Spader was pure genious. "The League" (I know, I know, it's really foul, but damn, it's funny!). "30 Rock" ... well, anything Tina Fey does. "Bridesmaids." "Airplane!" "Animal House." "Finding Nemo." "Shrek." "Whitney."

The Homer Simpson Hula Girl dashboard music box in which he sings "Tiny Bubbles" while bobbling back and forth.

My Hallmark Hoops and Yo-Yo Daily Calendar. ("It's TODAY! YAY! It could be the best day of the rest of your life! Or the worst ... really, you've got a 50-50 chance, so get out there!!!!")

David Sedaris -- he's so coy ... and insane. I drive Luther crazy when I'm reading one of his books because I keep saying, "Listen to this one!" -- over and over and over.

Awkwardfamilypetphotos.com -- just discovered this one today. The captions are even funnier than the photos, which are unintentionally hysterical -- especially because they were taken to be genuine. If you go to the site, be sure to check out the space photo on page14. I nearly shot oatmeal across the room this morning when I saw it.

Jon Stewart. Stephen Colbert. Anyone who does political satire. And speaking of politics, I can now add Rick Perry and Herman Cain. Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.

Snoopy, doing the happy dance, of course. Gary Larson and his "Far Side" cartoons. Calvin and Hobbes ... every single panel. "The Family Circus." I used to think it was stupid; then I had a 4-year-old. The running gag that shows the kid making this ridiculously circuitous path from his bedroom to the kitchen when he's called for supper -- with the little hash marks that show him going through the living room and out the front door and around the tree and back into the back door and through the laundry room before he finally makes it to the kitchen table is spot on. Who knew?




I know I left people out -- it's not that I don't think you're funny, it's just that it's 11 o'clock and my brain is winding down. You know who you are! And thank you.

Heaven on Earth

30 Days of Gratitude

Day Two

What is it about the beach that leaves me feeling sated and luxuriously empty at the same time?

The senses are attacked from every corner but never overwhelmed – everywhere is something to fill the spirit: Sunlight dancing on the water like my daughter’s long-ago piles of princess glitter; the soul-shaking crash of the waves on the sand; the sound of the wind creaking through the palmetto trees; the feel of sun and crisp air and salt on my skin; the warm fullness of my belly from beach grits and Eloise’s home-baked cookies and a good, smooth rum. And just when it seems to be all and enough, the glorious sight of dolphins jumping and splashing just beyond the breaking waves.

On this chilly November evening, Day Two of my Gratitude Journey, I am thankful for the proximity of the beach, and for the fact that, while I am far from wealthy, I am comfortable enough to be able to afford at least one solid weekend at the beach each year.  Some people may not find South Carolina ideal, but the most wonderful thing about it is that it’s close to the ocean and the mountains. In two or three hours, I can be in a completely different landscape, gazing at rocky outcroppings or sunlight dancing on sea foam.

Sometimes as I’m making my way eastward, I am still feeling stressed or fearful or overwhelmed by my busy, complex life … but all it takes is the smell of the salt marsh, the grit of cool sand between my toes, one vibrant sunrise over the water to render me relaxed and healthy again. Clarity comes and my heart beats more slowly.   

What did I do to deserve this?

The beach holds so many of my most precious memories: a house at Edisto that has been a part of my history for so long, the weeks spent there unconnected until relatively recently. Other houses at Folly Beach or Pawleys Island that welcome me back like I’m coming home to something.

I went as a child to an old cottage in Edisto with a friend and her parents. Years later, I spent my first adult vacation at the same house, with three women twice my age who spent the days picking up shells and the nights playing cards on the porch. I went with friends for a full week – a WEEK!!! – to this house; we rented it every October, when fall was coyly flirting with a fading summer. My child was quite possibly conceived in the house at Edisto, and I married my best friend in its tiny front yard, under the arbor of an old dead bush my soon-to-be husband lovingly turned into a honeysuckle-filled grotto. My trusted dog Barney was a witness; my family was here, my brother David doing the honors for a father-less child and walking me down the back steps to the man who was waiting to spend the rest of our lives together. And here we are, my husband and I, 15 years later, still walking the same path. We struggle to understand each other, to be patient with one another, to make it through the disconnect that sometimes happens even to people who love each other … but we have learned that the struggle is where the meat is, where the heart is, where we need to be when we can’t recognize ourselves anymore.

My lifelong friend, a woman I’ve known for 43 years, shares her birthday with me at the beach every year, and our weekend together is always relaxing and full of laughter and silliness and good books to read while lounging in the hammock.

Sometimes, when I’m in desperate need of a break, a change, something spontaneous, I drag friends and their families to the beach, even if only for a day, to hear that thunderous roar again, see how very big the ocean is, remember how small my problems really are.

For all those nights on the sleeping porch, I’m genuinely grateful.

Eloise.

30 Days of Gratitude

Day One

Nov. 1, 2011

Have you ever met someone who’s so genuinely kind that you feel like a better person just hanging out on the same planet with them?

  My buddy Eloise is a gift, one I’m grateful for every single day. I want to be just like her when I grow up, but I can’t imagine even coming close.

  I could list a thousand reasons, but they all really come from the same place: her heart. It’s huge – so big that when you’re around her, you can’t see your own faults. She loves unconditionally, genuinely, and she’s happiest when the people around her are happy. So she works quietly to make sure they are.

  Eloise is 95. She worked full-time until a couple of years ago. She still drives, still does volunteer work, still bakes goodies for the “old folks” at the nursing home. She makes care packages for us when we’re sick, packs snack bags for my Girl Scouts when we go camping, puts together thousands and thousands of booklets for the My Community and Me program, sends crisp dollar bills to college students once a week so they can go buy a soda while they’re studying, remembers what you like and finds ways to make sure you get it. She has put people through college, bought cars for folks in need, helped people find jobs.

  She’s a devout Christian, and she is Jesus on Earth, the way Christians are supposed to be. If you’re sick, she’ll tend to you. If you’re hungry, she’ll feed you. If you need clothes or transportation, she’ll find it for you. She remembers birthdays and still sends thank you cards for the smallest of gestures.

I’m grateful that she’s my friend because she’s one of the kindest, strongest, most giving people I’ve ever known.

And she has a wicked sense of humor. Remind me to tell you sometime about the six-month practical joke she and her husband played on my family once … she got half the town involved, and it’s still one of my favorite stories of all time.

I want my daughter McKenzie to be just like her when she grows up, too. I suspect it’s a little too late for me – I’m already surly and stingy and too old to change. But McKenzie sees and hears and absorbs all that kindness and it makes my heart swell.

Eloise gives without any expectation of receiving. I’m not exaggerating. She’s a saint among humans.  She gives constantly. She has no ulterior motives. She could care less about “things,” about wealth or fame or status or attention … she likes people, and she likes to see others find happiness. (She also likes basketball and tennis and football and has started watching rugby, thanks to the wonders of modern television.)  

She also makes a mean Death by Chocolate cookie, and I’m so grateful for those that I can gain 3 pounds just thinking about them.

So on Day One of my 30 Days of Gratitude, I am thankful most of all for Eloise, for her unwavering faith in people, her unwavering faith in me.

30 Days of Gratitude

A Month of Gratitude

November always seems to catch me by surprise. I look up one day and the trees are skeletons and I wonder, what the heck happened to the gorgeous reds and golds that made October a rock star among months? All those richly colored leaves … decomposing underfoot.

Bah.

The gradual shortening of the days – which was oh-so-romantic when fall began and we had the luscious Harvest Moon to consider -- speeds up like one of those tricksy rides at the fair and I feel a little dizzy and slightly sick. The year’s nearly gone and already it’s a blur. And it’s too damned dark all of a sudden.

Maybe that’s why November unsettles me: Not enough color. Not enough sunlight. And not enough time. My mom died in November; it was a very, very long time ago, but it still makes me think about how little time we get.

Zoom zoom.

The upshot is that I get a little sad and a little grumpy. Funk is a good word for it. Whiny is another. And 1,000 repeats of “Jingle Bell Rock” Musak-style before we even get to eat Turkey and Dressing does nothing to pull me out of it.

I know I’m not alone out there, because I’m not the only whiny, grouchy one around in November. (You know who you are.)

So this year I’ve decided to challenge myself to a little test: I bet myself $50 that if I spent more time thinking about all the things I’m happy about, it won’t seem so dark.  We’ll see if I win.

The Quiet of Now

Night was falling slowly outside. I didn’t have my eyes open, but I could feel the darkness gently descending like a summer blanket, a soft counterpoint to the increasingly strong wind rustling through the trees just outside the attic windows.
I lay still and quiet, feeling how alive my body was but how peaceful at the same time.
The sensation was one of total relaxation. Stress at work? Gone. A broken toilet and a frustrated non-handyman husband? Gone. My pre-teen’s dramatic mood swings? Not my problem for this one moment in time.
I’d just finished a good yoga workout at the home of a friend, a woman whose attic is a retreat from the world once a week. The walls are peppered with tangible memories of her journeys around the world -- photos of lions and leaves, tapestries from Machu Picchu, a 600-year-old Peruvian site that some call the “Lost City of the Incas,” scarves and other fabric wall hangings from exotic places, lighted stars that hang beneath the skylights.
It’s an incredibly peaceful place. And our time together is so calming that I look forward to it each week, biding my time until we gather again.
Every Thursday night, four of us tromp up the stairs, full of stories from our hectic weeks, our crazy jobs, financial woes and other stressors. We start with a warmup meditation as she instructs us to let go of the world, let go of our thoughts. “Watch them pass by, but don’t engage in them,” she says softly. She guides us to a stream, tells us to “lie” in the warm flowing water and let it wash over us, cleansing the outside world away. We figuratively open the tops of our heads and let the water wash through us, swirl through our brains, behind our eyes, clean out our hearts and bellies and fingers -- anyplace there’s stress or tension, she says, let the water wash it clean.
And it works, mostly because we’re all desperate for a little peace after the chaos of our day.
Then we begin the workout. We work on our backs, stretching out over our feet as we sit on the floor. Triangle pose leads us not-so-gently into Table pose, a stretch that pulls our shoulders sharply into focus; Downward Dog makes us feel strong, and Cobra reminds us that we sit far too much on our jobs. We bend and stretch, slowly working the muscles that grow tight with the cares of our lives. No muscle is exempt. We work our necks and even our eyes, our hips and toes, our lower backs and upper backs and lower arms.
Warrior is my favorite; I feel strong, like I can do anything, as I turn my head to look down the length of my arm into the distance. We flow from the incredible strength of Warrior II, our legs burning already with the memory of the pose, into Downward Dog again, into Plank, sliding into Upward Dog and then back to Warrior again, our thighs humming with the long stretch.
Tree is always last. We find our center, balance on one leg, hands high in the air like the topmost branches. We hold it for as long as we can, and it becomes an amazing thing: We realize our bodies are quiet and peaceful, energized but calm, tired but full of life and full of silence as well.
The lights are lowered, and then -- Corpse pose, a time to melt into the mat, letting her voice guide us to a special place, a place of quiet wonder. This lengthier meditation is nearly spiritual. It is the reason I come back each week.
On a good night, when my mind is quiet and the yoga has worked its magic, I can transport myself to a grassy valley, full of sunlight and purple flowers, buzzing with bees. There’s a huge oak tree, wider than my arms can reach around; from a middle limb hangs a rope swing, a board worn smooth for a seat. On a good night, I sit down and begin to swing, pumping my legs, pulling myself toward the clouds, into the uppermost branches, and then falling back with a force stronger than gravity.
Sometimes I have to strain to hear her voice, gently calling us back to the world. And when I open my eyes, I am rested, content, strong -- ready to face another week.