A gratitude list from the memories of last week.

1. Hot dogs skewered on stretched-out hangers over an open fire in the middle of the front yard on a Thursday night in small town America.
2. A bigger-than-Dallas moon to watch on the drive back to the city.
3. A new book, several new books.
4. Happy Natia, tail wagging, excited to be “home again.”
5. Hundreds of iris bulbs and the anticipation of next spring.
6. Dead box elder bugs and a new broom to sweep them away.
7. Spending a Saturday morning in a run down laundromat with machines humming, Natia on the floor sleeping, and nothing but a new book to occupy my time.
8. Tears that can’t be helped when I hear acapella music at church.
9. Happy husband.
10. Listening to my daughter’s stories of the day with noisy children in the background.
11. Baking banana bread.
12. Bills paid.
13. Mid-afternoon walk with my dog, releasing her from the leash, and letting her run fast across an empty lot.
14. Feeling productive in my work.
15. My piano and my butterfly quilt…the missing is no longer.
16. Hearing my husband singing “Amazing Grace” while he gets ready in the morning.
17. The sounds of little girls splashing in the creek water and squealing when they find frogs, across the street at the park.
18. Being welcomed in our new small town America.
19. Fried chicken at the Triple C with a bunch of farmer types in overalls and coveralls.
20. An evening with Paul and MJ and two great kids.
21. Extra mayo.
22. A new TV series to watch. Current can’t miss: This is Us.
23. Lunch at Panera with Cosmo, Jimena, and Paul.
24. Learning to be content with what we have and not needing new.
25. The sound of mourning doves in the still of the day.
26. Creaky floors that remind me I can walk, and I can hear.
27. Anticipation in the wait to see dear friends: Elaine, Julie and Dave, John and Linda, Shirley…and waiting to see family: Dad, Dwight, and Katrina and her family…and to feel little hands in mine once again when I finally get to see Parker and Reilly after two years of absence.
28. Loving going to church, loving my church.
29. Knowing that God is speaking, not just thinking that maybe God is speaking.
30. Bendy straws.

Apparently, box elder bugs like white houses. I have been staring at about 52,345 of them crawling on the screen of this 2nd floor window in front of my desk all the day long. It is not pleasant. Do not come and visit us right now. At least not in the daylight hours.

On to less creepy thoughts…

I am grateful for a morning that began with laughter in the pickup with Sam. I was telling him about helping a co-worker with her car noise. I thought I could help, since, you know, I am a mechanic 2nd generation. I told her to pop the hood and she didn’t know how. That made me feel smart. Sam laughed. Not that I felt smart, but that I used the phrase, “Pop the hood.”

And I am grateful for the privilege of seeing the most beautiful sunrise in the history of the world when I drove back to box eldered white house.

And I am grateful for the small town Kansas entertainment that comes through the pickup speakers from the small town radio station that employs radio people who really should only be in small towns because they need LOTS of practice before hitting the big time. Oh my.

And I am grateful to have learned this morning about every area school lunch menu for today, and every area senior citizen center lunch menu too. I know where to go to get a bowl of chili and canned peaches, or corn dogs and tater tots, or pork roast, mashed potatoes, and a side of Watergate salad.

And I am grateful for the delight at having a little sleeping dog at my feet all day long, un-creepified because she cannot see the invasion of the box elders.

And I am grateful to have had dinner on Mom’s china last night for the first time in many, many years. It has finally found a home, and this daughter is happy.

And finally, I am grateful that my 2nd generation mechanic skills allowed me to know how to check oil and transmission and I could even point out that co-worker should fill the reservoir for her windshield washer fluid. Thanks, Dad. Now, if only you had also been an exterminator.

…except for butterflies. and fireflies.

…it could hold a rather large amount of gratitude. – A.A. Milne

Yesterday was a great day. 

There are just those days when you say, Wow! and you think it can’t really get much better. Those days when your heart is bursting with happiness. Those days that cause tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

Yesterday was one of those days. It had been awhile since I had a heart bursting with happiness and gratitude kind of day. My fault totally. Every day should be that. But I allow the dull and doubt, the sullied and shame, the brown and blah to enter and cover the happiness and gratitude. It clouds my vision like the gray of a dreary day.

But not yesterday.

It started with a happy dog.

It continued with a call from my happy husband.

It spread when my boss came around my desk, ordered me to stand up, and then hugged me tightly while telling me we just placed a REALLY BIG DEAL in a REALLY BIG JOB that she and I had been working on for a REALLY LONG TIME. We both had tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

And then it got even better when I left to go to court and witnessed a most wonderful hearing that culminated in the judge ordering my CASA girl’s adoption date set for Valentine’s Day, CASA girl’s day of choice. A not-so-minor answer to many many prayers. More tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

The day turned to evening, and I spent my time with two large computer paper boxes of paperwork which was actually mail and financials and catalogs  and church bulletins and pictures and all of the important things that I need to save which turns into all the things that aren’t very important that I need to toss when it becomes months later…and it was so good to sort and organize and pile and TOSS.

In the middle of the purging, I spent an hour on the phone with my youngest child, catching up on life and relishing the sound of her voice that is rarely heard in these days of busyness. She couldn’t see it, but more tears. Tears of joy. Tears of happiness. Tears of gratitude.

In my piling and purging, I found an envelope from cousin Dean with an old article folded that included a hand-written message from my Mama. I uncovered an envelope of pictures from Shirley that she sent to me when she was also piling and purging, pictures of my girls and my Mama in the days of Central Christian. I saw a list of gifts received from our wedding. I discovered kindergarten graduation pictures that were intended for a picture frame. I enjoyed looking through 50th birthday cards and felt loved all over again. Joy. Happiness. Gratitude.

Yawning. Satisfaction. A little daydreaming that needed to turn into night dreaming, a little more yawning…

“Ready to go to bed, Natia?”

And the day ended with a thumping of a happy tail on the couch.

Yesterday was a great day.

I look at this piece of art, “Shack,” by Elizabeth Murray every day. It hangs large and loud on the wall facing me, and over the past four years, I have grown to love it. I can look at it all day and notice new things. Can you see her? She kind of looks like Olive Oyl.

It is called “Shack” for a reason, of course. The woman’s world is a scattered chaos, her home in shambles, disorganized organization. So, the artist deconstructed the art and put it back together in this three dimensional masterpiece in order to tell her story. You can see the walls of her home, layered but still recognizable. You can see the cobblestone path leading to her shack, and I have also heard it described that the path can also be the chain that binds her to her existence in the home, connecting her down the chimney of her brain to the soles of her feet. She has been violated in some way, and so she has blocked entry to her innermost parts. You can see where her heart belongs, and although her home, her life, is in shambles, the light of the sun, or I like to imagine the Son, still shines through.

Murray’s work has been described as resonating struggle and pain in her own life, and this piece certainly shows that.

But it also shows the sun. It is up to the person appreciating the beauty to decide whether the sun is rising or whether the sun is setting. And, whether it is the sun or the Son.

The message resonates with me…

I am grateful for art.

I am grateful that even though I am completely uneducated about art, I can appreciate it for the gift it is to me as I look at this piece each day.

I am grateful that my employers love art and chose this piece to share my space in the office.

I am grateful that even though the artist’s message may have been very different, the message that her work speaks to me, fills my soul and tells a small part of my story, my shack.

I am grateful for another day to begin again.

I am grateful that the tires held up long enough to get to a tire a shop, just in case there is a problem.

I am grateful for familiar and friendly faces.

I am grateful for the kindness of strangers.

I am grateful for the kindness of friends.

I am grateful for the solitude of a morning drive.

I am grateful for a happy husband.

I am grateful for free air on the side of a Casey’s building.

I am grateful that my husband calls often to check on my well-being but trusts me to be independent and do the hard things alone.

I am grateful for Taco Johns and sweet memories of meals with Mom.

I am grateful for tears just under the surface.

I am grateful for sentimental things and the anticipation of being reunited with them soon.

And I am grateful that my brother appreciated a morning sunrise enough to take a picture and share it with the world.