It’s a New Year. A clean slate. As every day is, really. But there is something profound about both this day and, for me, my own birthday. They are both “New Years” and both feel full of promise for the future and mercy for the past – even the past as close as the night before. All is forgiven and I can begin again.
I am thankful for that. And what else?
- I am thankful that, as I lie here in my second-hand flanel sheets (bought from a thrift shop – I love flanel), coughing and sputtering all over myself until my head aches, that I have clean, cool running water a mere few steps away. What a soothing balm over the last few days as I’ve succumbed to a dreadful cold.
- I am thankful that I am back in touch with my family. I haven’t been able to say that for a few years. I am thankful that my brother’s death, like his life, was not for nothing. My step father always said that my brother was “the glue” or “The Godfather” than held our family together. The tragic loss of him has certainly proved that statement true. Out of respect for him, we’ve laid down our swords and are doing our best to simply love one another.
- I am thankful that I have a husband that is really second to none. Our love transforms the others weaknesses into strengths. Through my husbands eyes, I see all my previously perceived flaws and foibles as blessings and powers. Through my eyes, my husbands suspicions that he is unique, special, and meant for something wonderful are all affirmed. What more could one ask for? (I just phoned him at his mom’s to read this to him and he said, “That’s beautiful, baby.” 😀 )
- I am so, ridiculously thankful for books! Books, books, books! Biographies and fiction and self-help and spiritual books. All of them. I love, love, love to read books. I have had a great year of books. I wonder what I’ll read this year.
- I am thankful for my creativity, which I have pressed into more in my forties than I ever did before. Probably for a couple of reasons. First, I am less of a perfectionist than I was in my youth. I don’t need to be the best painter, writer, drawer, sculptor, decorator, etc. I just want to have some fun. Second, I have had four years of stability, which is a record for me. When you are with the same mate, living in the same place for awhile, you can afford to start accumulating brushes and paints and beads and papers and things and you can set them out for awhile while you work over days or weeks and it’s no big deal, because you’re not going to have any major relationship upheaval that means packing and purging things that are not necessitities and junking half formed projects and moving on to who knows where.