Thanks for the ordinary, everyday life

    On Monday I needed to fill up the yard-waste container for pickup the next morning. I gathered the slimy remains of once vigorous variegated hosta plants, exposing families of slugs that had been caught hunkering down to face the winter. Yellow grape leaves from under the arbor became the next layer in the big green bin, followed by excess ivy from under the photinia hedge. I swept the pine needles from the driveway, and deposited them as topping for my yard-waste parfait. Signs I had optimistically posted at the doors saying, "Wipe your shoes, please?" had proven futile. I wondered why I bothered to fight nature, and resigned myself to constantly sweeping pine needles from the floor.

    When my chore was finished I went in to wash up. My son John had stopped in to make himself a quesadilla, and Joe came by for a shower and a snack. Our other "son" Brutus had spent the night on the couch. The kitchen was sprinkled with recently used dishes, silverware, and glasses. An undefined chicken ice cube was thawing on a plate. Warm unfolded towels on the big table waited for someone to call them to order. I knew that if I didn't get to it by the time Lenny came home, he would fold them before he did anything else. I love that in a man. I noticed that apparently, our dog was mad at me for making him stay inside. He acted out his "issues" by raiding the dirty laundry pile, and his trophy of underwear lay in shreds under the diningroom table.

    The sports section of the paper was sprawled across the kitchen counter. My morning routine had been interrupted by a phone call, and I only returned to the paper long enough to finish my toast and tea. I relished the thought that my son Joe must be happy, and yet cautiously hopeful, as the Seahawks sneak up on NFL greatness.

    I didn't even have to look as I reached for a tissue, popping one out of the box that sat on the counter. My hands warmed as I washed them with lavender scented soap under hot water.

    I filled a clean glass to the brim with water from the tap. It was clear and cold, and as I quenched my thirst, I was surprised by the thoughts that overwhelmed me. "Someday you might not have such good water at your fingertips. There could come a time when you remember this day, this place, and this drink with fondness and longing."

My mind went to those who had been in prison camps, the displaced and persecuted, and the thousands around the world who have been battered by wind, water, and earthquakes this year alone.

I took a moment to look around me. My heart was filled with gratitude. Slimy hosta leaves and slugs are part of living in a beautiful place. Pine needles carried inside on many shoes mean that I am not alone. Our kids are close by; my husband comes home every night with a kiss and a faithful heart. We can enjoy the frivolity of sports. I have good food, clean laundry, and tissues at my fingertips. I even love the Beagle, whose short memory allows him to consistently forgive and adore me.

    Natural disaster, terrorism, war, and hardship could change my life at any time. And it is this knowledge that inspires me to be grateful, to give thanks for my ordinary everyday life.

Note: this was originally published in 2005 in the King County Journal. I'll post again in two weeks with some big news about The Big Table. Happy Thanksgiving! I'm grateful for you.