A REFLECTION ON GRATITUDE

 

It's Thanksgiving morning.  Not yet dawn.  Up early to start to assemble my contributions to today's family meal.   But instead I ambled around the house taking photos of my Fall decor, of my many  reminders (taped to cabinet doors in the kitchen and on the side of a file cabinet in my office) to live a life of caring and integrity and strength.  I pass by these dozens of times a day, stopping to read them at least twice, sometimes three or four or more times to keep their messages alive to me.   I change them as I need/want/feel moved.  

And now I'm here at the dining room table, cluttered with receipts, chargers, yoga class prep notes, a birthday card to sign...with my coffee and my laptop, scrolling through email and social media, watching YouTube to see that Taylor Swift performance from SNL that everyone is talking about.  I'm ignoring the clutter to be busted before the family arrives later this morning, the stuffing to be made, the Brussel sprouts and yams to be cleaned and prepped for cooking.  I glance at my to-do list and decide to write here instead...

Thanksgiving.  A day for gratitude.  There have been years when it was hard to find gratitude.  On any given year I have also experienced exhaustion, overwhelm, grief, anger, resentment, dashed expectations, distractions, worries, fears, illness.  It's just a day, after all.  Nothing special.  

President Washington declared a day of public Thanksgiving, but it was unevenly celebrated in the new States.  In 1863 President Lincoln signed a proclamation that there be an annual Thanksgiving holiday on the last Thursday of November.  But in 1939 the last Thursday fell on the last day of the month and FDR thought this would cut into the holiday shopping with a negative effect on the economy, so he changed it to the second to last Thursday in November. But only 32 states went along with it, 16 retaining the last Thursday as the day to celebrate.  In 1941, to bring everyone together on a fixed date, Congress passed and FDR signed what was to become the date we all now celebrate -- the 4th Thursday of November.

Lesson:  Nothing is fixed, everything changes, what we take as "always has been this way" is wrong and it's just a day.  It could be any day.  Or every day.  And just because Hallmark and Normal Rockwell and turkey growers and grocery stores push us to create a perfect day of family, friends, and thankfulness  on this 4th Thursday of November for many folks that isn't an automatic state of mind and heart.  Life happens.

As for me...this year I sit in the still dark, hearing the rain hit the roof and run down the window obscuring my view of a neighborhood just waking up.  A few lights  in homes are coming on, a man is hunkered down against the deluge walking his dog, a lone car moves slowly up the street.  

And I feel grateful.  With no qualifiers.  I'm choosing where to put my attention, like that Pollyanna girl I have so despised for most of my life -- she with the sunny disposition and cheery optimism.  I thought her vacant and stupid.  

And yet, there is something to be said about the choice we have in how we view the world.  I am a clear-eyed realist.  I'm all too aware of the hurt, fear, anger, dread, and nastiness of the world and some of the people in it.  I could, and often do, dwell in my fears for our future, my rage at those who are cruel, my impotence to do anything about most of it, it seems.

And yet, I am grateful for my life; the family I came from, the friends I've had, those who sustain and support and love me still; for my comfortable home; the breathtaking beauty of the place I live; the places I've been; the experiences I've had; the work I've done.  I am privileged and blessed and I hope I am using that to help others in some way.  

I am grateful for my health, which as I age seems to become more precarious, with an increasing awareness that anything could befall me at any time to change what I now take for granted.  But I still have the ability to act on what I can control to try to stave off some disaster of physical or mental decline that will shove me to the margins and bring pain and fear to my days.  I am committed to my health.

I am grateful for my introspection, a never-ending journey toward greater knowledge of myself and what makes me "tick" as life throws challenges in my path, and in turn how I can be in closer connection to others who are different from me and others who might benefit from what I've learned.

I am grateful for my family, the one at one point in my life I never thought I'd have.  I have two sons who came to us through adoption as infants, their birthmothers having chosen us from a number of families who they could have chosen instead, but some "something" brought us together -- they with their fearless courage to make an adoption choice for their babies, us with our boundless love and desire to be parents.  My sons grew into beautiful men, who chose amazing women to love and marry, and one of them (so far!) has given me two grandchildren who are my reason for everything.

I am grateful for Hub.  Next year we will be 50 years married; 54 in relationship -- and all that entails.  The times of joy and challenge, commitment and break-up, reconnection and struggle.  Starting out as teenagers we've beaten the odds of still being together.  We joke we've lived several lifetimes together and that we literally grew up each in the shadow of the other.  We've gone through so much heartache, so much exhilaration.  And through it all, for reasons clear and obscure, we've endured.  It might be beyond us to know why.  But I am grateful.  We are at a moment in our time together that we both feel is better than ever, after a time not too long ago that threatened the whole enterprise. I'm grateful for the tools we've gathered, the work we've done, the commitment we've made to keep on, to keep talking, to keep opening, to keep everything we've experienced in the past and hope for in our future as the thing that holds us in love and partnership no matter what comes next.  

So, Thanksgiving.  A day, just a day.  But maybe it's OK to have one day set aside to slow down and take stock.  To find a quiet pocket of time to clear the skies of doom and gloom, of sadness and fear, of pain and overwhelm and just be with what "is" -- this moment, in this time, in this place -- and find even one small thing to be grateful for.  

At least, that's the view from here...©

JUST PERFECT. PERIOD.

 I draped the red fleece blanket over the back of the "fancy chair" in my living room.  I set up a standing tray next to the chair to hold the gifts. I clipped greens from a fir tree in our yard and arranged them on the glass-topped coffee table, interspersing red votives, aflame.  I prepared white chocolate hand-dipped strawberries on two white platters to add to the table.  

Saturday was a special day for the women in my family -- my granddaughter, her mom, her aunt, and me, her grandma. We gathered to acknowledge and celebrate my sweet granddaughter's first menstrual period.   

First, where did the years go?  And why does this have to happen to girls so young?  I guess I still think of her as my little girl.  But she's not "so young"; in fact, she is right on target for the average age for this to begin.  She and I have been talking about this occasion for some time, as her body has changed in ways signaling the event was soon as hand.  I asked her if I could have a special Family Dinner when she got her period.  "Grandma!  NO!"  We laughed.  Then I asked if I could do a little party for her with just her mom and aunt and me.  She agreed, if not joyfully, also not reluctantly.  She mostly seemed puzzled.  So, this has been on the back burner until a month ago when I got a Messenger text from her -- "I've got some news Grandma....I got my period."  As with most things, she took it in stride, saying she was neither excited nor mortified; "just neutral, I guess."  

I knew I wanted to mark this life transition in a positive and supportive way for her.  We have no cultural recognition of this occasion in the U.S.  I looked it up.  The internet is full of "rituals and customs" from around the world, but totally silent here.  We don't publicly celebrate what happens naturally when kids transition from childhood to puberty; instead, we find ways to tell kids they're growing up by what they can "do" -- get a driver's license, vote, drink, etc.  These are age-related milestones that totally ignore the inner turmoil raging in changing bodies and minds. 

I thought there must be a better way.  We gathered in my living room.  I explained that our intention was to celebrate this amazing life-affirming/life-giving event with joy and laughter, with story-telling, advice, information.  The women of the family told their stories of first periods which had been couched in embarrassment, secrecy, and scant information or instruction. I wanted to do it differently.  We were breaking the pattern of loneliness, confusion,  embarrassment, and silence. We were speaking out, with honesty, emotion, joy, frustration, and encouragement.  My granddaughter took it all in, asking occasional questions, smiling, listening, laughing with us, and being totally composed and engaged.  Her maturity was a thing to behold.  

After we shared our stories, meandering into birth control and pap tests, the latter of which my granddaughter found most appalling of anything she had heard!, I read short blurbs of cultural rituals from around the world, ranging from community parties for the girl in which everyone she knew was told, to girls being banished from the family for the week of her period.  

In the Native culture of the Ojibwe people, a young girl is forbidden to eat strawberries for the first year of her periods.  During this "berry fast" she focuses on personal growth, sitting with and learning from her elders during the week of her periods.  At the end of the year she breaks her "berry fast" and is seen as a leader among her peers.  I especially wanted to include this to also honor my granddaughter's half-Native heritage.  After our time of sharing and "learning from the elders", we all dug into the white chocolate strawberries!  I'd not made her wait a year -- only about 2 hours.  

We ended with each of us telling the honoree what we love and appreciate about her, then offered her a "blessing" saying what we hope for her at this time of her life.  We all acknowledged her generosity, kindness, humor, compassion, and creativity.  And we all wished for her to find her assertive voice in the world, to love and appreciate herself, to know how special she is and never doubt or denigrate her own unique qualities.  And we pledged ourselves to her, letting her know this is an ongoing conversation, not a one-time thing.  As her aunt said, "We've got your back." She took all this in with a smile on her face, never breaking eye contact with the speaker, with a calm composure far beyond her 12 years.  Can you tell I'm so proud of this bright light in my life?

We adjourned to more snacks, waiting for the men to return with her little sister for a pizza supper together.  That's when she and her mom revealed that there had been some trepidation coming into this unknown "thing" Grandma had cooked up.  My granddaughter had told her mom she hoped I wasn't going to do some "voodoo" thing to her.  LOL  I guess I must have freaked her out just a wee bit last summer when I engaged her assistance in doing a "sage smudge" of our camper to "banish the bad juju" I felt there.  Was it when, engulfed in wafting aromatic smoke, we chanted, "out with the evil!  in with the joy!"? Whatever....LOL

There was no Voodoo on Saturday, only the joyful connection of the sisterhood of women in my family.  She messaged me later, thanking me, saying she loved all the love and support.  Just perfect. Period.

At least, that's the view from here...©