gratitude

TToT — March 30

Well, I finally let my employer know the date for 1my hip replacement surgery. Yes, I’m thankful that it’s going to happen. It gives me hope that when the pain is bad it will not always be so. It took me a couple of weeks to put that date on the work calendar, in part because the news had to settle in my head before I could share it. I haven’t had a surgery in close to 25 years so this is a little anxiety-provoking.

My son had 2hip surgery on Monday. His was a bigger and different surgery than what I’m having. He was told he should plan on five days in the hospital following the surgery. He went home on Wednesday, though. I’m taking that as a good sign.

My replacement for my church job has been struggling. I went over multiple times this week to help her. I am SO thankful that — whether it’s genetics or how I was raised — I have the ability to 3listen, to 4think, and to 5learn. Honestly, those are things I take for granted. Seeing them missing in someone gave me pause.

I am also thankful for 6Frederick Buechner. I’ve had a bookshelf of his books for years, but I finally started reading him. SO GOOD. I find that I am constantly jotting down quotes from him to help me remember his wisdom, his humor, the way he ties together everyday things with the spiritual. In fact, the book I started the other day, Whistling in the Dark: An ABC Theologized, gave me the idea of using him as a launchpad for the 7April A-to-Z Challenge. I didn’t complete the challenge last year, but I’ll try again this year. It will be a Buechner quote and a little collage to go with it.

The new director of the facility where I work started having 8staff meetings once a month. You are probably wondering what’s so great about that. Let me tell you — we’ve never had staff meetings before, the kind where anyone who works there can attend. It’s huge. He has had two now, and after each one I have felt encouraged and happy about the place I work.

The director shared a recent 9story about staff intervening on behalf of a little girl. It was the kind of story that made me feel sad for the girl, sad for the world, angry at the situation, and proud of my co-workers.

I had 10lunch with my youngest daughter yesterday. Grown up children are the best!

fiction

Different

“How many times have I told you to simply fit in?” Vikrati said.

“But, Dad!” Hernan pressed his lips together. “I try! Look what I’m wearing!” He brushed his hands down his body, over the worn Florida t-shirt with a flaking image of the sun setting on the ocean and the faded blue jeans. He gestured towards his worn canvas sneakers. “This is how all the kids dress!”

“Fitting in is more than your clothing,” Vikrati replied. “It’s -“

Hernan interjected. “Dad, I’m doing well in school, but not too well. I make sure I get things wrong on the tests. I turn in papers late sometimes, just to get the lower grade. I sit in the back and sometimes talk when the teacher is talking, just to get in trouble.” He sighed. “I’m really doing my best!”

Vikrati sighed too. He looked at the boy. His shoulders were slumped and his head was down. Clearly, he was trying.

“Our mission is important,” he finally said. “It’s not just our family in this town, but there are thousands and thousands of us around the world.”

“I know,” Hernan said. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to make anyone suspect that I’m any different from them.”

“Then how do you explain this?” Vikrati asked. He pulled half a drinking glass from a bag. There was a sharp jagged edge where the upper half had been bitten off.

Hernan paled. “I’m sorry, Dad. I was just so hungry.”


This is my contribution to Unicorn Challenge. The rules are simple: no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

poetry

Emotions as Objects

This is the W3 Challenge for this week, given by Anupama, the Poet of the Week.

  • Challenge: Reimagine emotions as objects;
    • What if feelings took shape? Anger could be a blade, sharp and biting. Loneliness might be an echo in an empty room;
  • Poetic form: Any
  • Length: No more than 12 lines

I struggled with this. My first attempt was using the Irish Snam Suad. I put the rules below the poem — and I, of course, didn’t follow all of them. Also, is introvert an emotion or just a state of being?


A closed box
Rarely talks
Readily

Disconcert
-ed by crowds
Too too loud
In a shroud

Introvert


Rules for Snam Suad:

  • all lines have 3 syllables with the following rhyme pattern: aabcdddc
  • lines four and eight are 3-syllable words, all other lines end in monosyllabic words
  • lines two and three share consonance
  • lines three and four, six and seven, and four and seven share alliteration
  • line seven uses alliteration

Frankly, I was not satisfied with my introvert poem so I tried again with a different Irish form: Deibide baise fri toi and different object-emotion pairing. Water — Peace. It makes sense to me, but I’m not sure I communicated it.


The water —
When the world is a-totter
I go to the lake to lease
Peace

Sea, river
Stream, pond — they all deliver
From the frenetic to calm
Balm


Rules for Deibide baise fri toi:

  • The poem and/or stanzas within the poem are quatrains (or 4-line stanzas).
  • Rhyme scheme for each stanza is a simple aabb pattern.
  • Lines one and two rhyme on a two-syllable word; lines three and four rhyme on a monosyllabic word.
  • Line one has three syllables, line two has seven, line three has seven, and line four has one
gratitude

TToT — March 23

I realized today that I forgot to write Ten Things of Thankful last week!

Does that mean that I wasn’t grateful for anything last week? Absolutely not! It simply means that I forgot because I was pretty busy.

What was I busy with? Well, I was quite honored to be chosen as the 1Poet of the Week for the W3 Challenge. That means that the previous Poet of the Week (Val/Murisopsis) liked my poem, Personal Creed, so much that she chose me to be the next one. It also meant that I was charged with the task of choosing the next Poet of the Week by giving my own challenge. I challenged the poets to tell me a story in any poetic form.

That meant that I was reading, rereading, commenting, and rereading again (is that re-rereading?) the poems that were submitted for my prompt. Gosh, I loved so many of those poems. In the end, I chose a poem by a poet I don’t remember having read before — Jaideep Khanduja — who wrote a poem called, 2‘You, Me, and the Catastrophe of Love (A Love Story With a Side of Chaos)’. I laughed. I cried. I wish I lost 15 pounds, (obscure Stephen Colbert reference), but I mostly fell in love with this poem.

So — there you have it. My excuse for not writing a gratitude post, and two things for which I’m grateful.

For over a year now, I’ve been working two jobs. My first job — at a fitness facility — is literally the first full time job I’ve held since 1984. When my oldest son was born, I quit working. I did a little part-time work here and part-time there. I’ve learned that if you want to impress “accomplished” people, just tell them that you’ve lifeguarded part-time or been a stay-at-home mom. They’ll offer glib patronizing nonsense. Meh.

Anyway, I took a job working full-time at the front desk at the fitness facility in 2022. As it turned out, I asked too many questions and moved up the ranks. I’m now in my own office selling memberships. I miss the front desk. Members tell me they miss seeing me. I tell them that they moved me into an office to keep me out of trouble. That may be partially true.

All this is to say that I am thankful for 3my job at the gym.

Recently we got a new facility director. I met with him Friday to 4pitch an idea for a new position: Senior Specialist. We focus on families and kids and young adults, but our country is aging. Heck, I’m aging! I want someone to understand and be the voice for our seniors. I have SO many ideas.

I pitched my idea. 5It was well-received. YAY! Now, it has to work its way up through Foundation that oversees us.

In the meantime, however, my second job is at a church. I told the rector in January that I couldn’t continue the two-job routine. Honestly, I loved that job too — maybe more than the gym job. I needed the benefits offered by the gym so I put in my resignation at the church. 6The rector hired my replacement. I worked with her last week to train her — and, just like that, I’m done. It’s a relief. Imagine working only 40 hours in a week. I’ll find out this next week.

Quick — four more things for which I am thankful

7Lunch with my son and his family today. Delightful!

8A lesiurely walk on a nature boardwalk through a swamp

9Pussywillows — I saw them in the swamp. I love pussywillows.

10An edgy sermon at church, reminding us that God is the God of the oppressed. (Exodus 3:7-9) “I hated that sermon,” one woman whispered to me as she passed me on the way out of church. I smiled inwardly and was grateful. Maybe she will think about what was said.

fiction

What Needs to Be Done

“There it is,” Dad said. He pointed into the valley at the village nestled there. The brick homes were close beside each other.

Donovan stood on tip-toe to see. “How long will it take us to get there?” he asked.

“No more than an hour,” his father replied. “There’s a road. It’s overgrown but if we stay on it, the walk will be easier.”

Donovan asked, “What will we do when we get there?”

“You know what needs to be done. We’ve talked about it.”

“I’m not sure I can do it, Dad,” Donovan said.

His father stopped and knelt down. He took Donovan by the shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. “This is important,” he said, emphasizing the last word.

“But… but… they don’t look like us. They don’t talk like us,” the boy said.

“That’s why this has to be done,” his father said. “You have what you need in your pack, right?”

Donovan unzipped it and looked inside. “Dad, I really don’t think I can,” he said again.

“C’mon,” his father said. “Let’s walk.”

They walked in silence. Donovan lagged more and more behind. The overgrown road masked his dragging feet.

“You can do this, boy,” his father said, sounding snappish.

Finally, they arrived. As they walked toward the town square, curious people peered out of windows. Some came out to follow them.

When they reached the square, both took off their packs and reached inside.

“We’ve come in friendship,” they said and extended…


Extended what? What did they pull out?

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. The Unicorn Challenge is the easiest (rule-wise) challenge: no more than 250 words with the photo as a prompt.

So? What do you think? Is DEI dead? Or is there hope?

poetry

Listen: an almost limerick

I met a prattling woman
From her mouth, the words kept a-comin’
Critical talk-talk-talk-talk
Like a hen: bawk-bawk-BAWK
’til I finally exploded and said,
“You realize, don’t you, that you aren’t the only person in this room,
or this organization,
this town,
this country,
or this world,
right?
You need to stop talking.
Stop talking.
Listen.
Take a breath.
Other people have thoughts and feelings.
They may be different than yours but they are just as valid.
The biggest problem right now in this country isn’t
transgender troops or
government waste or
Venezuelan gangs.
It’s that people don’t listen.
They don’t.
They talk over people.
They mock.
They belittle.
They shut down conversations.
They think everything is about them.
Please stop.”

Actually I didn’t say that. But I woke up in the middle of the night wishing I had.


This is my response to this week’s W3 prompt: write an Almost Poem, a poem that’s almost something, but not quite.

Actually, I’m not sure how almost this is. It’s based on my day yesterday. Or a snippet of it.

Congrats to Jaideep, this week’s Poet of the Week. I HIGHLY recommend reading his poem You, Me and the Catastrophe of Love. It’s amazing!

fiction

I C U

Hey! I see you!

Yeah.

I mean, I’ve seen you around on his face, but we never get a chance to talk.

Yeah. [long pause] What’s there to talk about?

You’re new, aren’t you?

Yeah.

I love your shade of blue.

Am I supposed to say I love your boring brown? [pause] ’cause I don’t.

Good for you! I hate insincerity. My brown IS incredibly boring, I agree. I’m intended for practicality.

Aren’t all glasses practical?

Well, he takes me off and shoves me in his pocket. His shirt pocket. His jacket pocket. His jeans pocket. Sometimes, he even sticks me in his back pocket and sits on me! I have to withstand all that.

Yeah.

You get a fun color. You get those cute little nose pads.

I suppose.

Once, when he was putting in his garden, I fell out of his shirt pocket into the dirt. My ‘boring brown’ blended right in. He didn’t find me for three days.

Really?

Yes! You would have been spotted right away! But I got peed on by a rabbit, crawled over by bugs, and even had a slug traverse my lenses. He left a slug slime trail!

Ew.

Yeah — you’re pretty lucky.

Why are we here?

My guy is in that bed. They said something about a heart attack and threw me over here.

Where’s my guy?

He’s sitting there beside him. He took his glasses off because he was crying and set you here.

Where are we?

The ICU.


Ah, the Unicorn Challenge. You know the drill, right? No more than 250 words. Use the photo as a prompt.

gratitude · poetry

In the Waiting Room

I was sitting in the waiting room
Lost in thoughts of gloom and doom
Wishing spring was more a-bloom
When my thoughts were interrupted

I had been focusing on my hip
Good God — this pain! Worse than the grippe!
Wishing a magic healing ship
Would sail right over to me!

Instead it was a lady old
Struggling with her earring gold
Who pedalled over and took hold
Of me — my thoughts disrupted

“Could you, would you, help me, dear?
I can’t quite get this in my ear —
I can’t tell if I’m far or near —
It’s hard! I just can’t see!”

Well, I could see her red earlobe
That she had tried to poke and probe
The ear and earring matched wardrobe —
She soon was reconstructed

“Thank you, dear! Thank you so much.”
She patted me — a gentle touch —
Pedalled her wheelchair off with such
Ease. I think you would agree

That helping someone who’s in need –
Performing just a small good deed –
Can lift one’s spirits and can lead
To gratitude unobstructed.


Yep, this really happened to me this week.

gratitude

TToT — March 9, 2025

1Cleaning is cathartic. And, by cleaning, I mean getting rid of stuff. I’m getting so much better at it.

For instance, today I came across a photograph of my parents that I really dislike. It’s a fine photo of my father, but my mother may as well have “DEMENTIA” written across her forehead. I looked at it and thought, Nope. I took it out of the frame and put it in the trash pile. Shortly after, one of my siblings called. I told them what I had done. They said, “I know exactly what photograph you’re talking about. I have a copy. I’ve never hung it in my home.” That 2confirmation, the fact that we don’t want to remember our mother in her dementia, was HUGE.

Also, while cleaning and sorting, I came across this:

It’s a 3change purse made for me by a 4friend. I don’t always talk to change purses, but I did today. “I need you,” I said. “I’m so glad you’re in my life!” And I promptly took all my change and loose bills out of the little zippered Celtic bag that I had picked up at a Scottish games and put them back into the clasp purse that will inspire me. And, actually, it’s not so much that change purse as the friend who inspires me. When I look at it, I think of her.

Speaking of 5inspiration, that’s another thing that’s pretty huge in my life at the moment. Ideas have started to flow again. Once they start, it’s like a onslaught, a tidal wave. Sometimes, that’s overwhelming. Other times, when they haven’t been there for a while, it’s an awesome reminder that I’m still alive and well and have something to contribute to this world.

Speaking of alive and well, I had my annual physical this past week. I’m actually very alive and very well. My 6blood pressure is the lowest it has been in over a decade. It had skyrocketed due to stress in my life. Now it is not just barely normal, but good.

7My cholesterol is high. My doctor said, “You need to remember to eat a healthy diet [I do] and get exercise.” I used to walk, on average, 12000 steps per day. Now it’s less that 3500. My hip bothers me SO MUCH when I walk that I just don’t. However, this is a thing to be thankful for in that I am seeing an orthopedic surgeon this week. He might say, “You’re not ready for hip surgery,” which is what I’ve heard before. However, not being able to exercise without pain is really affecting my life and that cholesterol number attests to that.

8Swimming is the one exercise I can do that gets my heart-rate up and doesn’t hurt my hip as much. I had stopped swimming when I had the flu. I had absolutely no energy. This week, however, I swam three times.

Friday was 9National Staff Appreciation Day. Our new director appreciated us with a bunch a homebaked treats: mini-cheesecakes and an assortment of scones. DEE–licious! I would blame my high cholesterol on him except Staff Appreciation Day fell after High Cholesterol Day.

Finally, I had a lovely 10lunch with a friend yesterday. It was around 2:30 PM and neither of us had eaten lunch yet. We were talking and decided, spur of the moment, to go get lunch together at a local restaurant. It was great decision.

fiction

Nine Lives

“How many lives do cats get, Mom?”

“Nine, but they don’t really get more than one life. It’s more like near-misses.”

“I know. I’m just trying to figure out how many Charon has had.”

“When has Charon escaped death?”

“There was that time when she ran out in front of Mr. Jones’ car. He almost hit her, but he hit the tree instead, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. I miss that tree.”

“Then after that, Mr. Jones was riding his bike and she ran out in front of him. He almost hit her again.”

“That was when he crashed and hit his head, right?”

“He should have been wearing a helmet, Mom. In fact, he had one on when he was riding that scooter.”

“Don’t tell me. Charon ran in front of him?”

“Yeah, that was the time he broke his leg.”

“Oh dear.”

“It wasn’t long after that he came out on crutches to get his mail one day. Charon went over to rub against his leg, I think to say sorry –“

“Oh, right, and he tried to whack her with his crutch.”

“She got away, Mom!”

“But he fell and broke his arm. So how many are we up to?”

[counting on fingers] “Car. Bike. Scooter. Crutches. It’s only four. Charon’s got plenty of lives left. She’ll be fine.”

“But will Mr. Jones?”


This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.