the engine of my gratefulness

Gratefulness.  Gratitude.  Appreciation.  Thankfulness.

I'll be the first to admit it, sometimes when I am caught in winter's frozen grip, it's hard to keep that attitude of gratitude.  It's hard to focus on what I have to be truly thankful for (and it's a long list!!) when my nose is constantly cold, and no matter how many slippers I put on my feet stay frozen.  My chest feels tight and all I really want to do is climb into my flannel pjs after work and huddle up on the sofa, preferably wrapped in a blanket near the fireplace.  With a windchill way below zero, it's hard to scrounge up a few crumbs of gratitude.

But I'll try...let's see, for starters my sister-in-law has just informed me that today is National Drink Wine Day.  Who knew?!  I'm grateful that I can do my part to celebrate this significant holiday.  And what was in my mailbox today??  All sorts of "hang on, spring is coming" little cheerleaders!  First cheerleader...a garden bulb catalog.  Hmm, I'll take three silver lace vines and raise you two caladiums.  Oh wait, that may be the wine talking...

Second cheerleader?  Three more Inspector Duncan Kincaid and Gemma James books by Deborah Crombie.  I love these two characters and of course the British locale, and have been eagerly waiting for these books to arrive.  And I am seriously thankful for abebooks.com, that makes finding books so easy and affordable.

 

Another cheerleader...two new room sprays from my sister's spring Scentsy collection also arrived!  Sweet pea and peony...the beautiful fragrances give hope that spring will arrive, even if it doesn't feel that way right now.  And last, but certainly not least, my first copy of English Homes magazine arrived--I've been waiting for my subscription to kick in so I could curl up and sip tea, while dreaming of the English homes and gardens so beautifully displayed.

So on second thought, I guess I have much to be thankful for this cold winter's day.  Sometimes it's the little things that get us through...

Gratefulness

by Dale Biron

Each day the engine of my gratefulness

must be coaxed and primed into action.

Of course like any old clunker,

it would just as soon stay put.

For even after the labored start beats the inertia,

and the plume of white smoke struggles upward,

the same hills always appear,

soaring daily—tall and ominous as before.

There is the long slow hill of “aging”

so gradual and smooth at first.

And then that steep grade called “the news.”

Yes, and always some mountain of a war

looming out there, never too far in the distance.

Even an old idea or a feeling long abandoned

might conspire to halt this fragile progress –

valves sputtering, tires flattening, clutch slipping.

But the old “potato, potato, potato” sound

of the engine, and all its mysterious fuel,

for which I am truly grateful

somehow

keeps stumbling along.