trees

Right now our street is full of naked trees. All of these mighty oaks and proud maples who only weeks ago blazed and strutted in the wind now sit muted against the gray landscape. The 50-year-old trees in our “baby boom” neighborhood were one of the reasons I fell in love with our house. They let me know spring is coming with their tiny shoots; they provide an anchor and shade for my hammock in the summer; they wave the banner for fall. And then, in winter, they are stilled. And in their quietness and bareness I find another reason to love them.

In the town near where I grew up there was a movie theater called The Broadway . A glorious one-screen theater from pre-multiplex days in which you could conjure up images of people going to see Gone with the Wind or The Philadelphia Story or Casablanca. And in that theater, on either side of the screen, giant wall murals of Adam and Eve watched over every frame and every movie goer and every balcony makeout session. I remember just stariing at those murals when I was little and wondering at their blank faces and the fig leaves painted on just so. You knew, because of the fig leaves, that this was an after-the-fall Adam and Eve. After they got booted out of Eden. After they felt the first icey prick of shame. After their pride pushed the first domino in the blame game. And their human shame and pride made them cover themselves. And humankind’s shame and pride has been handing us fig leaves ever since.

I am thankful for the trees on our street. Because I have covered up. I have clenched my fists to hold on to the projected me. The me that needs to be right. The me that needs to look a certain way and get certain sort of attention. The me that wants success and praise. The me that tweaks a story just enough to shine the light favorably on me. The me that is terrified of nakedness. The me who, even though my palms may bleed with the cut of nails, can’t bring myself to pry my hands open and just. let. go. But every time I walk outside or drive in my car or glance out the window at work I see them. And something about their stark imagery is comforting, their crooked symmetry, beautiful. And it reminds my weary body to open up my clenched fists and let it all fall.

Cherry Pie

I just had some magnificent cherry pie from Grand Traverse Pie Company. Now, I am not a huge fan of pie, but this stuff is just so yum! If you are in the GR area, I suggest you promptly go get a piece (or two, or a whole pie!).

So, I am thankful for cherry pie - it is the little things in life, people.

Night Sky

My love affair with the stars (twinkly ones, not the Hollywood variety) began way back in the early years. My dad, science guru that he is, would take me to the observatory at the local college on clear summer nights and show me the stars. The magic is embedded in the memory of the feel of my purple sweatshirt (to ward the chill of early summer nights) and the light of a million radiant stars viewed through a giant telescope.

It continued through nights on the back deck with my mom and dad, picking out constellations, waiting for eclipses, or meteor showers. The blackness pin pricked with needles of light fascinated me and I would stay outside long after the hour and cold had chased my parents inside.

In high school I thought I wanted to by an astrophysicist. And in all of his science teacher glory my dad researched the ins and outs of becoming an astrophysicist. And he brought all the research home to me. And I promptly realized that I was in love with the romanticism of the stars, not the science of them. And then I went and broke my dad's heart and became an English major.

So in college the only vestige of my love of the stars was the cliche Starry Night poster and an astronomy general science class tucked amidst thick Norton Anthologies and piles of poetry chapbooks. Now my love affair pops into my evening walks with Brody. Nights like this one where the night sky is peeking out from beneath silvery clouds and I spend much of the walk with my neck craned upwards. And every little star takes me back to all of those moments with my dad. Each one reminds me that I am thankful for him, for always believing in me and loving me and for all of those magic moments together under the night sky.

kayleigh

Yesterday started with snow and a peaceful walk with my dog. It ended with meeting our friends' new baby Kayleigh. Sandwiched between those beautiful moments there was a whole lot of Monday going on. A whole lot of deadlines and meetings and thinking and brain storming and problem solving and problem making and dealing with people and general work.

But the moment I touched Kayleigh's so smooth baby skin, smelled her newness and heard her perfect coos it made the rest stop. It was a collision, a halt, a fizzle and pop and then a nothingness. In her newness I was rewinded, taken back to the stillness of a morning walk and the picture of the swirling snow covering the gray landscape.

So today and always I am thankful for, simply and purely, life.

singing bug

I have written about Bug before. She is the sweetest little two-year-old. One of the reasons I love her so much is because she is a lot like me, hehe. I randomly break into song or sing songs about random things. Most people look at me a little strangely when this occurs. Bug looks at me and then joins in the singing. Last night I was over at her house babysitting for a little while. As we went upstairs to get ready for bed, I started singing a random pajama song that consisted of the brilliant lyrics, “I’m puttin’ my pajamas on, I’m puttin’ my pajamas on.” And, of course, she just smiled and joined right in all through the puttin’ on pajama process. And it just made me incredibly thankful that my singing bug got passed on to my singing Bug.

*Note, so I have noticed that there is a lot of singing that goes on in my life. A singing mom, a singing niece. It really is no wonder that I sing all of the freakin' time. I blame it on genetics.

Kevin

I am thankful for my husband.

sunshine and a singing mom

It is November 3rd. In gloomy Michigan. And the sun is shining. So, today I am thankful for the sunshine and a singing mom.

Singing mom? When I was little my mom sang a song to me all of the time that went a little something like this:

"So let the sun shine in. Face it with a grin. Smilers never lose and frowners never win. So let the sun shine in."

And she would dance around in her little mom way and it, of course, always made me smile. So whenever the sun is shining, and today was one of those beautiful sun-shiney days, I think of my mom dancing around the living room singing. And it still makes me smile.

thankful

November is the month of thanks, of being grateful. We dedicate an entire turkey-eating holiday to it. So it is my goal in November to write something about something each day that I am thankful for. One thing that makes this plain little life so incredibly full. And since I missed yesterday, here are two.

My friends. Today I spent the better part of my day laughing and singing and walking and getting lost in the woods and watching North & South (BBC) with three of the best women in the world. Everyday I get crazy emails from at least one of them that makes my cheeks hurt from smiling. I can't imagine walking this stretch of my life without them.

My new running shoes. Yes, shoes. And the actual running part. I feel so incredibly connected to my body when I run. When I can feel each muscle and each breath straining to move me forward. When I know I could stop at any moment and yet I don't. It is hard to hate your body when you can feel it working, when you are cheering it on to go faster and to go harder and to be better. Each time I run it helps me love myself just a little bit more. It helps me to look into the mirror and be ok with everything I see. Last night I went for a run at 11 pm because I needed to feel that. I needed to be connected to myself and get outside of myself all at the same time. And so I ran.

Those are just two of a million things. I am excited to see what will pop up in the coming days and weeks. How about you - what are you thankful for?