When my birthday rolls around, I tend to think of it as a time to review the landscape of my life. Like my own personal New Year, I review and study and dream about what, exactly, is included in the environs of my everyday existence. I tend to prefer a quiet day when I think about the day I arrived here, years ago. I tend to think on what is good and true and real—how I have created this life for myself and my companions. How I have cultivated my resilient nature and taken so many things in stride. How I love heartily those who are most important to me. And then I wonder where my bumpy and gorgeous path will lead me. I wonder if I’ll ever arrive at the destination that I am headed. Then I remind myself that the only destination is the moving forward, the fighting for what I know to be grand—the adventures, the days when I feel peaceful and content, the parts of me that never want to stop reaching for what I know to be beauty, what I know to be good. The part of me that thinks about who I am and appreciates the place that I’ve come to where I can say, “I’m so happy I was born.”
Cheers To the Glory of Existence,
Gertrude of the Grateful
Sometimes on Saturday, after several walks and talks and sniffs with our little brother, we like to tutor him on the art of ground scoring while our mother is cooking and after our lesson, when we feel he has been properly prepared, we like to set him loose and observe his technique for future coaching.
Yours In Standing On the Shoulders Of Giants,
Sometimes on Saturday, after a perfectly glorious morning stroll in the brisk Thanksgiving air, we like to enlist our little brother in a lively and verbal game of Act Like You’re Trying To Kill the Other One and, in the midst of being pinned down by his semi-pathetic little teeth we have the thought that we are grateful to have this miniature, rowdy creature in our life.
Yours In Lovely Little Appreciations,
When you’re in the grocery store and I hear you berating the grocery clerk for not having the proper almond milk that you require, don’t try to make smiley face at me in the check out line when we both know that you’re a rude, elitist poo butt.
Do Be a Good Bee,
Dear Mister Ruler of All That’s High and Mighty,
Listen, I know you’re as busy as Donald Trump’s hairstylists, but if you could carve out some time in your schedule, could you make it a point to remind me of the gorgeousness of life. Like that time I thought I would melt in the rain when we were camping, but I didn’t. Or that time I cooked a four course chef-worthy meal for my family that turned out just so. Or that time I looked up at the ceiling at the theater and gasped a breath of beauty simply because of the colors. In all honesty, it’s endless, the places I find and interact with beauty. The way my husband finds the perfect in-between hotel to stay at on our way to a big adventure. Those few moments, after I wrangle myself awake and I have the thought “It’s all very good”. The interactions I have with strangers on the street, in the grocery store, while I’m walking the dogs—how I feel deep down that I’d like to know these people. Please make it a point to allow me to open myself up enough to all of this revelrie that happens consistently and gloriously and that I find my way in my little world with elegant grace until my last dying day, okay amen you may be seated.
Yours In the Definition of Hope,