100 Days of Gladness, Day 10

Make a list. Check it twice.

I have a long list of complaints. It’s not like I walk around in this Disney daze of gladness. This takes practice.

That’s why I started this series, to keep my attention moving toward the light. Good thing, too. Because I’m beginning to realize, more acutely every day, that none of my complaints can hold their ground against the following things:

A night-long, luscious sleep.

Or the gentle twinkling wonder of our modest lit Christmas tree at night, the last light to go dark before bed.

Or the fact that all three of my adult kids are alive and well, navigating the rocks and wrecks and breathtaking rides of their own middle ages.

Or the fact that my grandson flowers, full of five-year-old wry wisecracks. And wonder.

Or that yesterday I was sick and Elena made me her magic soup. Or that even after twenty-one years together, and being tired of each other in the way that only long-married couples can afford to be, we still love each other so very much.

Or that we didn’t have to make a reservation for the sun to shine in through our kitchen window this morning. It was just there. For free.

Or that a dog I’d never seen before, gave me her unconditional affection, wagging her whole behind, snorffling me as I took her into my arms (after getting her human’s permission). Free love, way better than its postulated counterpart in the ‘60s.

Or that, walking Ruby with Elena in the park last week, we saw a cat. A BIG cat, in and of himself, utterly in charge of his territory, well-fed, and perfectly colored to blend with the now dead winter leaves. He looked so…himself. He looked like the Tony Soprano of cats. Nobody will f%k with him I promise you that. We appreciated his supremacy, bowed our heads, and moved on.

May everyone, everywhere, notice the awe-inspiring events that slide by in our lives. They go by invisibly. They go by in an instant. Make yourselves available to the wonder in this world. It’s for you. And it’s free.