Not A Cult

Listen- I speak of the whole "gratefulness" thing with disdain sometimes. Probably because Oprah can take a good thing and turn it into a cult.
But some days, when I have had a time of deep doubt and anxiousness, and I wake up and my heart and soul are so uncluttered that I can look around me and be completely and honestly grateful, I am not the tiniest bit disdainful.
Gratefulness is not a cult. It is not a religion. It is not a cure or something to sell products (gratefulness journal, anyone?) with.
It simply is.
Some days it simply is.
And here I am, on a Saturday morning and I am grateful. My heart and soul are good. I can look and see and feel...grateful.
For a husband who washes the dishes and plants the garden in very straight rows:

And oh, those potatoes are going to be good.

For the tiny peas



which come from blooms that look like this (should be rated R, don't you think?)

For the great, magnificent magnolia whose leaves are turning tattered and rusty-looking but who are making new candles from which will spring new leaves

and will then blossom forth with flowers appropriate to the size and grandness of the tree.

For the roses which are continuing to bloom and bud like I've never seen before


And for the crazy begonias I grow which come in such various sizes and shapes and colors in my yard.







And for the love of friends and my irreplaceable, amazing, lovely family.

And for opening up my e-mail to find notes from people I've met here. Such sweet, loving notes.

And even for my old dog Pearl who is gazing at that light but not ready to go off into it. Not while she has a beloved boy to take care of.



And for all of it. Just fucking all of it.

That's it.

For today.

That's it.

Quietly, completely grateful.