Arts Culture
Thankful For This Stuff? You Bet
Everyday Adventures
By Mary Fran Bontempo, For The Bulletin
I forgot to write my Thanksgiving column.
Every year, I try and write a column just before the Thanksgiving holiday, not only to acknowledge the day, but to remind myself of those things for which I am grateful.
This year, I forgot.
I knew the holiday was fast approaching, given that my mind was suddenly racing with thoughts of house cleaning, grocery shopping and where to sit eighteen people. But the grateful part? Slipped my mind completely.
For many folks, 2009 has been a year we’d all like to forget, for any number of reasons. Rampant unemployment and economic woes topped the list for most of us, but it seemed like everyone, in every family, was experiencing some major crisis, whether regarding health, kids—you name it, it was ugly.
It’s been no different around here. I’ll spare you the details, but like lots of people, we’ve had a pretty rough year. Frankly, gratitude hasn’t been uppermost on my mind. It’s been enough to make a person pull the blankets up in the morning and refuse to get out of bed. Which I’ve thought about, believe me.
But frankly, I’m tired of wallowing. Wallowing and whining, however justified it might be. So, even though the Thanksgiving holiday of 2009 is now but a recent memory, I’ve decided to come up with something, anything, for which to be grateful.
First off, heat. I absolutely hate being cold. And even though the weather has been unseasonably and pleasantly warm, at the first sign of a chill, I’m pumping up the thermostat. As in, I’m walking over to the little dial on the wall and deciding just how toasty I’d like to be. Of course, I’m keeping in mind the heating bills—no seventy-two degrees in this house—but still, if I’m cold, I just turn up the heat. I’m not living in a shack or a tent, or on a steam grate somewhere at the mercy of the elements. I have heat.
Next up, my refrigerator. Whenever I open the door, there’s invariably something in there to eat. There is also usually at least one box of leftovers from a restaurant, an obvious indication that we’re still enjoying a meal out occasionally. Yogurt, fruit, milk, even peanut butter and jelly. I have food and all I have to do is walk into my kitchen to get some.
My mattress. My mattress is lumpy and not too comfortable and I’d love to get a new one. But my mattress is in my bedroom—MY bedroom—which I share only with my husband, not an entire family. And my mattress has clean sheets and warm blankets under which I can snuggle just before drifting off to sleep. In my own bed, on my lumpy mattress.
Finally, my dog. Right now, she’s kind of stinky and she needs a bath. She is forever tracking dirt into the house and she’s getting older, so once in a while she has a minor accident. (To my knowledge, they don’t make doggie Depends.) None of which inspires gratitude, right? But no matter how lousy things get, no matter how rotten my day, she’s there, wagging her tail and plopping herself at my feet, making sure I know she loves me. (Or just waiting for me to drop some food, but go with my romanticized notion here, okay?) Either way, as per Charles Schultz, “Happiness is a warm puppy.”
In a year of turmoil, it’s been a bit harder to count blessings. But they’re there, in a few extra degrees, a P.B & J., a lumpy bed and a smelly dog. It’s been better, but it could be a lot worse.
And for that, I’m thankful.
Every year, I try and write a column just before the Thanksgiving holiday, not only to acknowledge the day, but to remind myself of those things for which I am grateful.
This year, I forgot.
I knew the holiday was fast approaching, given that my mind was suddenly racing with thoughts of house cleaning, grocery shopping and where to sit eighteen people. But the grateful part? Slipped my mind completely.
For many folks, 2009 has been a year we’d all like to forget, for any number of reasons. Rampant unemployment and economic woes topped the list for most of us, but it seemed like everyone, in every family, was experiencing some major crisis, whether regarding health, kids—you name it, it was ugly.
It’s been no different around here. I’ll spare you the details, but like lots of people, we’ve had a pretty rough year. Frankly, gratitude hasn’t been uppermost on my mind. It’s been enough to make a person pull the blankets up in the morning and refuse to get out of bed. Which I’ve thought about, believe me.
But frankly, I’m tired of wallowing. Wallowing and whining, however justified it might be. So, even though the Thanksgiving holiday of 2009 is now but a recent memory, I’ve decided to come up with something, anything, for which to be grateful.
First off, heat. I absolutely hate being cold. And even though the weather has been unseasonably and pleasantly warm, at the first sign of a chill, I’m pumping up the thermostat. As in, I’m walking over to the little dial on the wall and deciding just how toasty I’d like to be. Of course, I’m keeping in mind the heating bills—no seventy-two degrees in this house—but still, if I’m cold, I just turn up the heat. I’m not living in a shack or a tent, or on a steam grate somewhere at the mercy of the elements. I have heat.
Next up, my refrigerator. Whenever I open the door, there’s invariably something in there to eat. There is also usually at least one box of leftovers from a restaurant, an obvious indication that we’re still enjoying a meal out occasionally. Yogurt, fruit, milk, even peanut butter and jelly. I have food and all I have to do is walk into my kitchen to get some.
My mattress. My mattress is lumpy and not too comfortable and I’d love to get a new one. But my mattress is in my bedroom—MY bedroom—which I share only with my husband, not an entire family. And my mattress has clean sheets and warm blankets under which I can snuggle just before drifting off to sleep. In my own bed, on my lumpy mattress.
Finally, my dog. Right now, she’s kind of stinky and she needs a bath. She is forever tracking dirt into the house and she’s getting older, so once in a while she has a minor accident. (To my knowledge, they don’t make doggie Depends.) None of which inspires gratitude, right? But no matter how lousy things get, no matter how rotten my day, she’s there, wagging her tail and plopping herself at my feet, making sure I know she loves me. (Or just waiting for me to drop some food, but go with my romanticized notion here, okay?) Either way, as per Charles Schultz, “Happiness is a warm puppy.”
In a year of turmoil, it’s been a bit harder to count blessings. But they’re there, in a few extra degrees, a P.B & J., a lumpy bed and a smelly dog. It’s been better, but it could be a lot worse.
And for that, I’m thankful.
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