While it remains to be seen just how thankful Native Americans were to have the Pilgrims over for the first Thanksgiving dinner, this holiday has evolved into a day synonymous with gratitude. Even Facebook has a viral application asking members to list one thing they are thankful for every day in November, a task that has some stumped- but not me. Give me a year and I could list something I’m thankful for every day. Give me a day and I could list something every minute. Its not that I live a charmed life, or even an easy life, but I do try to look for those precious moment of gratitude and appreciation that can easily get crushed under the burden of our daily grind.
So with my apologies to spell check, and throwing punctuation and caution to the wind, here are a few things I find myself thankful for during this holiday season, in no particular order:
The first cup of coffee in the morning. Real whipped cream. Faith. Comfortable shoes. Freshly cut flowers. Little kid giggles and the grown ups who do silly things to cause them. Peace. Inspiring quotations. Meaningful discussions and agreeing to disagree. That I’m fit enough to climb the monkey bars at the playground, but wise enough to know that’s probably not a good idea. Inside jokes. People who know the difference between what needs to be said and what remains better unsaid. Roller coasters and friends that will still ride them with me. Everything water- from cleaning tears to the salty ocean to a hot bubble bath.
Venting my frustrations in a letter. Knowing when to send it and when not to. Compassionate doctors and nurses. Anything Coffee Time bakes. Wrinkle free/stain resistant clothing. Fresh starts and second chances. The first snow of the winter and the first spring day that signals the end of it. People who keep me safe and free: police, fire and Servicemen and women. My college diploma and teachers who helped me achieve it. Staff and volunteers from the Boys & Girls Club, Salvation Army, food pantries, shelters and other organizations that exist to help community members in need.
The gasping beauty of a star filled night sky far away from city lights. The Wicked Running Club and new friends I’ve met. My non-running friends I already had. Marathon finish lines and friends that cross them with me. Hand written notes. Vanilla birthday cake with buttercream frosting and the gift of another year. A tall non-fat 2 pump with whip cinnamon dolce on a cold winter morning. New pajamas. Traditions- honoring old and making new. Hope. Finding something I thought I lost. Losing something I never liked anyway.
Pep Cornacchio and the love he has for this City. Anything cooked with butter and garlic. Holiday lights that brighten up my December commute. Hearing my favorite song on the radio then turning the channel and there it is again- score! Long weekends and a job I don’t mind going back to on Tuesday. Talk radio when I can’t sleep. That peaceful tired feeling at the end of an accomplished day. Forgiveness- giving and getting. Theatre, music, art, books and the creative people who dedicate their lives to enriching mine. Newspapers and the people who read them.
That when I submit this article for publication, I will immediately think of hundreds of things I should have/could have/would have added to this list if I had the time. And for that I am thankful indeed.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Do You Really Want to Know?
It was a simple question I’ve been asked thousands of times. "I haven’t seen you in ages" my long-distance friend home for a visit gushed enthusiastically "HOW ARE YOU?"
"How Are You?" she said. Three words and nine letters that elicit a mini panic attack each time I hear them. A reluctant "good doobie" from way back when, I try my best to be honest in thoughts and actions whenever possible. Partly because it’s the right thing to do, partly because its too hard to remember fibs, but mostly because I seem to have been born with an extra large guilt complex that won’t let me rest if I try to be anything but honest. A guilt complex so bad that as a young child preparing for confession, I kept a list of everything I did wrong- including the horrible sin of walking by my Nana’s house without saying hello- only to find out the light in the confessional goes off when you kneel, leaving me list-less and sinful. But I digress.
I try to be honest, but not brutally so where I blurt out hurtful facts just because they are true and need to be said. In fact, I’ve become adept at massaging the facts to appease my honest nature without leaving a trail of hurt feelings along the way. "Don’t I look like I lost a ton of weight?" my happy co-worker asks as she twirls around proudly displaying something I’m just not able to see. I smile and say "Wow… look at you!" which she takes as agreement and leaves happily.
Behind her comes a friend who just scored an unexpected invite to a hip party after work.
"Does this outfit make me look like an old fart?" "Define old fart" I respond realizing it’s a question that demands a Yes or No answer I’m unable to give at this moment. "I knew you’d tell me the truth… I’m going to go home and change first" she laughs. And it dawns on me how ironic it is that in my attempt to be truthful I have become an expert at not answering the question at all, a trick men learned years ago.
Its our own fault as women that men have been trained to sidestep such Yes or No landmine questions as "Does this make me look fat?" or "Does my haircut look ok?" Forgetting this deep-rooted self-defense mechanism, I ask my fiance a question I expect a truthful answer to: "Do you like my hair better short or long?" Staring at me as if I was cross-examining him in a court of law, he gingerly responds "Whichever way you like it is good." So much for honest feedback.
But of all these questions we ask on a regular basis, it is still "How Are You?" that trips me up every time. Synonymous with "Hello" and intended more as a greeting than a real question, it certainly does not require the soul-searching reflection I’ve come to give it. And as kind as the check out attendant at the grocery store is, I’m sure she doesn’t want a truthful answer when she says "Hi, how are you" in a sing songy voice while she scans my can of soup with the grace of a conductor’s wand. For a moment I’m tempted to answer ‘I’m obsessed with my family’s health, scared about what is going to happen if the next generation doesn’t read newspapers, and worried about a new mole that looks alot like photos I’ve seen of possible skin cancer. And you?’ but instead I chuckle "Do you really want to know?" expecting this to be a controversial answer. Instead she hums back "Great" apparently assuming my answer had been "good", which I understand is the preferred response of 99.9% of the human race when asked how we are. So why does this question haunt me so much, and why is it so difficult for me to spit out "good" even if it couldn’t be further from the truth? And does anyone really want to know how I am?
"HOW ARE YOU?" my friend asks me with her bright smile and kind eyes that just barely hide the pain I know she feels over her husband’s sudden illness. And at that moment I realize that for the same reason I know how she truly feels, she knows how I feel as well. We politely ask the question, but we already know the answer. "I’m hanging in there." I answer honestly. "Me too, my friend" she responds with a hug, "Me too."
"How Are You?" she said. Three words and nine letters that elicit a mini panic attack each time I hear them. A reluctant "good doobie" from way back when, I try my best to be honest in thoughts and actions whenever possible. Partly because it’s the right thing to do, partly because its too hard to remember fibs, but mostly because I seem to have been born with an extra large guilt complex that won’t let me rest if I try to be anything but honest. A guilt complex so bad that as a young child preparing for confession, I kept a list of everything I did wrong- including the horrible sin of walking by my Nana’s house without saying hello- only to find out the light in the confessional goes off when you kneel, leaving me list-less and sinful. But I digress.
I try to be honest, but not brutally so where I blurt out hurtful facts just because they are true and need to be said. In fact, I’ve become adept at massaging the facts to appease my honest nature without leaving a trail of hurt feelings along the way. "Don’t I look like I lost a ton of weight?" my happy co-worker asks as she twirls around proudly displaying something I’m just not able to see. I smile and say "Wow… look at you!" which she takes as agreement and leaves happily.
Behind her comes a friend who just scored an unexpected invite to a hip party after work.
"Does this outfit make me look like an old fart?" "Define old fart" I respond realizing it’s a question that demands a Yes or No answer I’m unable to give at this moment. "I knew you’d tell me the truth… I’m going to go home and change first" she laughs. And it dawns on me how ironic it is that in my attempt to be truthful I have become an expert at not answering the question at all, a trick men learned years ago.
Its our own fault as women that men have been trained to sidestep such Yes or No landmine questions as "Does this make me look fat?" or "Does my haircut look ok?" Forgetting this deep-rooted self-defense mechanism, I ask my fiance a question I expect a truthful answer to: "Do you like my hair better short or long?" Staring at me as if I was cross-examining him in a court of law, he gingerly responds "Whichever way you like it is good." So much for honest feedback.
But of all these questions we ask on a regular basis, it is still "How Are You?" that trips me up every time. Synonymous with "Hello" and intended more as a greeting than a real question, it certainly does not require the soul-searching reflection I’ve come to give it. And as kind as the check out attendant at the grocery store is, I’m sure she doesn’t want a truthful answer when she says "Hi, how are you" in a sing songy voice while she scans my can of soup with the grace of a conductor’s wand. For a moment I’m tempted to answer ‘I’m obsessed with my family’s health, scared about what is going to happen if the next generation doesn’t read newspapers, and worried about a new mole that looks alot like photos I’ve seen of possible skin cancer. And you?’ but instead I chuckle "Do you really want to know?" expecting this to be a controversial answer. Instead she hums back "Great" apparently assuming my answer had been "good", which I understand is the preferred response of 99.9% of the human race when asked how we are. So why does this question haunt me so much, and why is it so difficult for me to spit out "good" even if it couldn’t be further from the truth? And does anyone really want to know how I am?
"HOW ARE YOU?" my friend asks me with her bright smile and kind eyes that just barely hide the pain I know she feels over her husband’s sudden illness. And at that moment I realize that for the same reason I know how she truly feels, she knows how I feel as well. We politely ask the question, but we already know the answer. "I’m hanging in there." I answer honestly. "Me too, my friend" she responds with a hug, "Me too."
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