30 Things I LOVE Right Now..
1. Vinnie my busser. 2. Billie Holiday Radio. 3. Brown rice, navy beans, steamed greens & black sesame dressing. 4. Futo- maki vegetable sushi roll with everything vegetable plus tamago (egg) & tofu. 5. Practicing not running- Not running! Not running even when I’m literally running. (It’s a bad habit to escape that which is happening *now.*) 6. This little notebook with a smiley alien on the cover that someone I love dearly gave to me-I write down ideas related to my project inside. 7. The painful New England chill. 8. Colby. 9. Monterey. 10. Running and not wishing it was over with. 11. Feeling disappointed really feeling disappointed and finally coming to that place of the let go to be brought back to the BIG-ness again. 12. Feeling even if the feelings take months to get over believing that they will be gone when they are ready. 13. This house and how perfectly still it feels knowing I could/can stay still here or somewhere like here if that happened to be my luck. 14.a. The Last Waltz revival and the musician who sang Forever Young and how the two of us fell in love that night. 14.b. ha ha. 15. Knowing the difference between solitude & isolation= loving solitude. 16. The love/hate things I love/hate; this cramp in my leg from running up hills. Being here I love/hate being back here. 17.These ducks on my front lawn. 18. Sylvia my friend at work who I laugh with like a teenage girl.19. Magic the pops out of the *air* when I’ m convinced I’ve used all my magic up and I have to start living the struggle to be reminded that I’m not meant to be a struggler. 20. Fireplaces. 21. Hikes. 22. Nanas. 23. All these good movies coming out. 24. Yankee Candles. 25. Greek Yogurt. 26. The thrill I get when I start reading plays again. 27. My Gratitude Tree not poking anyones eye out. 28. Not having caught what she has and some days being able to still love her. 29. The container of sweet potato mash in the fridge.
30. This article about Thanksgiving; Nothing lasts; everything changes. People die, and marriages dissolve, and friendships fade, and families fall apart, whether or not we appreciate them; whether or not we give thanks every waking moment or one night a year. For the act of returning to the same table, to the same people and the same dishes–to the same traditions–can blind you to life’s transience. It can lull you into believing that some things, at least, stay the same. And if that’s what you believe, then what have you got to be grateful for? None of our Thanksgivings are ever coming back; we’ve lost them. They’re gone. And so this year, let’s go somewhere with strange customs and unfamiliar recipes and the latest collection of ill-assorted chairs, and give thanks–not for everything we have, but for everything, instead, that we have lost.