Season of Thanksgiving and Gifts

I woke up and made myself that first cup of coffee on this cool cool Puget Sound morning, thirty-five degrees here. I was so thankful for the pleasure that infused me, the aroma, the taste, the warmth. This following close on The Connorman playdate last night, and that following so close on a fabulous book club, segued into remembering the pleasure of experiencing a practically perfect reunion and trip to Arkansas.

Gifts all.

I reflected on how my life/world is all gifts.

Janice is going to be seventy this February, Jean is going to go by train. At reunion I decided to join them. Jerry talked about it, Julia is thinking about  it. Then Janice called and said she had an airline voucher I could use to help offset the cost. Another Gift.

I didn't order a six foot tall intellect when Christian was born. I can't take credit for weather, beauty, environment, family. After the Presidential election I can't take credit for being born in America. It wasn't my superior anything, it was the choice of ancestors long gone. Do I make my heart beat, my feet work? I can't order up just any ole' DNA for a bigger brain or pay to have it installed. Or how many and who my siblings are. They are gifts also.

Even God is a gift, however you envision Him to be, however He comes to you, it is a gift from someone else. The Bible, the encyclopedia are all gifts.

The gift of ideas, Jeff turned me onto an interesting book called Walking the Bible. Gift. Ian the gift of hauling, heavy lifting. Christian the gift of an oil change, for bringing an interesting girl into my life. Roger and Stephanie the gift of, well you know who. People give gifts of caring, listening, helping, sharing, loving.

Some gifts take work. Who hasn't been touched by the gift of Jane caring? The work of pets. Somebody did the work to create a car, many somebodies. I don't know about you, but I love my car and what it does for me. All I have to do is keep it filled with gas and keep Christian my son. To keep my car filled with gas I have to work at work. Work is a gift.

Message I read once: "Don't be arrogant, a lot was done before you were born." You can take credit for choices: education, exercise, spouse, books bought and read, your Thanksgiving menu, but the gift of Thanksgiving goes way beyond our fingertips. Thanksgiving came as a gift.

Book club, employment, community, country, writing, chickens, coffee, firemen, are all gifts really.

This reminds me of a quote I have always loved; "Life is the first gift, love the second, understanding the third."

And finally a gift from my friend Carol. We were talking about, oh hell, we were talking about everything and this poem came up. She mentioned it was her dad's favorite and I said it was my dad's favorite. So in case you have lost it like I did, here is a gift from Carol, who got it as a gift from a family member, who got is as a gift from Carol's parents, who got it as a gift from someplace else, and so it goes.

My Job

It's not my place to run the train
The whistle I can't blow
It's not my place to say how far
The trains allowed to go
It's not my place to shoot off steam
Nor even clang the bell
But let the damn
Thing jump the track
And see who catches hell...

And this quote was a gift from Walking the Bible, which in turn was a gift because Jeff chose to share: "The great thing about being married to an archaeologist is the older you get, the more he loves you." Nothing to do with anything, but it made me smile. Smiling? Absolutely a gift, I didn't design the face.

 Ain't life grand -- another gift.