Gratitude * Sunday
Sunday’s heartfelt tradition.
A time to slow down, to reflect, to be grateful.
A list of gratitudes, our gratefulness feeds one another.
Quoted from Taryn Wilson
Joining the Gratitude Sunday Tradition at Wooly Moss Roots.
Water falls from gray
sky, loud on earth, bends flowers
to its rainy will.
March is Women’s History Month. We celebrate a whole month designated federally to focus on women’s stories, women’s histories, women’s lives, so different from men’s. As it should be. We are different. But just because we’re different doesn’t mean we can’t accomplish similar achievements. Women have accomplished more than men, while having and raising their babies. And we’re doing it every day not just one month of the year.
So here’s My Roll Call for Women’s History Month, in totally random and no particular order:
Mother Earth, Mother Nature, and the Mother Goddess. Eve, for lack of a finer name, whomever she was and from whom we all started. Mary Magdelen. Mary, mother of Jesus. Cleopatra. Queen Elizabeth I. Marie Curie. Queen Victoria. Pocahontas. Eleanor Roosevelt. Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Margaret Sanger. Indira Gandhi. Sacagawea. Anne Frank. Georgia O’Keeffe. Virginia Woolf. Sappho. Alice Neel. Amelia Earhart. Mary Oliver. Dorothy Bradford. Audre Lourde. Florence Nightingale. George Sand. Bette Davis. Helen Keller and Anne Sullivan. George Eliot. Emily Dickinson. Lidia Yuknavitch. Susan B Anthony. Sojourner Truth. Julian of Norwich. Christy Shake. Mother Theresa. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Patti Duke. Annie Oakley. Hanne Blank. Gloria Steinem. Bette Midler. Sylvia Plath. Shirley Temple Black. Janis Joplin. Jane Goodall. Hillary Clinton. All the Brontë sisters. Grace Slick. Phyllis Diller. Billie Jean King. Ina May Gaskin. Eudora Welty. Joan Jett. Grace Kelly. Elizabeth Warren. Clara Barton. Maya Angelou. Cindy Lauper. Rosa Parks. Maria Montessori. Wilma Mankiller. Ellen DeGeneres. Juliette Gordon Low. Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Rachel Carson. Grace Hopper. Hildegard of Bingen. Katherine Hepburn. Flannery O’Connor. Tasha Tudor. Simone de Beauvoir. Pat Benatar. Julia Child. Peggy Fleming. Tina Turner. Sandra Day O’Connor. Edith Wharton. Annette Funicello. Dorothy Parker. Edie Sedgwick. Queen Elizabeth II. Agatha Christie. Billie Holiday. Marilyn Monroe. Germaine Greer. Bonnie Raitt. Oprah Winfrey. Louise Bourgeois. Diana, Princess of Wales. Jeanne Domrémy. Alice Walker. Jean Harlow. Mileva Marić Einstein. Catherine Deneuve. Mary Shelley. Grandma Moses. Madame CJ Walker. Pauline Esther Friedman and her twin sister Esther Pauline Friedman. Dorothy Hamill. Maria Callas. Dian Fossey. Margaret Mitchell. Alice Paul. Emily Rapp. The Indigo Girls. Elizabeth Blackwell. Louisa May Alcott. Mahalia Jackson. Betty Ford. Shannon Hayes. Sarah Vaughn. Margaret Meade. Yoko Ono. Jessie Wilcox Smith. Ayn Rand. Nadia Comăneci. Georgiana Pittock. Lucille Ball. Sophia Loren. Lillian Hellman. Christa McAuliffe. Toni Morrison. Barbara Walters. Judy Garland. Annie Leibovitz. Edith Piaf. Rosalynn Carter. Sally Field. Dorothea Lange. Aretha Franklin. Amy Tan. Bessie Smith. Margaret Cho. Gladys Knight. Mary Cassatt. Sally Ride. Margaret Thatcher. Laurel Burch. Estee Lauder. Delilah, Salome, and Jezebel. Martha Washington. Carolyn Gage. Joni Mitchell. Victoria Woodhull. Mary Englebreit. Chelsea Cain. Kathy Bates. Joan Baez. Nellie Bly. Temple Grandin. Marilyn Wann. Shirley Chisholm. Anais Nin. Tabitha Brown. Laura Ingalls Wilder. Mae West. Miss Piggy. Diane Arbus. Scheherazade. Martha Graham. Brigitte Bardot. Alice Waters. Sally Fallon. Ragen Chastain. Mary Travers. Abigail Aldritch Rockefeller. Beatrix Potter. Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. Barbara Roberts. Queen Lili’uokalani. Gladys Hardy. Marie Antoinette. Julia Morgan. Tracy Chapman. Doris Day. Pussy Riot. Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis. Betty Friedan. Cass Elliot. Abigail Scott Duniway. Babe Didrickson. Aimee Semple McPherson. Caroline Kennedy. Frances McDormand. Barbra Streisand. Coco Chanel. Whoopi Goldberg.
And, oh! So many more! These are just off the top off my head. How I could go on. I bet I could come up with another whole list if I used the middle and the bottom of my head. I was tempted to make a luscious juicy comment on every name but I decided not to bore you. Maybe next year.
Do you know these names? Who would you choose to add to the list? If you don’t know these names take your time to look them up. Go on, I’ll wait. You might be pleasantly surprised what’all women are up to.
Then there’s all the plain women. The simple women. The pioneer and pilgrim women. All us average, every-day, keep the home together women you don’t read about in any of the history books, whose stories are passed orally from generation to generation, so many stories lost to posterity as each generation dies. Your mother. My mother. Their mothers. And theirs before them and so on. And our aunts, our sisters, our daughters, our nieces, our cousins. The woman who conceived you, who labored with you, who delivered your precious stardust to our planet in human form. The woman whose smile was the first you saw, who nursed you from her breast and cleaned your sweet new bottom. The woman who helped you walk and talk and succeed in all you wanted, the woman who let you fail when you needed to learn. The women who had the ears and hearts of men, powerful and every-day men. The women who shaped this world and without whom the world would be a lesser place.
I bow to all women, grateful they have gone before me to pave the way, in awe of all they have achieved. And I am filled to bursting with the possibilities of our young women who want to recover the old farming and feeding and caring ways with their own modern upgrades. I am amazed by the women I read who have bravely created a new canon of literature glowing with female experience and thought. Women’s history, women’s stories: the other half. The half that keeps us all here and saves this planet.
tiny white naturalized violas;neon yellow dandelions;dime-sized white pink-tipped yard daisies; yellow, red, and pink tulips; hot pink weeping Chinese cherry twitter full of birds while I took photos; a white hyacinth; an unidentified surprise;mystical moments in the light; and the promise of next week’s blossoms.
Currently Reading – The Spark of Life: Electricity in the Human Body (2012, biology) by Frances Ashcroft; The Woman Upstairs (2013, fiction novel) by Claire Messud; My Age of Anxiety: Fear, Hope, Dread, and The Search for Peace of Mind (2014, clinical psychology) by Scott Stossel. Yes, concurrently.
This week I have been grateful for:
- The son and the hubster surprising me by replacing the kitchen sink faucet that broke last Thanksgiving weekend. I bought the replacement the weekend after it broke. I did not once ask them when they were going to replace it. I knew they would fix it in their own good time. And they did.
- Getting into the pool after last week’s migraine and the residual wrung-through-a-wringer feeling. I remember helping my grandma with her wringer washer and it hurt to catch a finger, so if you can imagine two rollers pressed together tightly, twisted around and around with a crank handle, and squishing your body as you are forced between the middle of the two rollers in an effort to squish all the water out of the piece, that’s a mild description of my feeling after a migraine. In the image below I would be the item between the rollers not the smiling lady.
- Vast fields of green grass with random bright yellow faces of naturalized daffodils popping up.
- Turning the heater off, opening the door and listening intently to the rain cycling through waves of drizzle and torrent.
- The once again brief rain-free window for photos.
- All the layered shades of gray in the sky on a rainy day.
- Knowing a decision I had to help make at my place of work was the best option possible for the day.
- Windshield wipers.
- Knowing how to hydroplane and keep control of my car.
- Turning up the heat in the car while having the window open for fresh air.
- The fresh clean smell rain produces.
- Completing another gratitude.
- Writing. Reading. Learning.
- That moment when light lowers itself in front of your eyes with such a physical presence it feels as if you can grab and hold the light with both hands. But of course you cannot.
Hoping you have a lovely week.
Namaste. Peace. Blessings.
Ribbon border by Laurel Burch