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.
Heart shaped rain puddles,
water filled mirrors reflect
neighboring fir trees.
My life is the story of best laid plans. Last week I talked about the process and how long it sometimes takes. The box I thought had the special ornaments was not the box. The tree sat half naked in the living room all week with just lights and the red and gold bead strands garlanding the branches. The gold balls act as light reflectors and add more cheery color. I found grammy’s angel in the skirt and textiles box; who knows why it ended up in that box last year.
After a week of asking the guys to go out and look for the box of special ornaments every morning before I went to work, yesterday I was home all day and kept sending them out to the storage shed until the right box was found and retrieved. Though I had skirted it, all week the tree was incomplete, undressed, vulnerable.
I had to interrupt the son’s video game so I wasn’t walking back and forth in front of him while I put the specials and my preciouses on the tree. He had chores to do anyway and they took about the same time. He doesn’t like putting the ornaments on. The hubster sounds like his dad grousing about how much work Christmas is and he wonders why I bother. When I point out he sounds like his dad he shuts up or goes back to his football game.
Today my room is full of Christmas spirit and my tree is fully bright lighted and dressed, properly skirted with quilted poinsettias and lace made by my mom, the son’s Christmas Eagle ornament (brag: yes, I am the proud mother of an Eagle Scout) guarding it, blessed with grammy’s angel on top.
It’s groomed with elves and santas and snowmen and toy soldiers and rocking horses and nutcrackers and reindeer and gingerbread men and glass unicorns and bunnies and birds and bears and angels and wreaths and candy canes and gold bells and miniature stockings and lacy crocheted stars and felt ice skates and Christmas Snoopys and pictures of the son as a child with Santa and enough toys to entertain any child. Like me.
Color Watch – colorful attractions in my neighborhoods this week – gray and brown mud puddles; brown leathery leaves still clinging to trees; piles of brown and yellow and dark red leaves on the side of the road; gray lichens and emerald green mosses; random spots of color on the brown and gray earth.
Currently Reading – Ballet Shoes (1937, fiction) by Noel Streatfeild; The Lunar Tao: Meditations With the Seasons (2013, Chinese religion) by Ming-Dao Deng; Full Catastrophe Living (2008, psychology) by Jon Kabat-Zinn; Mr Strangelove: A Biography of Peter Sellers (2002, biography) by Ed Sikov. Yes, concurrently.
This week I have been grateful for:
- My little burg, which celebrates the holidays with a full day of activities downtown: art making projects for the children; a gingerbread house contest for all ages; breakfast and pictures with Santa; carol singers trolling downtown, and a winter concert at the downtown church; wassail and home-made cookies at the local library; jingle-belled horse-drawn winter wagon rides through downtown; local artisan shopping; topped off with a light parade down Main Street at first dark. A long and exciting day.
- Being done decorating my tree.
- Enjoying my tree.
- The son helping water the tree and finding my box of special ornaments.
- Closing Aunt Ruth’s estate.
- The sweet quietness in my neighborhood these last few weeks since the cement plant across the street has been closed.
- Wind and rain.
- Popcorn with butter, lightly sea salted.
- Mister Kitty, aka George Murphy, my organic alarm clock, who chose us, and is not fazed by the tree being in his pathway to the window; he ignores it and gets into the window anyway.
- Timeless fiction.
- One day a week with nothing on the agenda.
Hoping you have a lovely week.
Namaste. Peace. Blessings.
Floral ribbon border by Laurel Burch