Gratitude covers the plural, I learned this week. Apparently, you can’t add an s. You aren’t supposed to have a handful or a bushel of gratitudes. Just one.
This week, I’m thankful my son had work yesterday and today. Hooray for him! (That could be a bushel.)
I’m thankful our friends–old and new–stopped over for the night and we had plenty of time to visit this morning. And thank you, Tom, for making a delicious breakfast for us (plus Champagne).
I’m thankful I could sneak out today and buy some tomato plants and plant them during a brief dry patch on this spitting, drizzling Sunday. The store was sold out of Sweet Millions, so I’m going with a color scheme–red Early Girls, a red pear tomato plant, a Black Prince (!), and an Orange Blossom tomato. Will I have any tomatoes to eat? It’s always an experiment, but planting is the first step.
And the strawberries are already showing a few green berries forming amid the surf of white blossoms.
I’m thankful for the splendid run of sun we had up until now, for the chance to start the days journaling in view of sunlight on the wall of killer roses, where the Cecile Brunner is showing more and more pink buds.
I’m thankful for any energy I have. Work has been a longer, harder haul lately–and sometimes it’s tough to get out of bed (oh, gravity!) and go to the gym and catch the bus across the lake. But I’ve been able to do it, and I’m thankful for that.
Finally, I’m thankful for these lines, which have inspired me this past week:
… God knows,
the way night moves its shoes from side to side
–Oliver de la Paz, “Aubade with a book and the Rattle from a String of Pearls” in Furious Lullaby
Yes! I want to write like that.
Open the door.