Another side to gratitude

Tomorrow is the last day of November. Then we come to the last month of the year. If, like us, you live on a calendar year, it's getting to be time to take inventory.

It's not just candles that add light to our world

Photo by J. Harrington

For much of this month we've been focused on what we're grateful for. It turns out to be a list that's much longer than we think about, wrapped up in our day-to-day activities. Now may be a good time to start to work on an inventory of what we've done that could make the world grateful that we're here. Over the past week or so, we've encountered a couple of folks who have, as we see it, gone above and beyond to help us attain something we wanted. (Yes, yes, yes, there's way too many "Not my job attitudes out there," but that's for some other time.) Those folks made us consider how we could make life more pleasant and successful for others. We think it's called "leading by example." There are probably several tracts about how parents should model good behavior for their children.

Anyhow, we hope the world will be grateful:

• for the buckthorn we've pulled; 
• the miles we haven't driven or flown; 
• that our light bulbs are almost all LEDs; 
• that many of our clothes are of natural fabrics (no plastic microfibers);
• that we do much of our shopping locally; 
• that, as much as we can, we catch and release spiders, chipmunks, and red squirrels (we haven't found a live trap that works on mice); 
• that we feed birds (intentionally) and squirrels, deer and an occasional bear (usually unintentionally); 
• that most weeks we have one or two meatless days; 
• that we participate in local community supported agriculture and food co-ops.

This, we hope, isn't a complete list, but it's a start. We think we (all of us) need to do more to give ourselves credit for the extent to which we "walk our talk." This is all part of our new and improved "Yes, and" attitude (see yesterday's posting). (And, at this time of year, it also represents notes for our letter to Santa, in which we mention how much we were a "very good boy this year.")

snow-covered countrysides are often beautiful

Photo by J. Harrington

It was about an inch or an inch and a half of snow that fell in our neck of the woods last night. Most of that will melt over the next few days. Then we'll see what Saturday and Sunday bring. With luck we'll get to be grateful that we've dodged another weather bullet.

Wild Gratitude

Edward Hirsch, 1950

Tonight when I knelt down next to our cat, Zooey, 
And put my fingers into her clean cat’s mouth, 
And rubbed her swollen belly that will never know kittens, 
And watched her wriggle onto her side, pawing the air, 
And listened to her solemn little squeals of delight, 
I was thinking about the poet, Christopher Smart, 
Who wanted to kneel down and pray without ceasing 
In every one of the splintered London streets,
 
And was locked away in the madhouse at St. Luke’s 
With his sad religious mania, and his wild gratitude, 
And his grave prayers for the other lunatics, 
And his great love for his speckled cat, Jeoffry. 
All day today—August 13, 1983—I remembered how 
Christopher Smart blessed this same day in August, 1759, 
For its calm bravery and ordinary good conscience. 

This was the day that he blessed the Postmaster General 
“And all conveyancers of letters” for their warm humanity, 
And the gardeners for their private benevolence 
And intricate knowledge of the language of flowers, 
And the milkmen for their universal human kindness. 
This morning I understood that he loved to hear—
As I have heard—the soft clink of milk bottles 
On the rickety stairs in the early morning, 

And how terrible it must have seemed 
When even this small pleasure was denied him. 
But it wasn’t until tonight when I knelt down 
And slipped my hand into Zooey’s waggling mouth 
That I remembered how he’d called Jeoffry “the servant 
Of the Living God duly and daily serving Him," 
And for the first time understood what it meant. 
Because it wasn’t until I saw my own cat 
 
Whine and roll over on her fluffy back 
That I realized how gratefully he had watched 
Jeoffry fetch and carry his wooden cork 
Across the grass in the wet garden, patiently 
Jumping over a high stick, calmly sharpening 
His claws on the woodpile, rubbing his nose 
Against the nose of another cat, stretching, or 
Slowly stalking his traditional enemy, the mouse, 
A rodent, “a creature of great personal valour," 
And then dallying so much that his enemy escaped. 

And only then did I understand 
It is Jeoffry—and every creature like him— 
Who can teach us how to praise—purring 
In their own language, 
Wreathing themselves in the living fire. 

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