There are days when gratitude is all that matters. Not for that for which you can count, or for an abundance of material things, but for kind words, virtual hugs and a shoulder to lean on at the end of the day.
For the cushions that prop me up as I type, cosy under blankets, sipping at hot lemonade to chase away the niggle of a cold. For geranium hand cream, Jan Struther stories, and the realisation that where once I thought life was too short to read the same book twice, I now understand that those literary lessons we treasured when we are younger eventually become our guiding lights.
For the man who comes home and cooks dinner after a long day at work and the fifteen year old boy tapping astonishing songs he has written himself into the notes on his phone. For the honour of being the only person in the world he is ready to share them with. For family.
For another inch lost from my hips and two more that seem to have settled on my already over-sized chest. (As if I have squeezed the blubber upways). For the boucle blanket that usually rests over my headboard and is now draped over my shivery shoulders. For Peace and Plenty, to remind me that money worries never last. That money ebbs and flows and that there is never any need to be scared.
For the tiredness that reminds me that today was a day well-lived and that sharing our truth remains the most authentic way to be. For Mary Oliver, Today I’m flying low and I’m not saying a word, I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep. And for poetry. Always, always for poetry.
For sinful chocolate-covered peanuts and pineapple juice running down my chin. For dramatic flurries of sneezes that make everybody giggle, Easter holidays and mornings we don’t have to rush. For the housecleaning magic of the potion that is boiling water and elbow grease, a new no-waste Vegan grocery store nearby, and the way a ten-minute dalliance with the nonsense that is Sim City stops my head blowing off.
For resilience and dreams, derring do and tenacity. For bravado and truth, Lush soap and the magical little lazer thing that banishes this relentless chin hair of mine in a jiffy. For laughing daffodils, weeping blankets and propelling pencils. Oh how I love propelling pencils. For writing, drawing and holding a shabby chignon in place on the back of my silly head
For all of it. All of my todays. And above all else for you, stuffing my inbox with support, belief and reassurance and for the absolute blessing that is never, ever feeling judged.