In no particular order…
1. My Fantasy Football record. 5-6 might not seem all that impressive, but if you knew the number of injuries and under-performers I’ve been saddled with, you’d be impressed too. I really expected my week 2 win to be my last. Of course, some of my victories have been by a fraction of a point, but I don’t care…a win is a win.
2. My family. I’m grateful for the time I’ve shared with those who have since passed on, and with those that are still here. My family is an amazing mix of people full of wisdom, humor, talents, joy, faith, and fun. I am thankful for all the experiences we’ve shared and any opportunity we have to reminisce.
3. My friends. I consider my friends to be the family I wasn’t born into. They are a constant source of encouragement and support. They remind me to be myself without qualification or apology. They are equally up for a silly game or a probing conversation.
4. My husband. He is a good man. He puts up with me because he loves me, or he loves me because he can put up with me. And I’m no piece of cake; I can be a neurotic, overly emotional, all-around crazy, inscrutable mess (at times). And I place a lot of micro-managerial demands on my surroundings—things have to be where they belong at all times for my sanity to stay balanced. He accepts that. He is strong for me when I am weak, and there for me when I am sad. He is easy to talk to, laugh with, cry on and everything else. There is no one I’d rather go through the ups and downs of life with.
5. Being home. 2011 was a Wizard of Oz year without the ruby shoes. We were picked up, tossed around, and dropped into situations that were foreign to us. After the fire we moved six times before we could go home. With delay after delay, we were often tempted to loose heart, courage or our sanity. It was a long road home, but with the support of friends and family, we found our way.
6. Everything that survived the fire. Things are just things in the face of having one’s health or life, but some things are so entrenched in memories, that loosing them is an emotional amputation. I am grateful for every photograph (especially those of my late mother). I cherish every item from my childhood (like Corduroy—the teddy bear I’ve had since I was born—and the wooden toy box my father painted for me when I was three or four). All the things that we didn’t loose are even more special to me now; they’re mini miracles…survivors, like us.
Leaves may change their color, but it is ever the season to be thankful.