Friday, February 8, 2013

Grateful Friday

Today I give thanks for...

T. Bone for heading out to shovel without being asked Monday after school.

These words:  This, it seems to me, is the reason any writer undertakes the speculative work of memoir. Not so much to tell “what happened,” as to illuminate the slow, halting process by which we learn to make our peace with what is. And in that vulnerable revealing, in the stumbling, wayward truth of that story, lies something that is worth offering: not the gift of what we have accomplished but rather the gift of who we really are.  I'm anxious to read Katrina Kenison's latest memoir.
A new favorite treat: candy bar cookies...especially hot out of the oven with a glass of cold milk.  I made 2 batches this week.
Trees decorated with showy scarlet bodied cardinals.  Miss Bit likes the less vibrant female birds.  Thanks to her attention to detail and affinity for the underdog, I now find them just as purty as the boys.
My animal (and fish and bird and reptile) loving Miss Bit.  She truly loves all God's creations.  Her favorite at the zoo were the tree pythons.  One was a sky blue and the other a limey green. 
A third grade zoo trip. Three spider monkeys hugging, two elephants joyfully getting sprayed down by keepers, seven charges excited for a day of fresh air and freedom, and one just beyond bliss that her mama could be there to hold her hand.  The group declared me the best tour guide ever!  (Yes, M&Ms were exchanged.)
Measurable snowfall overnight.  The prettiest kind that leaves the branches looking like they've been painted and the whole landscape all shimmery and aglow.  At Casa Wags we are envious of the blizzard heading towards the east coast.
Joining Miss Bit in the yard to play in the winter wonderland.  We made a snowman and some snowbabies cute and small enough to fit in the palms of our hands. 
After dinner at Dad's salon.  He didn't balk when I suggested he paint her nails while I do the dishes.  Real men wear pink, cry and paint little nails pretty in purple with precision.
On Demand.


Winter skies: soulful and heavy.

Lent starts next week.  I am very ready to make some sacrifices.

Knowing that the truth may first sting, burn and shock, and also knowing that accepting it will set me free. 

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