A few days ago, my grandmother reminded me—via my mother—that it was time for my annual Thanksgiving note. Just back from a quick trip to Denver—and a little stressed about the lack of time to plan, shop for, and prepare tomorrow's dinner—my immediate reaction (in true Christmas Story fashion) was, "Oh . . . FUDGE!"
I hadn't once thought about it. And, perhaps in revenge, my muse went on strike.
It wasn't until about an hour ago, wresting free from what I hope to be my last grocery store experience today, that it struck me. For so many of the last nine years, the inspiration behind this letter was dramatic: September 11th; car accidents; and the hardships, illness, and loss of loved ones among friends and family that remind us all how short life is. Writing my letter had always been simple—precisely because of these events. It's easy to appreciate what and who you have when you've been tested—but perhaps not so easy when things are good.
Today, as I sit facing another glorious Vermont sunset, this is what I'm thankful for: I have no story to tell because it's been a good year. Rob and I are healthy; our friends and family (despite a few scares here and there) are healthy; we've had the resources—and great fortune—to resume our traveling; we've met some wonderful new friends and reconnected with others. Truly, there's little more I could ask.
I know that some of you aren't in a similarly good place this year. Please know that— even though I'm a shit friend when it comes to keeping in touch (props to John for that one)—I'm thinking of you. I may forget to say it, but if you're getting this note, you're one of the many, many people I'm grateful to have in my life.
May you find yourself surrounded by good family, great friends, and the
> warmth and comfort of home this year. Happy Thanksgiving!