Day One

January 29, 2020

Okay, here goes my gratitude project.

I had originally planned Day One to be January 27, the 20th anniversary of my father’s death. I thought a year of exploring the meaning of gratitude, and more, of practicing it, would be a fine way to honor my father and if I’m lucky, to call to myself his qualities of patience, equilibrium, and curiosity.

I got up early on Monday, January 27, and clocked through the many things that have to happen to get my daughter out the door by 6:40 am for her 7:00 training session at the gym. I was calm, I was competent; I had this gratitude thing off to a good start. And then I found the dog pee on the carpet. Dog pee needs to be dealt with immediately but I needed to leave immediately. Nothing about my reaction to this was admirable or in the least reflective of my father’s fine reserve and wry humor.

I got my daughter to the Y. Upon return I continued with the dog pee protocol and then took both dogs on a walk. After the walk, during which I was trying not to hate the dogs, I got dressed for an appointment and smelled something, uh, weird. Oh, there’s dog shit all over my shoe. And on the side of my other shoe. And on the shirt that the shoe touched. And somehow on an empty manila folder on the counter that the shoe or maybe the shirt had touched. Emi pitched the manila folder in the trash and I flung the rest into the back yard to hose down later, changed my clothes again, and took my daughter to school. This is all before 8:30 in the morning.

At this moment, I’m not feeling grateful. Or disposed to muse about sweet times in the past for which I might feel grateful. But I do know with a slight change of perspective, all of this becomes a good story. Like every wacky, embarrassing, unbelievable story about my mother. And if there’s anything in my life for which I have been eternally grateful, it’s stories about my mother. Tune in!

Lucky Girl