The story below came up on my Facebook feed this morning. It made me think of all the things that I’m grateful for over the past ten years. The list is long, so in the interest of not being overly maudlin, I’m truncating it here:
- Vanessa
- Our children and grandchildren
- The farm
- The dogs (Jed has long since passed, but we still have Bobo and The Others)
- The fact that Elon Musk did not buy Facebook
From FB: November 18, 2012
So, this morning we are making beer, Rae-Ray’s In-Town Big Blonde, Batch #2. About the time most people are starting church, I’m standing at the kitchen sink, thinking about how much I like making beer on Sunday morning. On the stove, we have two and a half gallons of wort boiling, and the sweet smell of malt and the bitterness of hops are filling the house, and Vanessa is standing next to me cutting up veggies for tonight’s dinner, and Jed-the-red-tick coonhound is standing behind me, hoping for some morsel to fall his way. I’m thinking how great a ritual Sunday morning beer making is for a slightly OCD agnostic. All is right with the world.
I am also filling a five-gallon carboy (that big glass bottle) with hot water and sterilizer, and the bubbles are getting closer and closer to the top, where I have stuck the sprayer nozzle. Unbeknownst to me, the sprayer nozzle, which fits perfectly on the lip of the carboy, has created a seal, so the pressure from the suds is building as it fills with hot water and soap. When it’s nearly full, I take the nozzle out and suddenly there is an explosion. A major explosion.
Boom!
Vanessa had left her rings in a small cup on the window sill above the sink. The cup goes flying, rings scatter. I have no idea what just happened, and I’m thinking: water main break, gas explosion, boiling wort, terrorists, massive dog fart. I have no idea, but I turn around and Vanessa has somehow teleported herself into the next room, from which she is looking at me slack-jawed, and Jed has disappeared completely. I know now that if there ever is a real emergency, I’m on my own.
So, I check everything, starting with myself. All my parts are still there, intact and functioning, so far as I can tell. The carboy has not exploded, the stove is not on fire, the cabinet under the sink is not filling with water, and there’s not a terrorist in lurking outside.
Jordan saunters out of her room as only a fourteen-year-old can and asks, “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes.”
I collect Vanessa’s rings, which are scattered over the counter and in the sink trap, and check on Jed, who is lying on the couch in the den, having forgotten the entire event. I am grateful for everything I have. I am especially grateful that it was Jed behind me, and not Bobo, who is still young enough to pee when he’s startled. That would have been a real mess, flying wedding rings and dog piss all over the kitchen.
Gratitude is such a gift.
Amen
Cheers
