happy thanksgiving america

FYI – THIS POST IS A FIRST DRAFT, COMPLETELY UNEDITED DUE TO MONUMENTAL BABY MELTDOWN

Seeing as most of my readers are American and that I was born in Detroit, seems fitting that I should not only acknowledge Thanksgiving (Happy Day of Thanks, y’all) but also take a moment to give thanks.

Remember this post, when I vowed to make a point of pointing out the nice things in life? I’m happy to say that I kept my promise. From the day following that post onwards, here are some of the things I’ve been grateful for:

1. The British Museum
2. Thank you Elizabeth Gilbert for writing this book.
3. Having a husband that gets up in the middle of the night to help settle our girl (sounds like a given but there are so many husbands that don’t).
4. That I’m going to be in Canada with my family for Christmas. Also, family.
5. My first night out with good friends since giving birth, and unexpected poutine joy!
6. Full. Body. Massages.
7. Brunch.
8. Colourful doors make me happy. Lucky for me, colourful doors abound in London.
9. Wren, Wren, Wren. That face! That smile! That laugh.
10. Mahonia. Just as the last leaves fall to the ground and everything starts to look a little bleak, this fragrant shrub, which smells like lily of the valley, blooms.
11. Flower deliveries with notes thanking me for being such a good mother.
12. Two words: Indian takeaway.
13. SNOW!
14. Melt-in-your-mouth salmon, smoked for hours by my husband.
15. The girl sleeps for three consecutive hours. It’s a bloody miracle.
16. Having a couple of hours to myself.
17. This.
18. There’s something in the air today that felt like the first time I landed in London. I’m not sure what it was, but I spent a good hour walking around in that giddy state as if I were seeing the city for the first time.

It’s so easy to forget how lucky we are and it’s so important to remember. What are you grateful for today?

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture. Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all,
over and over, how it is that we live forever.
— Mary Oliver