For me, gratitude is thankfulness on steroids. This time of year, I can feel it from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.
There were times I did not understand the fortunes of life I had been blessed with. There were times, I hate to admit, that I saw too much of the hard and the sad. I missed soaking in the good that still surrounded me with a bounty that I failed to see.
One of the blessings of maturing, okay, let’s face it, aging, is discovering a better Geiger counter for the good, the beautiful and the blessed. It has also gifted me the ability to go back in time and see the precious moments that I did not catch the first time around.
Perhaps you have found that special kind of magic yourself lately. What better time than Thanksgiving to literally count our blessings? Please walk with me down my memory lane and the wonder of now.
When I was a young girl, until I was twelve, Thanksgiving meant going to my grandmother’s house. While we did not cross over a river, we always had to travel over snow.
My paternal grandparents lived in a massive colonial-style home, and it was filled with a plethora of cousins, aunts and uncles that seemed to pop up everywhere. Two lessons were there waiting for me, but my inner vision was still too weak to understand them.
Each year my mother complained that all holidays were always held at my grandparents’ home, sighing, “When do I get to host my own Thanksgiving dinner?” Back then I could not understand why she was upset. Wasn’t this easier for her? My mother never had the chance to have her wish.
My parents divorced and we left Michigan and moved to California. There were no more holiday family dinners. Each year after that, my mother, brother and I would just go to a restaurant. It was a bit of a letdown from the massive holiday I had been raised with and it was also much quieter than the rowdy gathering and the antics of my unruly cousins who were, at times, well, brats.
Now, looking back with the knowledge of many decades past, I see those days with different lenses. Having had the joy of hosting my own rowdy Thanksgivings for over five decades, I feel a greater understanding of my mother’s lament. There is such a wonderful feeling when you see your family gathered around a table, enjoying the feast you prepared.
After my husband Ron died, the privilege of hosting the annual feast was handed down to my children. It is a lot less work, but my heart at times aches for those Thanksgivings of the past. I then kick myself in the proverbial rear and remind myself how lucky I was to have had that joy for so many years.
I also feel much greater empathy for my mother. After that last childhood Thanksgiving, I never saw my relatives again. I think about the craziness of those years and all my petty complaints. They now seem so foolish, and yes, childish.
What I wouldn’t give to have had even one more of those grandparent-hosted Thanksgivings with the wisdom I now have to appreciate it.
When I was young, my list of Thanksgivings seemed uninspired, but now my list is endless. With maturity, every sunrise seems a reason for celebration. Every moon at night is a wonder that delights.
The frolics of squirrels are grand entertainment. The purrs of my cat soothe. The taste of a fresh strawberry is so sweet I wonder how I never realized it before. I look at my family, now including great-grandchildren, and I feel wealthier than I could ever have dreamed to be.
Things have taken on so much more meaning. I see that my list of things to be grateful for is endless. Perhaps, like wine which gets all the sweeter with age, Thanksgiving becomes richer with the benefit of hindsight.
I have found that a happier view of life is acquired when we list all the things we’ve had or have. When we treasure those gifts, we take them out and cherish them once again as we do when we unpack beloved Christmas ornaments, realizing the bounty of all the blessings we have enjoyed.
I invite you all to take an internal audit of the blessings that have graced your life. Then this Thanksgiving, in the words of Jimmy Stewart in the classic Christmas movie of the same name, you will discover that, indeed, “It has been a wonderful life.”
Diana Ingram can be reached at DingramThurston21@gmail.com
