Thanksgiving seems to be a time for taking stock. How are we doing? What are we thankful for?

 I have a habit of looking at old notebooks, old cards, saved letters. They remind me what and who I was grateful for. And, affording me a smile, sometimes who was grateful for me.

A few days ago, I came across a quote which, apparently, years back had captured my attention. It is by Ralph Waldo Emerson.  He says:

“I am thankful for small mercies. I compared notes with one of my friends who expects everything of the universe and is disappointed when anything is less than the best, and I found that I begin at the other extreme, expecting nothing, and am always full of thanks for moderate goods.”

It made me wonder, have we come to expect too much too soon? For too little investment on our part.

We ‘old people’ love to smile among ourselves about our young survival days.  Now, in later years, we see them as growing pains. We didn’t expect much, so anything good and unexpected was a pleasant gift. A surprise.

Today it seems we, and I include myself, expect so much of others, of ourselves, of life.  Makes me wonder if we’re robbing ourselves of the amazing element of surprise. Of gratitude.  I will ponder this as I take stock this Thanksgiving.

In the meantime, thank you Mr. Emerson for reminding us to be full of thanks for moderate goods.  And, to my mother, who constantly urged that we be thankful for small mercies.  Somehow, she was always right. Why did it take so long to realize that, and be thankful.

May this year give you much for which to be thankful.

 # # #  

Tomorrow is Veterans Day. It was originally named Armistice Day.  At the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month – the day in 1918 when a cease fire to WWI was called, we will give thanks.  We will remember those who cared enough, they were willing to give their all.  

I grew up in England during WWII.  I was 13 when the war ended.  Seeing War through the eyes of a child is different.  We don’t see the pain and scars behind the smiles and bravado.

My town was not reduced to rubble.  We didn’t lose family members.  Our home remained intact for the most part.  As youngsters, the shelters became a nightly routine that was almost exciting.  We even had a guessing game in the shelters … where is it going to land?  ‘It’ referring to the buzz bombs.  We were told, this is how it is right now.  It will get better.

We had a US Military base close by. A few ‘Yanks’ would come to our home for a meal.  We adored them – they brought candy, canned peaches, all kinds of treats from their PX.  They ran races with us, told us stories about their hometowns.  They never mentioned war.

As we think back, we can see the signs we, as children, missed.  The loneliness for their own family, the dread of the next Mission, the joy they received from giving and sharing, the fact that they – complete strangers cared what might happen to us.

So, when Veterans Day rolls around each year, I give thanks for these ‘Yanks’ who were willing to risk their own lives to save ours.  Who protected us from many of the horrors of war.  Who said We will not let you down.

You are my North star.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You changed my world.

# # #

Recently my son asked for additions to his already large inventory of books. He asked that I explore my bookshelves; and share any treasures he may not have read.

Well, as a reader - you know what happens when you begin to check which books you might be willing to part with.  You flip the pages, smile, recall the rest of the story – and put it back on the shelf.

Since this was my son asking, I managed to select a few that met his approval. I could let them go to a good home. 

During my shelf rummaging and page flipping I found a small book titled The Book of Excellence, 236 habits of effective salespeople - published in 1990, a mere 34 years ago.  It was filled with best habits and advice of the day that made me shake my head.  Wow.  

Some advice has stood the test of time.  Other advice?  Well, times have definitely changed.

The book's advice:  Send birthday and anniversary cards.  Spend at least 4 hours a day in front of customers.  Resist fads, whether in clothes or language.  Are your shoes polished?  Get up early and work late. Tell the truth. Be loyal to your employer. Listen. Listen. Listen.

And the list continues: Rapport is not developed on the telephone. Face to face develops long term relationships. All play and no work does not work. Is your hair shaggy and unruly.  Is it too long? Do you use too much hairspray? Spend as much time providing customer service as talking about it. Keep your car, especially the interior, clean at all times. There is no replacement for effort.

I won’t share all 236 habits.  You get the idea.  People and what is important to us change.  Habits, good and bad, stick around unless we shake them up once in a while.  I’m working on developing what I think are more good ones. More reading is on my very long list of more this, and less that.

Never too old to change our habits.

# # # 

My brother, who lives in England, has been visiting for the past ten days.  We decided we must be getting old.  It seems a lot of our conversations, many of which ended with a good belly laugh, began …” Do you remember?”’

Not surprising, most of our memories were good ones, funny ones, about people who helped us.  The freedoms we had as kids, eccentric teachers, stories our parents told.   We laughed about Mr. Airy, a teacher who wore a little rear-view mirror on his glasses; and could whirl a blackboard duster with amazing accuracy at a misbehaving student.  Imagine that today.

We reminisced about how young we were, making our way via public transport from our town in the North to the big city of London.  Another, imagine that.

Food, always a good topic, recalled simple home grown, home prepared foods.  We never ate in a restaurant, except for the occasional fish and chips shop.  The result was  healthy kids, and a deeper respect for ‘how in the world mother did it all.’ 

Memory Lane, providing you don’t spend too much time there, is a great place to visit.  It made Jim and me remember our roots, the good times, how fortunate we were.  Today, as always, we live in a not-so-perfect world. And yet, we can almost guarantee, when your grandchildren go on Memory-Lane trips they will remember the good stuff.  That’s just how we are.

Thanks for the memories …

 # # #

One week ago today the world for many of our friends, families, and neighbors changed. Beauty and calm turned to horror and destruction.

Amidst the tears, desperation, and losses yet to be fully realized; one thing rose to the top.  America, as we know it in our hearts, came through.  Neighbor helped neighbor.  Compassionate people around the country strove to provide links to survival. 

The response was instant, it was instinctive, it was real.  No second guessing, no red tape, no what’s in it for me … it was full blown ‘we care’ at its most personal level.

We couldn’t reach our Asheville son. A resourceful neighbor found a way to let us know he was OK, or as he nonchalantly put it ... we are hanging in there together.

Hurricane Helene left widespread misery in her path.  She also left us with the conviction that despite reports to the contrary, there are still more good people than others.

 As Robert Frost said, ‘we have promises to keep – but there are miles to go before we sleep.’  And so, good people, from my son's neighbor  ... hang in there, together. We need each other.

# # #

Yesterday, while taking my evening walk, I suddenly heard a voice.  I swiftly swirled around.  A young man, radio on, was close behind on an electric scooter.  He foot-scraped to a stop and blurted out “Oh sorry, you didn’t look OLD from behind.” 

Despite not knowing whether to consider this a compliment, or a concern since my front obviously did not meet expectations, I had to laugh.  The rest of my walk I pondered … how did we become so humorless about words never intended as insults?

My husband, who did not have a disrespectful or mean word in his vocabulary, often spoke to Garden Club groups. He would sometimes begin by saying, “I’m so glad to be here with my new-made and old-made friends.”  The women laughed. They made him an honorary member.

Fast forward: The card game “Old Maid” has changed its name.   It is now Bold Made.  The new name being less ‘controversial.’  Made me wonder if it was ‘old’ or ‘maid’ that demanded change.

 Without question, some words or combinations of words should be forever stricken from conversations. No matter the conversations are in person, print, or electronically. Others?  It’s difficult to stop saying ‘Aunt Lizzie was an old maid. We’re not sure if by  choice or circumstances.’

A PC too far?  Just be kind in word and thought – that’s all that matters.

Game of Old Maid anyone?

# # #

I'm in love. This is the real thing.  Sure to be a forever love affair.

It's just ten days since twin great grandchildren Everett and Elizabeth entered my life.  It seems much longer.  It's as though we've known each other forever.   I can't stop looking at them. We talk about the fun things we'll see and do.  They don't comment, but they seem to understand.

What is it about these tiny miracles?  You hold them and feel such trust.  You hear them cry, and say ... it's OK, we'll make it all better.  You watch them squirm, and encourage stretching.  Feeding time again?  Enjoy. Get strong.  We'll do our best to keep our promises.

These complex little people are human. They cannot be created by artificial intelligence. They respond to the human touch.  They flinch when anything cold or hard touches them.  Without  a day's training, they sense when they are safe.  Whether the hands that hold them are hands that care. They are miraculous. 

Do these brand new little ones feel love?  Oh yes.  How do I know?  They smiled.  Their Dad, my grandson, said it was not really a smile.  Well, I'm their great grandmother and I know better.  They smiled.   

# # #

While driving to the mountains a few days ago, a route I have driven hundreds of times, I caught myself saying ‘I don’t recall seeing that before.’  Then I realized why.  Today I was driving in the slow lane.  I never drive in the slow lane.  Getting around, ahead, and first has been a lifetime game.

Our sons tell stories of going to the ice cream shop.  Mom sees others headed in the same direction.  Hurry up boys, all those people will get ahead of us.  Most were not even going to get ice cream. Still if they had been – we'd be there first. 

 Swimming, walking, running, driving, working – it didn’t matter.  Keep moving. Fast.

Driving in the slow lane I saw wildflowers, funky diners, families picnicking, inviting antique shops.  Funny thing.  I seemed to get to my destination in no time at all . So many interesting sights along the way.

My husband Robert’s frequent admonition was ‘Joan, everything can’t be instant pudding.’  He's right. It can’t be.  We wouldn’t want it to be. That was the message.   Taking time helps flavor more than the pudding.

Suddenly life in the slow -or at least slower- lane seems more than OK.  It allows time to listen, learn, and enjoy life's flavors.   Not caring if you’re first.  Being productive in ways that matter.  Really participating when it's important.

Confucious says: It does not matter how slowly you go - so long as you do not stop.

# # #

Am I imagining this, or is the landscape suddenly awash with ‘experts?   How does one achieve the title?  Can one earn a degree in expertness? 

Take the expert in home organizing.  Can he or she organize my kids. Can hoarding and sloppy habits be organized.  How will I know if I passed the organizing test.

There are experts offering to organize our resumes. Do they know more about us than we know about ourselves. Oh, right - they use words that just make us sound better.

The expert political adviser currently has our attention. Amazing how many variations of the same theme the experts seem to offer.  Which expert is the real expert?

As time goes by – we realize we are not experts at or in anything.  Makes life so much easier. When asked a question to which we have no answer.   We just smile and say, “I have no idea. You’ll need to ask an expert.”

Grasshopper expert? Nah.

# # #

Our family gathering to celebrate Independence Day followed the usual agenda this year.  We never plan an actual agenda.  It just happens.  We feast, toast the day’s importance, catch up on new aches and pains, marriages and babies. And then begins the trips down memory lane. 

It’s the stories we remember. Our favorite stories were told long ago around the coal fire.  The stories Dad told about Ireland. The ‘troubles,’ the fiddlers, cutting the bog.  Tiny Tim and the Cratchit family always made us cry.  Brave Robin Redbreast, who had to go to the barn to keep himself warm - and hide his head under his wing - poor thing. We all learned to feed the birds.

The same stories were told over and over.  We never tired of them, or said  ‘you’ve told us that twenty times.’   All the stories ended with … “see how lucky you are?”  In other words, things might be difficult, but others have it a lot worse.  Or, 'well now, see what happened because Jim stopped to help?'    Every story had a lesson – and because we did not know it was a lesson – we remembered.

There’s magic in storytelling.  Stories, told well, are lessons.   Tell me a story today, and I will tell it to my grandchildren tomorrow.   The magic and memories continue.

# # #