Be a weed.

I am grateful for a clean shower.

I am grateful for a microwave at work.

I am grateful that Sam doesn’t wait for me to ask him to help in the kitchen and doesn’t watch me work in the kitchen, but he always says, “What can I do to help?”

I am grateful for friends.

I am grateful when people in the neighborhood are grilling outside or are doing their laundry and use really good dryer sheets or when they just mowed the lawn.

I am grateful for Natia’s sweetness.

I am grateful for weeds to pull.

I am grateful for memories of hearing my daughters’ laughter in the house.

I am grateful for my Dad’s jokes.

I am grateful for a Royals Opening Day win.

I am grateful for a haircut.

I am grateful for Sam’s encouragement and gratitude when I hardly help at all with the remodeling work, but he tells me my help is a big deal.

I am grateful for lotion.

I am grateful that I have softened over the years and am no longer offended or bothered by people who cuss or drink socially or have more liberal views than I have been exposed to in my past. I am grateful that I am learning to see people as people, not people with labels.

I am grateful when good smells pass my way.

A person of words and not deeds is like a garden full of weeds.

I am grateful for sore muscles.

I am grateful for desk tape dispensers.

I am grateful to have finally met really nice neighbors that we always pass on our walks but had never really talked.

I am grateful for packages wrapped pretty.

I am grateful for people who laugh heartily and often.

I am grateful for clean windows.

I am grateful for little girl curls.

I am grateful for busy weekends, but I am also grateful for weekends with nothing to do but relaxation and fun.

I am grateful for new shoes that my Dad bought for me.

I am grateful for a dandelion digger tool.

I am grateful for hunger pains and food to ease them.

And I am grateful for Kosher salt that reminds me of Ruth. I think of her often, every day in fact, when I swallow my supplements. She was definitely a weed that didn’t grow in a row, and sometimes she had thorns. But sometimes, she was a pretty weed that I didn’t mind so much.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s