Received my weekly, inspiring email from my yoga teacher. Be grateful it says.

Opened up a family magazine while I waited for my daughter’s dance class to end. Be grateful, says an article all about Thanksgiving.

As I drive to the post office today, a man crosses the road in a wheel chair right in front of my car. His head is propped up with a strap and his legs, obviously atrophied, dangle like appendages on a rag doll.

I’m grateful. And thankful. You don’t have to tell me three times.

For all of it. For the fact that my kitchen may be the smallest one on the planet. Somehow, though, good dinners and copious treats come out of it. I’m grateful for the zillions of times that I hear the word “Mom! Mom? Mommmmm!” in one day. There are two little people out in the world who call me that and they are healthy and happy.  I’m grateful for the fact that while I await getting a new car next year, my current car doesn’t have a third row nor an MP3 player or Sirius. We can afford the gas and it transports our family on numerous adventures. I’m grateful for the drip in the bathroom sink. We have a lovely home and can fix it as it needs. I’m grateful for my gray hairs, because although I try to cover them up, numerous loved ones have never had the luxury of this issue. And I’m grateful that, while I don’t seem to have enough time to connect with my friends, I have them.

Grateful.

Yup, I am.