Everything’s in iTunes now, so I don’t know the last time I actually listened to a CD, but the hubby and I have amassed a collection of well over 200 of the shiny musical discs. Many are from the days when he was he and I was I, but I’d be hard pressed to sort out whose are whose now (well, except the Mariah Carey CDs–those are all him). I’m grateful that our musical tastes are similar–long car trips so much more enjoyable when there is not a constant battle over the playlist!
This is nothing more than an inexpensive footlocker. You can pick one up for about $40 from Walmart. My parents bought it for me when I was preparing to go off to college–it’s not in bad shape considering all the moves it’s made since then! But more than its sturdy outside, I am grateful for all the memories it contains inside. Tangible reminders of my past. I haven’t dug through this trunk since it came out of storage two months ago, but if memory serves correctly, my baby book is in there, along with some of my most-loved stuffed animals, a dental impression made before thousands of dollars of orthodontic work, the high school newspapers I wrote and edited, my report cards, shark teeth gathered on the beach with my grandfather, a doll blanket crocheted by my mom, my dad’s softball cap…Everything that went in reminded me of a special person, event, or phase in my life and I can’t wait to open to the treasure chest some snowy Sunday afternoon and lose myself for a few hours in the memories. Maybe I’ll drag the hubby down memory lane with me!
When I was in high school, typing was an elective course. Well, at least it was offered as an elective by the school. My mother was not going to let the principal hand me my diploma until I had taken the class. I was less than enthusiastic about a typing class at the time–not that there were that many exciting alternatives, but rather because I think I was afraid I’d suck. Back in high school I was all about not sucking at anything in public, lest I draw unwanted attention to myself. Today, however, I am very grateful that Mom stood her ground and insisted I learn to touch type. Even though I still cheat and look at the keys when I have to type numbers, my speed today is a respectable 65 wpm. Thanks, Mom!
The whole world is full of inspiration. I am so very, very grateful that I’ve been able to explore just a few corners of this great big world. In my travels, I’ve been inspired to step outside my comfort zone, embrace cultural differences, adopt new attitudes, challenge stereotypes, expand my palate, forge new friendships, consider new perspectives, and create my own opportunities. I hope I’m a better person for the experiences.
When I was living with my parents, Mom did the laundry on Mondays. If your favorite shirt wasn’t in the hamper before you left for school Monday morning, you were waiting a-whole-nother week for it to get washed. Once I moved out and was on my own, I kinda stuck to the once-a-week washing schedule, just because it usually took that long to accumulate a load of lights and of darks. However, living overseas in two countries with impossibly tiny washers and wickedly inefficient dryers, doing laundry became an almost daily event. If I tried to save up a week’s worth of dirty clothes, it would have taken a minimum of three days to get through it all. We’ve been back in the States, with good old American size appliances, for three months, but have not reverted to a single weekly laundry day. Whenever I see a full load has accumulated, I toss it in the washer, be it Monday morning, Thursday night, or Sunday afternoon between football games. I’m grateful that I have so many random opportunities during the week to pull something warm and snuggly out of the dryer!
Art is something I’ve decided is completely in the eye of the beholder. I, for example, would consider these antique bread knives to be art. Just look at the detailed carving of the handles. Does the fact that something is utilitarian preclude it from being art? Is it only art if it hangs on the wall or collects dust on the mantle…or worse, is kept behind security glass in a climate-controlled museum? To me, art isn’t merely about beauty; a piece must reach inside and grab my soul. There’s not much rhyme or reason to what I like, but I’m definitely more likely to swoon over a hand-carved knife handle than the ceiling of the Sistine chapel. I can certainly appreciate the time and talent masters like Michelangelo invested in their paintings and sculptures, but they generally are not pieces that resonate with me. I’m grateful that I don’t just think of art as something on display in a museum…because I’m surrounded by artwork in the form of a hand-knit scarf, a mural on a downtown building, a sculpture made from vintage farm equipment, even a carved pumpkin.
Philly cheesesteak pizza…a change of pace from the traditional pepperoni
When I was growing up, it was tradition to have a large family dinner on Sunday. Mom would make roast beef or fried chicken or some other too-fancy-for-a-weeknight meal, and the four of us would gather around the table to enjoy it. The family time was great, and the food (homestyle Southern cooking) was amazing, but it meant a lot of time in the kitchen for Mom.
I’m grateful that my husband has his own ideas about traditional Sunday dinner. All he wants is pizza. Pizza on the sofa in front of the football game. My biggest worry is making sure there are gluten-free pizza crusts stockpiled in the freezer. Prep, cook, and clean-up times are minimal, so I have the entire day to relax with the hubby–for which I am truly grateful.
Things I See and Know 