Author: ferylfiles

I’m thankful for the creativity of artists–writers, poets, dancers, singers, actors, painters, composers, musicians, potters, sculpters–because they imagine a world that would be, could be. They’re the dreamers who envision a different way of being so that once we’re so immersed in it ourselves, it becomes our reality, almost as though it were a foregone conclusion.

I think about the original Trek series because, hello, I was married to one Bryan Lubbers, Trekker extraordinaire. He would often make note of different elements of the program that pointed to things to come–a multi-racial cast, tech ideas that seem pretty commonplace now or will be in our lifetime, methods of dealing with conflicting ideologies.

Creativity has the root word create in it. I love that so much because we’re world-building all the time and the artists lead the way.

Today, today I’m supposed to write some anodyne bit about weather? That was my first thought, but treadmill time (so not the same as Mill Creek, but needs must, eh?) allows for some pondering and I will take a stab at this gratitude for weather thing after all.

I’ve mentioned in prior posts, or on social media, or complaining to friends, or shaking my fist to God that Walla Walla gets these awful inversions during the winter. Awful only begins to describe a blanket of low-hanging fog that is gray and misty but not in a terribly gothic romance sort of way because the air smells of a pulp mill, cattle feed lots, and maybe a chicken-rendering plant? I don’t know, it’s an unholy smell combined with this dense misery of cold and moisture. Winters are hard here not just because it’s cold and dark. Trust me. There’s layers to this purgatory.

But I’ll tell you something pretty great. Sometimes it snows and we get bright blue skies afterward. Sometimes the wind blows–a little too vigorously for my taste from time to time–but it does blow that funk out of our valley. That’s what I love about weather. It changes. It is the best example I know to illustrate the only constant is change. What seems interminable doesn’t last; it will change, just like the weather does.

I guess this is where I have to dig deep in the gratitude bucket because, frankly, I’m having a rough go tonight. I need a hug. Big time. But I’ve committed to this and I’m committed to a life of gratitude because I know it changes my brain, my perspective and my heart. So here goes…

I’m thankful for hope because it is a light in the darkest hour. I’m thankful for hope because it means I have a dream of a future that is better than this present. Dreams spoken, written down, and practiced become reality. I’m thankful for hope because without it, I am dead. I’m thankful for hope because it’s an anchor. I’m thankful for hope because it means I’ve not given up. I’m thankful for hope because it is infectious and has exponential power when shared.

My sphere of influence is small. I know that. But maybe, with hope and courage I can tilt my shoulder to that future even in the midst of seemingly insurmountable odds. I hope so.

Routine is great because it’s kind of like auto-pilot. When you’re making 1,001 decisions big and small all day long, having the structure of routine means there’s more bandwidth for those decisions. I find routine to be comforting; it can be an antidote to chaos and uncertainty, or at least one tool to deal with it.

When Bryan was sick, our routine kept me from completely dissolving. The routine of walks at Mill Creek after he passed served the same purpose. Now, I’ve begun a strength-training regimen as a routine to help me through the darkness that has already started with Daylight Savings. Structure. Scaffolding.

I am grateful for routine and the ability to adapt to new ones as needed.

Time spent with you.

Time baking for them.

Time walking alone.

Time walking with her.

Time being held.

Time creating this.

Time learning that.

Time laughing.

Time loving you, and you, and you.

So thankful for all the time.