Thank you to Rory for tagging me in 321 Quote Me! His chosen theme of this one is Gratitude. He has a marvelous welcoming site that encourages both thought and community. Please do visit him and enjoy a look around.
Piglet noticed that even though he had a very small heart, it could hold a rather large amount of Gratitude.
A.A. Milne
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Gratitude turns what we have into enough.
Aesop
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I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
G.K. Chesterton
How does one sum up gratitude in two quotes? Well, as you can clearly see, I didn’t. I searched and searched for just the right words to say what I felt to be true. I searched and searched for just the right photo. Time and again I found myself back where I began. Quotes about gratitude often end in love. Images that inspire gratitude are of things I love. It would do me no good to try and separate the two. They are as intricately woven together as is the most delicate lace.
I love the way…is where my writing so often begins. It is my heart’s gratitude for the everyday things and the ways of them.
I love..
..the way the breeze picks up the edges of the sheets that are hung on the clothesline to dry
..the way hummingbirds hover in sweet greeting making me feel a part of their tiny world
..the way calves are insatiably curious and begin to follow me
..the way flowers bloom..enough said
..the way autumn colors light everything in a spectacular sunsetthat lasts beyond nightfall
..the way Dobby looks at me with soulful eyes and waggles his short tail
..the way a crockpot does all the cooking for me on a long day
..the way a song catches in your center and won’t let go and you’re glad for it to be there
..the way Jack reminds me of a muppet
..the way pizza can have any topping you like
..the way the first cool morning after a hot summer excites like love’s first kiss
..the way Bo adores the porch but thinks the yard is made of lava
..the way children giggle..at almost anything
..the way cookies go well with cold milk or hot tea or…come to think of it, cookies go well with everything
..the way clouds make movies in the sky
..the way Ellie snuggles just because
..the way friends encourage each other
..the way a grateful heart makes us mindful of the needs of others
Gratitude is not a thing. It is a way of being. Gratitude is the way you love everything around you…and then it is the way that everything around you loves you back…
Thank you kindly for reading and for being a beautiful part of my days,
Suzanne❤️
321 Quote Me encourages me to tag three people to continue on with sharing their own favorite quotes about gratitude. I invite anyone who is so inspired to participate and link back to Rory at A Guy Called Bloke and K9 Doodlepip
Early last evening I drifted off to the sounds of a favorite song on repeat. I wonder how they do it, the composers I mean. However do they know which notes to place beside each other. They choose so carefully. How can they be certain that these two will be more beautiful if they are together. The best music is that way. I can’t listen enough. It is over too soon. I only want it to go on and on…
When I awakened at midnight the song had stopped. But, the rain had just begun. It came strong against the roof. I love it when it does and I haven’t anywhere to be. If only the roof was a tin one…. I snuggled under the covers and deeper into dreams. There were wings there, so many beautiful wings.
I chose some flower bulbs a few weeks ago. The lilies will be a rainbow of colors. The clematis will climb and cover the fence. I am most looking forward to the hollyhocks. I’ve never managed them before. If all goes well they will be tall spires of ruffled pastels. I hope…They are waiting on me. The days are warm enough. There is plenty of rain. I even know where they will be planted. It is time.
A new bunny friend has taken up residence in the nearby woods. She drives the dogs berserk going through the fence at her leisure. She comes and goes as if she owns the place. “It’s been awfully nice, see ya soon!” she calls over her fluffy cottontail. Meanwhile Jack and Dobby bark in helpless frustration that they cannot follow. Good for her!
Have I ever told you that early memory at my very first home? The one when I was very young. The story of the yellow sofa. Oh, I must tell you that one soon. It’s such a happy thing. It’s nice to tuck away the sweet ones and keep them. Like the time you said to me….
Yes, that one’s very dear. I treasure it…as I do you…
Yesterday was the Easter egg hunt! I wish you could have seen the children lined up in a row clutching tight their baskets. They waited so patiently to be let loose in the grass. Anticipation filled the emptiness! I was paired with a new little girl who was heart sad with missing her daddy. But, for a while she let go of her sorrow to search for beauty at her tiny feet. I noticed her pass over the purples and the blues in favor of the pinks and yellows. It touched my heart the way she carefully chose what was just right for her. It wasn’t about having the most or even about having more. A few lovely eggs were enough.
Do you know what I love…that there was plenty…of everything. No one was left out. All belonged. All were found. Happy baskets. Smiling children. And the sky was kind enough not to rain until we had had our fun. One sweet face looked up at me in pure joy and asked – can we do that again?! All over again! I don’t think he even realized there was something inside of the eggs. The search was joyful gift enough.
Now, I’m in a quiet place, one I come to over and again. It’s a searching kind of place where the being here is gift enough. I’m writing to you as I listen to a favorite song on repeat. And I wonder how the composer knew how all those beautiful notes would be even more lovely beside each other….
Thank you Rory for inviting me to 321 Quote Me! It was marvelous fun. I confess I had a terrible time narrowing it down to two….so I fudged a bit and added a third. 🙃
My choices for the Topic of Today: ”What You Love”
There came to me among the letters I received last spring one which touched me very closely. It was a letter full of delightful things but the delightful thing which so reached my soul was a question…
Frances Hodgson Burnett
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Each friendship and love is the intimate journey where the soul is born and grows. It is the drama of the heart’s voyage into the tide of possibilities which open before it.
John O’Donohue
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Even now,
I know that I have savored the hot taste of life
Lifting green cups and gold at the great feast
Just for a small and forgotten time
I have had full in my eyes from far off my girl
The whitest pouring of eternal light –
From “Black Marigolds” translated from the Sanskrit by E. Powys Mathers
Bird song and light footsteps on a woodland path, carry me.
Bejo,
loved flowers, oceans and woodland walks even though she spent much of her life behind office walls that bear the weight of busy concrete cities.
My ever sassy grandmother…
She baked a tender biscuit…brought order to an unruly boardroom full of men where she was the only woman…grew fairy roses like magic…and tended the loving spirit of a sister soon to depart the world…
She laughed brilliantly with her head thrown back in joyful abandon.
She cried the tears of heartbreak that linger in ways that others will never know…because one pushes them aside to keep on….
My brother arrived first in the family so, he bestowed her with her grandmother name. Bejo was one of a kind…
Mike, Suzanne, Bejo
She gave me libraries, woods, old photographs, art and writing….we explored a thousand things when I was a little girl…
Bejo wore a cotton dress with her sensible boots, even in the wilderness. A walking stick accompanied her, just in case. No adventure would dare to escape her!
I can hear her still –
One must tend to oneself no matter where one might be in life.
Sit up straight.
Please and thank you.
Use a soft voice.
There is always time for beauty.
Paint just because you want to.
Write to me…
Thoughts on the circle of time, travel with me wherever I go…
I wander the forest with them…every day.
A Celtic knot returns unto itself.
Just as my walk circles and centers me.
When I return home, then I have completed another circle, albeit an off kilter messy one.
As long as it comes round to its beginning, doesn’t that make it a circle…
A Celtic knot spread is a circle.
A heart pushed in all directions to its outermost is a circle too.
I wonder over why a moment or an image or a thought takes hold of me.
I am helpless to let it go until I move through it mindfully
And make it my own somehow.
I write and write to clear my head and cleanse my heart.
always…there is more.
Bejo and her love
Souls don’t want to be told what to do…not really.
Bejo certainly didn’t!
She was the teller, never the tellee!
I think there is enough of that in the world already. Telling, I mean.
Perhaps, instead a soul wishes for a reminder that life can somehow bear sorrow and that love will always find a way…
At the age of 19 my grandmother married a man from New Orleans
who played minor league baseball by day
and a jazz fiddle by night…
She left him
Never to return
When my father was only three years old
They took a train back to her home in Texas
Hungry in both body and spirit…
I love mornings like this one…
If only I could be still for the whole long short day.
The whir of the fan, curtains drawn, soft light, quietly absorbed in transcribing the stories of my dreams. Breathing them into life.
Someone may read them…perhaps, no one ever will. Either way…it is ok.
Bejo with Dad
How much I take in! Every day…All the time! Even as I sleep I gather notions in the reflection of my nightscape. Gather and tend. Gather and tend. Sometimes it is too much. I cannot hold it all at once.
Some of it falls in the lined pages that hold my thoughts.
Letters slanting to the right, edge to edge becoming words, one beside another until a page is filled and my thought comes round in an ever widening circle.
What then…
Do I feel better…that I have taken time to listen.
For a few moments I have stopped the whole busy world, except for my hand.
I give myself over to a thirsty pen, rich with ink, making every last thing bright with possibility!
Some mornings I have a tight grip that fights its way, leaving me with a worn feeling up and down my arm. Those thoughts come painfully. Soreness follows them. Sometimes those are just the sorts of words that need to be written. Some days are like that.
But, this day is soft,
Sky and heart and words…
I don’t know what it will become.
Joyful or crowded or silly…only time will tell.
for now…
….the edges are blurred in a lovely disarray that leaves me hopeful.
There is the comfort of listening….to music, to my heart, to that which carries me backwards and forwards and everywhere at once…to take out of nothingness and make something worthy of an eager pen.
Bejo as a little girl on the farm in Bryan, Texas
Bejo lived more circles than I have ever tried to count…and loved deeply, often unnoticed.
A woman who changed her name when that wasn’t done.
And worked as many hours as they would let her to provide for an extended family during the Great Depression.
A woman so formidable that she had Two birthdays!
To be honest, Bejo was not overly fond of me when I was a child. That was just her way. We came to know each other when I was well grown. Then, she took me into her heart and showed me the depth of herself that she seldom shared. How grateful I am…
Bejo wrote…
Professionally with precision
Advisingly with a sharp tongue
Personally with a woman’s heart
And she did it All without the benefit of the Internet!
She wrote letters longhand
She taught me to write letters longhand
We lived far away from one another for most of my life
She kept my childhood letters
And I kept hers
I have them all now, tucked safely away.
She loved me I think…as I did her…
I often feel her close in spirit
Reminding me…of many things…
So when I pause
to wander my thoughts
and gather brilliant images
to create a new old story
one that I so long to share…she is with me…
another lovely circle coming round in beauty and grace
Write…she dares me…all that you live and love and dream and are…write to me…
I love the way there is magic in the air in the days before Christmas. I love the way people suddenly smile because on my head there are red velvet antlers adorned with tiny bells. I love the way the letter from Francis Church, the editor of The Sun, to little Virginia O’Hanlon fills my heart with believing. I love the way it feels to hold a pen in hand and write to Santa….
Where do you begin when you don’t know where to begin? How do you give a gift to someone you don’t know? It takes me ages to write because I pause often and go back over my words trying to get them just so, for the heart of them to shine through. This early morning with the moon shining and the tree alight nearby I’m simply going to write to you….and try ever so hard not to look back…
Late at night on Christmas Eve I set out a Nativity Tray. It is the last touch of Christmas for me. It is an English medieval custom that I learned about in Sarah Ban Breathnach’s book, Simple Abundance. She states…
“Legend has it that on the night of the Nativity, whosoever ventures out into great snows bearing a succulent bone for a lost and lamenting hound, a wisp of hay for a shivering horse, a warm cloak for a stranded wayfarer, a garland of berries for one who has worn chains, a dish of crumbs for all huddled birds who thought their song was dead, and sweetmeats for little children who peer from lonely windows – whosoever prepares this simply abundant tray, shall be proffered and returned gifts of such an astonishment as will rival the hues of the peacock and the harmonies of heaven.”
So, it is that I quietly gather the best I have to offer and arrange it on my grandmother’s tray. I carry it beneath the stars to set it in its place. I look up into the night sky whether cloudy or clear and send all my love and best wishes to those who rest in my heart…known and unknown.
I have been reading Simple Abundance for so many years that the cover is worn from handling. There are dated pencil marks all through it, notes I’ve made to myself. Here, the birthday of a friend. There, a date I will never forget. Stars and check marks and all manner of special remembrances.
Sarah’s writing has broadened my world and blessed me over and again. Through her, I discovered one of my favorite books of all time, Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Next is Elizabeth von Arnim. It took me ages to find her book, Elizabeth and Her German Garden, but it was ever so worth it. And I, myself began to write more because of Ms. Ban Breathnach’s encouragement. She and I have never met as authors and readers so seldom do. Nevertheless, she has become a beautiful part of my days.
Bo is my lost and lamenting hound. He arrived on Christmas morning a few years ago, hungry and alone…searching… He found my Nativity tray. He devoured everything that was edible and a few bits that weren’t. Then he dashed by the window and I thought – what was that?! I bundled up against the cold and went out to see… there was Bo. He came to my side and has never left.
There are so many inspiring thoughts in my heart this morning. There is the girl I don’t know. I heard her story a few days ago and quickly found myself at her age in it. I did only a small thing for her that was in my grasp to do. There are those who won’t be given the time off that their loving efforts deserve. There are those who at the moment have not and cannot for themselves. There are those who help them. There are those who have lost and there are who are lost. And, of course there are the little ones.
I find myself in each of them… Although I have not traveled their path, I have been in so many of those places.
Have you ever read Cannery Row by John Steinbeck? Have you ever donned your best dress to deliver chicken soup….lived in unlivable spaces….gone silent with wondering….captured a kazillion frogs….tried a beer milkshake….been surprised by a poem…have you?
I was so intrigued by the beer milkshake that I couldn’t stand it. I had to try it! I wouldn’t want a steady diet of them but all in all, not bad really. Even now…I recall turning the page and there was the ancient love poem…Black Marigolds. It was new to me. I was mesmerized…
What I really love about the story is this, that there are so many ways to Be in this world. They all look different and that’s ok. Steinbeck does the telling of it far more justice than I do. You should read him for yourself.
I was afraid to come here. WordPress, that is. I have no experience with social media. I have never been on Facebook or twitter or anything else. So, I was very unsure of this unknown space, the ways of it and those who share it.
I had a terrible time trying to decide on what to name my site…and then, what was ok to write on it! Along came your kindness and your welcoming of me…my heart was touched. It was so hard for me to imagine that anyone would care to read my thoughts. But there you were, reading anyway.
And here entered the world of comments and emojis which I confess, were another stumbling block for me. You may not realize it but, I take as much care with my comments and my thank you’s as with my posting. I want you to know how much your time and thought mean to me. I’m certain I mess up plenty. Each time I hope to do better, to get it right….
This place has become a gift to me, as much as The Little Prince or Gift from theSea or Sarah Ban Breathnach, one that I could never have imagined for myself. You are a beautiful part of my days with pencil marks of remembrance in the margins. You show me all the faces of kindness. You broaden my horizons. You encourage me to write. You inspire me…you touch my heart and I am humbly grateful.
Tonight, I will carefully prepare the tray as I always do. I’ll carry it quietly to its place. I will gaze into the night sky whether cloudy or clear…into the lovely heart of nowhere…and I will send my love and best wishes to you…even now my thoughts turn to that moment and I am mesmerized…
Wherever you are and whatever you celebrate know that my thoughts are with you for peace and joy in all things in all your days.
Last evening I walked the circle of sorts that I so often do. You know the one…dogs by my side… into the depth of the woods, across the gentle creek, careful not to catch on the barbed wire, meadow to my right, pond awaiting me…I wonder if it misses me when I am away as I do it…
I tucked my feet up under me to rest for a time upon the pier. I love that I can be away from sturdy ground for a while and yet so safe. The breeze was elsewhere and I was embraced instead by the stillness of dusk. The mirrored water was broken only once by the beaver swimming across to a new shore. Does he think of it that way – as a new shore. He was barely visible. Only the hint of his head could I see and the rippling V trailing behind him as he cut forth on his determined way.
His journey seemed smallish to me. From where I watched I could see the whole of it at once. He would easily manage it and something very good awaited him on the other side. To him though, it must have felt endless and without view. I know that place…unable to see, nevertheless…keeping on keeping on…
A bevy of doves kept close company, leaving no one behind. I looked that up so I would get it right for you. Doves in a group are called a bevy. I didn’t know. Come along now. Their ebony silhouettes searched for a nightly sanctuary as they cooed gracefully to one another…
Watching them brought to mind a tender moment from another day…
Above me a solitary hawk landed in the topmost branches of a tree. As he left the sky, he dropped a single feather. I stood mesmerized as it drifted softly through the air and I wondered at his letting go of it. I could not find it even though I searched. It disappeared before it came to ground. The gift was not in the having of the feather. The gift was in the being there. I needn’t hold the feather to cherish the lovely memory.
Real gifts are like that. They never reside in a box. They live and breathe in your heart.
Back at the lake sunset played with the clouds until they drifted on and left clear skies in places. I knew it was time for me to go. If I didn’t leave soon, I would lose the light. The woods are darkening then and all of the sounds sound just a little menacing…what was that…probably a squirrel settling in for the night but what if it wasn’t…
Once more the well trod path delivered me to the grassy expanse that I know so well. The sun was fading faster all the time. I love that hushed moment when day is stepping aside for night in quiet anticipation.
A lone bat skittered above me hunting for his breakfast while my own day was already beyond dinner. He moved quickly and was gone almost before I even knew he was there. How much of life flutters passed as I am busy with other living.
And just then…in the tallest pines behind the gentle oak…at the edge of field and night…owls…not one, not two…but three. Three! I have never heard three owls at once. A nearby screech stopped me in my tracks. It refused to give up as it shattered the silence, imploring me to hear. Certainly a nest and a very hungry baby were up there somewhere. There was nothing to see, but the air was brimming with the soulful sounds of the three of them. Who…echoed the parents…soon young hunger was satisfied. It only took their listening to know the answer.
It was enchanting to be there…another gift. It would never need shelf space or repair or dusting. Darkness overcame the moment. My footsteps lightly on the pine straw transported me closer to the safety of home all the time. The wise feathered keepers of the night followed me in gentle protection…and I am grateful…for the real of them…for the goodness of all I cannot see…for the gift of love that surrounds us all…for the magic that is once and always…everywhere…
Dogs do not sneak quietly into my life with built in good manners.
Misbehavior! Gasp! Say it isn’t so… First they are overly generous with their friendly greetings and not one of them is under 50 pounds. Then there’s jumping. Mostly they reserve that for me. It is no fun to have your feet swept out from under you so that one lands on unmentionable places with a dull thud. Last but not least there’s rough housing…with each other. That wouldn’t be so bad. I admit it does use up some of their endless energy. The dilemma is that they do it within inches of me. My smallish self becomes an unwilling participant in their romping games. Remember that dull thud I mentioned before. Yep, there we are again…
Yesterday afternoon I set out on a walk with Dobby on a leash – we are diligently working on good manners. Miss Ellie came too, not on a leash – she already has good manners. We three musketeers headed to the pond, as we do everyday. Ah, a lone mower was at work in the field. The dogs were content by my side but definitely curious about these happenings in what they consider “their” space. I could see their thoughts ticking away at the idea of a new friend!
He was preparing for this afternoon. There will be a couple hours of skeet shooting for out of town guests. Miss Ellie will be frightened by the sounds of the gunshots. She would never have made a hunting dog which is fine with me. Ellie will stay under my feet until the shooting stops. She likes it best when I take her to a large closet and turn on a loud fan to drown out the noise. I sit on the floor with her, crisscross applesauce and pet her gently until she calms and falls asleep.
It hurts me to see Ellie so afraid. She doesn’t understand. It’s a helpless feeling for both of us and all I can really do is be near so that she knows I’m there with her.
So, I veered from our usual walk on the north side. We reversed our footsteps and took the path to the south instead. Across the creek, through the young pines, onward and upward. At the top of the hill rests a very small very old cemetery…
I looked once….I looked twice…I looked three times… no doubt about it; there was a young bull inside of the cemetery!
My first thought was that there must be a break somewhere in the fence – I explored carefully. The chain link fence was completely in tact and the gate was quite closed. Hmm… He stared at us. We stared at him. All of us were perplexed at such a strange occurrence.
My second thought was to simply open the gate and let him out. I wasn’t afraid of him. But, after all he is not my bull. Perhaps he was separated from the herd temporarily for a reason that I didn’t know. You never know…
Meanwhile, a lovely milk chocolate brown cow wandered up to give us a verbal “what for”. She must be his mother. Now, whether she was admonishing us to go away or to open the gate and set her son free, I can’t be sure. There we all were locked in some sort of weird time warp event. No one in any danger. No one knowing quite what to do next.
Now came the phone call which began like this – hello, this is suzanne. I have rather an odd question… I heard light laughter on the other end and the phrase – it’s always something! The friendly lady said – thank you samantha, I’ll be right over to let him out. Yes, samantha. I guess on the phone on Wednesday afternoons suzanne sounds a lot like samantha. I’m good with that. It makes me think of Bewitched and what girl doesn’t want just a hint of magic in her days.
My musketeers and I continued on our walk content that help was on its way. Yet, I was left wondering of the young bull. However did he get in there. How long had he been trapped. I’ll say this much, the cemetery does Not need to be mowed. How long would it take a bull his size to clean up a grassy area that way. It’s a riddle I’ll probably never have an answer to…
I could have stubbornly kept on to the pond as I usually do and not ventured to the south. But, you know that feeling when something changes. You can’t quite explain it but, there it is. And you change with it… Maybe you ease into the changes or maybe you fight them. Either way, you find yourself on a hill next to a cemetery staring at a bull who needs you. Only five minutes ago you didn’t even know he existed. Now, he’s touched your heart and you are forever different for it…
I know…forever is a long time…but sometimes the biggest changes happen in the smallest moments…
I could write all day about what brought me to this one place in time. Every moment is that way though, built upon others before it; a single step on the winding way to an unknowable future. To be honest, there were storms on this path that I would have gladly done without. Nevertheless, there I am… learning from All of it…not just the good stuff.
Simple really… I walked a different way, saw a bull, made a phone call, the end. And yet, it stays with me. I still see him alone and helpless with no way out looking into my eyes…the key to his freedom as simple as a hand upon a gate.
At times in my life I am Ellie shivering with fear of what I don’t understand. Other times I am the bull alone and helpless…not seeing the gate…not knowing how to open it for myself. I am even the cow unable to communicate my heart’s desire. I hold all of these moments until I need them again, the lessons of them. I need reminding often.
When something lands softly before me or crashes, as something always does…to remember how it feels to be on the other side of the fence or to shiver in the unknown…to give from my heart with compassion and my hand in gentle kindness. I’m never only on one side or the other.
There will always be something and the answer will always be love.
ellie894 