Thankfulness . . . and not writing

For lack of anything to write about, to try to get myself back to
writing, a list of things I have been thinking about with gratitude
to hurl myself through this first holiday of the winter season.
It shouldn't be so difficult, I know. It does get easier . . . we
went around the table all saying what we are thankful for.

Here are all the things I might have said:

For the full moon in the middle of the afternoon over the clear view
of the mountains overlooking Burbank.

For my arms and legs that can carry the plethora of bags and boxes
from my car, though my parking garage, up three floors, and through
the halls winding to my apt.

For my car and my apartment

For salsa dancing

For yoga

For my heart that still bleeds at the pain of others, that still
feels pain, which means it can still love

For friends who are still hear

For friends who have disappeared

For having enough clothes that my laundry piles up too quickly

For all my senses

For all I have

For being able to let go of all I have

For not HAVING to let go of all I have

For cinnamon and pies

For being literate

For the wind chimes and wind

For my balcony and all the plants that live on it despite my frequent
neglect

For a plant appearing at my door, a friend entrusting me to answer
it's plea, "Please feed me" when she is gone

For my job

Of course, for my family . . .