a year of morning thanks
Yesterday, a box showed up on our front porch, a box full of sweaters, four of them, that I'd ordered from a post-Christmas sale at an on-line store--got 'em cheap. I thought I'd pick and choose once they arrived, but the truth is, I think I'll keep them all. I don't really need 'em, but I like 'em.
This time of year, I stagger through the darkened kitchen early in the morning, and reach almost blindly for an apple, my morning ritual apple, from a fruit basket in the corner. Most all the time, there's one there. It's just there.
There's only one old-fashioned window in this basement. That means the place is almost always dark, even mid-day. So when a light burns out, I put in a new bulb, like I just did. I pulled one out of a box--I've got spares--and stuck it in the socket. Poof!--let there be light.
The thing is, I don't really think much about it--about a new late-Christmas sweater (or four), about the apples that are always there (even in January), about spare light bulbs, in stock, to relight the world of my study. It's bounty I don't even credit as such. I just toss the old bulbs, like the core, and leave the old sweaters for the Salvation Army.
Don't know that I've ever really given thanks for my morning apple, a new sweater (or four), and spare light bulbs. Don't know if that even makes sense exactly. What I'm saying this morning is that I'm thankful for the bounty I don't even think of as such, because it is all around, blessings I don't count among 'em.