Morning Thanks--Grudgingly--forgive me!

I tan easily. What can I say?

Lots of my friends with pinker skin have trotted off to the scalpel time and time again. Some make scheduled visits and come home with polka dots. Me? I tan easily.

No matter. Seven years ago I too had a forever open pimple-like thing cut out of my cheek in an operation that left me stitched and ugly for a couple of weeks. All of that's history, but yesterday, once again, I went under the knife in a two-minute operation and walked out of the office holding a Kleenex up to a schnoz that only Rudolf would like. I hate to be Scrooge-ish, but walking around with a banged-up nose during the holidays should get me the part.

No, I'm not pictured above. I used something nice because I'm not doin' a selfie. No way.

I'm 71 years old. For heaven's sake, tomorrow I could have a stroke (I've already had one) that would lay me out in some hospital bed, diapered. Today, I got a hole in my nose. Big frickin' deal, right? 

Here's how it is I pay homage to one of Calvinism's old saws--total depravity. In a thousand ways, I could look and feel much, much worse. In a matter of a couple weeks, this Rudolf schtick will be long gone. If I stop off at Prairie Ridge Home this morning, I could walk into a dozen rooms and find real live human beings, some not much older than I am, who wouldn't know me from the shaggy dog that runs around the place. What I'm saying is, I thought it bad when I had no shoes until. . .well, you know.

I know all that. I know I should be thankful, but I'm way up tight about a hole in my nose that's there, remember, because a guy with a scalpel cut away living tissue identified as. . .drum roll please. . .C-A-N-C-E-R. Granted this variety is quite docile, but the truth is there in all caps anyway--this minor, minor surgery delivered me from honest-to-goodness evil. 

And I'm thankful. Or should be. 

I am. 

Really. 

Sort of.

I didn't put a selfie up top here, not because of your pain upon seeing that bloody hole in my nose but because my pain in being seen would only bring me more pain. Somewhere in that mess is total depravity. Mine. 

"Vanity, vanity, all is vanity"--I can even quote scripture. I know what's in me, but I can't help it. I can't. (That's Paul, isn't it?)

Woe and woe and woe. 

Of the thousands of blog posts on Stuff in the Basement, hundreds end with morning thanks because all of this started with a line from Garrison Keillor you can still read up on top this page--how the world would be a better place if every last one of us would take a moment to thank the Lord for something every day. Over the years, for better or worse, I've slowly wandered from that theme, but I still return to it and will again today. Or try. Here goes. 

This morning's thanks is for the doctor who yesterday rid me of the little spot of skin cancer, right on the tip of my nose. I'm greatly thankful it's gone, but I wish I didn't have the hole.

And now, to show you just how thankful I am--consider it penance if you're Catholic--I'm going to appear out from the cover of darkness this morning. Here I am, black and white--Scrooge.

Merry Christmas. (And yes, I know my t-shirt is inside out.)