Gratitude

I am in Chicago nestled in a guest bed, pajama clad, laptop ever near. It is sleeting outside. I can see the trains rumble by every few minutes. Eric pops in occasionally to bring me slices of warm banana bread so I don't succumb to starvation. I alternate between Connie Francis and Rufus Wainwright, the same two songs over and over. I sip cold Starbucks from a mug on the table beside me. I am conversing with a girl in Germany whom I've never met. After six weeks of listening to her relationship woes, I break down and call her boyfriend a fruitcake. She contacts me about an hour later. She'd "looked after" the word in her dictionary and thought it was an hilarious description of him. She heads off to the Christmas market in Nuremberg. I look at Google images of Nuremberg for a bit. I feel dangerously happy.

Today I am grateful for warmth and freedom and people who love me and leave me alone without making me feel guilty. I am grateful for people who make me laugh though I've never seen their faces. I am thankful for flannel and fleece and lovely smells wafting up from the kitchen, created entirely by someone who is not me.

I am grateful for intelligent people who take the time to write down their thoughts, even if they are unsure that they will be properly cherished by the reader. Or if they will be read at all.