Milagros

Like a fairly large majority of the news-watching/listening world, I always feel a tugging inside of me around this time of year… something that says, “ACKNOWLEDGE.” I don’t think I’m even within six degrees of anyone who lost their life on 9/11/01. And so, the only way I know how to pay suitable tribute to the lives that were lost that horrific day, is by appreciating the buttery-sweet goodness that is mine.

Shout-outs:

Allan, thanks for making me Thanksgiving dinner this weekend. And that magnificent Scotch broth… for introducing me to leeks and turnips and barley. Oh, and George Orwell! Thanks for remembering the wine and diapers, too.

Thanks, kids, for being good EATERS. I have known children that seemingly subsist on dust motes much the way our grandparents did when they were young. I appreciate the way you ate the Scotch broth, and didn’t even question what kind of meat was floating around in it. Also? Thank you for loving books. You hang on my every word of Where the Wild Things Are. If nothing else, you use your books as pillows and carry them around like pet Chihuahuas. Because of all this, I still harbor some hope that maybe they won’t go obsolete.

Thank you, God, that Kyra’s heart test concluded that she is afflicted with a Still’s murmur… otherwise known as an innocent, nothing-to-worry-about, perfectly healthy musical heart. It TWANGS, actually.

Blogger friends, this will be my 399^th attempt to get this right. So here goes: From the bottom of my heart, thank you for your kind, warm, generous support. See what I mean? I sound like Jerry Lewis on Labor Day. Not that that’s a bad thing… Anyway, let me just say that I normally don’t care for people who bring me to tears and/or embarrass me to pieces. But, when it’s you, I’m inclined to let it slide. Because AS you are doing those things, you manage to wipe a layer of cynicism from the surface of my blackened soul. You remind me that the world still holds compassion and munificence within its boundaries. And, by the way, I’d like to know where you are HIDING. Because I rarely meet people IN THE FLESH of your caliber.

Thanks to Central Avenue Press. And Harvey Stanbrough…. For recognizing a small seed of keepworthiness amid loads of steaming crap. Thanks for helping me to cultivate the keepworthy stuff and bag up the rest for compost. Because God knows I can’t just TOSS IT!

Thanks, Laurie, for adopting me. Living HERE would be next to impossible if it weren’t for your presence. Tell me, who else would bring me dinner and keep me company while I wait on the locksmith to come get my keys out of my FREAKING locked-up car?! You are an angel from God.

Many, many more miracles to acknowledge. But it’s bedtime, and I feel a cold trying to latch hold of my body, and so I need find my way to the warmth of my super-luxurious, Paris-Hilton-would-be-SO-jealous bed… it’s one of the greatest miracles of all time.

I look forward to making the rounds out there soon, soon, SOON. Believe me, you DO NOT want me running loose in your blogs while I’m sleepy and tired and germy.