Winter, like an obnoxious relative, blew in early in Indiana and now threatens to stay forever. When we have to shovel snow within days of Halloween, our backs and arms ache too much to assume a posture of gratitude. But I will exercise some Thanksgiving muscle.
Me being me, though, most of my reasons for gratitude sound a little weird. Nevertheless, I am thankful for:
Aisle signs in parking lots. I usually disregard them, but when I do memorize my car’s location and actually find it after shopping, I experience a real rush — and sweet sense of superiority to wandering souls who set off car alarms to find theirs.
Deep purple hand towels. They defy even my grandchildren’s noblest efforts to stain them.
Piano tuners. As much as I loathe off-key music, my very bones scream when a piano tuner pounds and adjusts my keys. As tuners possess sensitive ears, too, I salute their bravery in attacking enemy tones.
Flatware. That the majority of the 330,044,724 people in the U.S. advocate the use of forks and spoons, as opposed to sporks.
For television. Within minutes of flicking the remote, some lauded, lunatic sports figure or pubescent program convinces me I am actually pretty sane.
Black olives, a time-honored flavor fetish in our family. My children and grandchildren share my taste for them on pizza, though my son-in-law attempted to teach his toddler the little black things were bugs. Grandma’s DNA prevailed (Ha!), and I am thankful for descendants who are fellow olive-eaters.
Mugs. Especially those that, when clasped by left-handed people, display a design as pretty as the one right-handers see.
Pennies. They are such generous little coins, willing to make a small difference whenever necessary. Plus, a fistful of them still gives me a vestige of that billionaire feeling I savored as a child, carrying them to Charlie’s General Store to exchange for a sucker-bubblegum-Pixy-Stix® feast.
Greeting cards. The ones that do not need extra postage because of wordiness.
My big, ugly, rubber boots. They are best buddies whether mudding through the garden or wading through snow.
Hundred-calorie bags of popcorn.
Rear window heaters and wipers.
People who spell my name without apostrophes.
Winds that blow our leaves into other people’s yards.
Expired calendars that abound in my purse, office and on my refrigerator. They remind me of: A. sweet memories; B. moments of misery endured (whew!); and that life, whether A or B, is precious and passes swiftly.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: This Thanksgiving, what weird things do you appreciate?