“I am grateful for what I am and have…my thanksgiving is perpetual.” … Henry David Thoreau
Who’d a thunk I’d be this old this soon? Ya’ll know it, if you’re anywhere near my age, that inside there’s still the same curious spirit, present ever since I can remember. The body..meh…but it still works, saggier and slower, but still able.
Words cannot express my gratitude for my life, for every day that was and is, and for the Presence that guides me from this Now to the next. So many wonderful people have helped me, so many kind people have seen me through, many of them no longer here, many still out there, still listening. Thanks from the depths of my soul to all, even the folks who stepped over me, turned their backs and walked away. That, too, was for good. Thanks to my kids, and their kids, who cover me with Love even when we’re apart. Thanks for a happy marriage and a husband who is my Best Friend. There’s all the material stuff–beautiful home, travel trailer, enough money to pay the bills, manicures, pedicures, and shopping. I truly appreciate it All…
Here’s the Birthday Poem for this year, by Dorianne Laux…chosen last week…
by Dorianne Laux
Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.
“Antilamentation” by Dorianne Laux from The Book of Men. © W.W. Norton & Company, 2011. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)
I love that one, but this morning’s was appropriate, too…by Kirsten Dierking…
by Kirsten Dierking
All this time,
the life you were
supposed to live
has been rising around you
like the walls of a house
designed with warm
As if you had actually
planned it that way.
As if you had
stacked up bricks
and built by mistake
a lucky star.
“Lucky” by Kirsten Dierking from Northern Oracle. © Spout Press, 2007. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)
Yes, 64 is a little like that…No regrets, plus a lucky star…