Blessings

I count my blessings every day, not just on Thanksgiving. When I open my eyes in the morning, even if they're sore and my body aches, I thank God for the blessing of being alive, of aching and knowing that everything is there whether it works or not. I am blessed to have a warm bed in a nice house to sleep in and food in the cupboards. Coffee to warm my insides and my hands. Clothing that is warm. A car to take me to a job I love. Co-workers I enjoy working with. Friends who touch my life every day in one way or another even if it's just in a happy thought about time I have spent with them or will spend in the future. My children. My soon-to-arrive grandson Matthew. Being able to pay my bills. Oh the bill paying and food in the cupboard is especially nice when for a long time both were hard to come by and I was making ends meet by draining the life insurance that is supposed to pay for my funeral. Oh yea, I have many, many blessings.

When I lose something and pray that God will help me recover my mind enough to find it, and then I find it, I know that God has blessed me with even the tiniest thing. There are things that I count as blessings that others may not understand. The rain in winter. The sunshine in spring. The clouds over the mountains that I see on my way to work every morning. Seeing all things He has created and feeling blessed that I am able to share and experience it. Didn't I say in an earlier post that I am overly emotional and sentimental? How many people do you know cry every morning on the way to work because it's such a pretty drive? Sure, work is a chore (hint: that's why it's called WORK) but I feel my soul refreshed and ready to take on the day when I observe the beauty there is on the way to work. Makes it easier to walk in the door. Silly, maybe, but for me a blessing.

You want to know what's a wonderful blessing? This year three separate families invited me to spend Thanksgiving with them. How much does that warm my soul? I can't tell you. But it sure does make me feel blessed.

There are soft woolen Mary Jane slippers in my favorite color on my feet this morning. I am blessed in that I am able to knit and crochet and make some lovely things for my family, friends and myself. I am blessed that a group of wonderful women support and assist and teach me where knitting (and other things) are concerned.

I am blessed because I will be able to shortly have a hot shower, put on warm clothes, get into my working car that has a full tank of gas in it and drive down the road a bit to spend the day with a family I love who loves me back. They are my California family, I think.

So every day there are blessings if you look for them. The key is to remember to be thankful for them EVERY day. To not forget to say thanks to whoever grants you these blessings, whether it be God, a friend, family or a stranger.

Blessings are miracles in disguise. Recognizing this makes my soul smile along with the rest of me.

May your blessings of every day bring as much joy into your life, no matter how simple they may be, as my blessings bring me.

I am happy to know you. I count you as one of my blessings. Happy Thanksgiving.

Something to Chew On

I didn't sleep a lot last night. I was chewing on something that a dear friend, whose opinion I respect, said in a comment to my blog. She suggested I should put these blog entries into some sort of book format. It's an interesting thought. Over the years many people have said, "You should write a book" but mostly about what's happened in my life. But truth is often stranger than fiction and nobody would believe half of what has gone on in my life and would swear it was fiction. You just can't make up a life like mine. You can't. And trust me, you wouldn't want to, either!

Oddly enough I used to write a lot of poetry. I put together a couple of homemade books for friends and distributed them (after I copyrighted them with the copyright office!). I've been published a time or two. A newspaper, a magazine, a couple of poetry anthologies where they'll publish you after you "win" a prize and pay for a copy of the book. Ah, I didn't care. It was cool. I still have the books somewhere. But I stopped writing poetry the last time my heart got ripped out. I decided poetry wasn't helping me emotionally and I wasn't interested in continuing to probe the open wound.

So I have been thinking about what the real "Ramblings of a Mutant Penguin" short story collection would consist of and would I really want to share it with others. Blogging *is* sharing my thoughts with others, whether it be just my usual ramblings or my crafty rantings or anything else.

I also know that I would just embarass everyone if they knew how truly overly emotional I am. I am a large person. My heart is probably way too big for this big body. And so overly sensitive that it's painful sometimes to be me. I sometimes wonder why God gave me such a huge capacity to love and yet made me so afraid to share it. I deeply love my family and friends. I am friendly to everyone but it takes a lot for me to really let someone in and truly care for them. I'm pretty selective. Well, that's what I like to think and it's true for the most part but as I grow older I find myself expanding the circle of those I let into my heart. Some of them are old friends, some new, some in-between. There are people I still love who probably haven't thought about me in years and a few who could care less whether I exist anymore or not. I hold old hurts for a long time. I wound easily. But I also care deeply and so while you may not ever even remember my name, I remember you. I would make a wonderful spy. Nobody pays attention to the fat lady. In fact, for the most part they do their best to pretend you're not there. So I could hear all kinds of things and pass them along and nobody would ever know. Yup, good old Mata Mutant Penguin. :)

So, dear Brooke, while I have spent a lot of time thinking about putting all these ramblings and rantings into book form, they're doing OK right here.

I dedicate this to those who live in my heart, the old, the new, the in-between. For my mom, my brother, my daughter Ally, my son Andy, my dear friends Rae, Jeannie, Bev, Sherry, Jolene, Nanette, Vicky, Merry, Victoria, Brooke, Julie, Linda, Roni, Amy, Tracy, Jayne, Klava, Kaylee, Heather, Devvy, Kathy, Susan (oh most definitely Susan who has adopted me!), David, Annie, Lisa, Leahna, Scott and Rick. Long after you have forgotten me or moved on in your life, know I have not forgotten you. For all of you, thank you for being part of my life, now, then and in the future. I don't need a book. I have a blog. Or two. :)

Wrong Words

I am an adult. I know better. But sometimes I just can't help it. I say the wrong words. Words that hurt. Words that come back to haunt me. I am trying to deal with the pain of having the words sent back to me and feeling the impact they must have had when I originally said them to who heard them.

I live alone. My family is a long ways off. Sometimes I get so lonely it is almost unbearable. I have friends, and friends who are like family. But it doesn't always fill that hole in my heart.

I have no excuse for what I said. I can promise, however, that I will not ever say this to another living soul again. The hurtful words were along this line: Since I live alone, if I don't hae any plans for the weekend, I could come home from work on a Friday afternoon and die and nobody would know until Monday when I didn't show up for work.

Oh how terrible a thing! I can feel that way but I should never say it. When I didn't return a call from my daughter, she called me back because she was afraid something had happened to me.

I cried a lot that night. And since.

Sometimes being an adult doesn't stop you from being stupid.

I'm sorry to everyone who ever had to hear me say that... I never will again. No matter what.