As rain pelts off the tin edges of the roof, causing the songbirds to huddle, causing me to wake up, shivering in the dark, again forgetting exactly where I am, I feel the weight of the dry covers and realize: for now, I am safe.
As traffic honks and speeds up on both sides, swerving in the ice-storm, peripatetic in the race to the grocery store the mini-mall the drive-thru, I breathe once in, then out, then in, again; thankful I have a car which works; a car with gas; a car at all.
As I drive to the high school to drop off my very sparse "time sheets" for my side job of tutoring, dodging rain and, once inside, the lowered glances of full-time educators, as they sign-out from their assigned classroom positions, asking me "how's it going, Karen ?", then smiling before I even answer: I am thankful for a place to drop off my time sheets; for a student who needs my work and actually depends on me arriving at his home, ready to assist, ready to listen; a family who respects the professional I am and prays to retain me.
As I pull into the driveway at 88 Maple Street, moving my aging car off the road and escaping a "snow days ticket": I am thankful for someplace to park my vehicle and not have to pay. I am thankful the unrelenting rain is soaking into the ground and will sustain us from drought, in the spring and summer months, and is not piling up, waiting for me to fight with my parents about staying off the ice outside, nor forcing me to scrape the driveway to its black bones.
As I come inside 88 Maple Street, hearing my Mother setting the table and smelling the mixture of steam-heat from the radiators and stove and the scents of cooking food: I am thankful for the longevity of my parental units and the miracle of another meal, hot and healthful, freely prepared and given to sustain us all, as a family.
As I open the door, Maeve, the still-happy-still- exuberant-dog, greets me with a yip and a dog kiss; my veritable fur-person: there is always someone here, glad I've come home.
Amen.
As traffic honks and speeds up on both sides, swerving in the ice-storm, peripatetic in the race to the grocery store the mini-mall the drive-thru, I breathe once in, then out, then in, again; thankful I have a car which works; a car with gas; a car at all.
As I drive to the high school to drop off my very sparse "time sheets" for my side job of tutoring, dodging rain and, once inside, the lowered glances of full-time educators, as they sign-out from their assigned classroom positions, asking me "how's it going, Karen ?", then smiling before I even answer: I am thankful for a place to drop off my time sheets; for a student who needs my work and actually depends on me arriving at his home, ready to assist, ready to listen; a family who respects the professional I am and prays to retain me.
As I pull into the driveway at 88 Maple Street, moving my aging car off the road and escaping a "snow days ticket": I am thankful for someplace to park my vehicle and not have to pay. I am thankful the unrelenting rain is soaking into the ground and will sustain us from drought, in the spring and summer months, and is not piling up, waiting for me to fight with my parents about staying off the ice outside, nor forcing me to scrape the driveway to its black bones.
As I come inside 88 Maple Street, hearing my Mother setting the table and smelling the mixture of steam-heat from the radiators and stove and the scents of cooking food: I am thankful for the longevity of my parental units and the miracle of another meal, hot and healthful, freely prepared and given to sustain us all, as a family.
As I open the door, Maeve, the still-happy-still- exuberant-dog, greets me with a yip and a dog kiss; my veritable fur-person: there is always someone here, glad I've come home.
Amen.
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