November Days of Gratitude: When one day rolls into the next

My days of gratitude, in and of themselves, have been something to give thanks for.  They have centered me, grounded me to the blessings in my life. It has been a slowing down of the crazy pace we’ve accepted as “normal” and given me time to reflect.  Mostly.  Except yesterday — when I had to give gratitude on the run — and never made it to finish my post — so . . .

This will be a two-for: yesterday’s gratitude rolled into today’s.  I started writing it yesterday, but one of my hang-ups was that it took me so long to find the corresponding picture that the day got away from me.  Some days are like that, aren’t they?  That’s ok. It’s been an exercise in flexibility.

Yesterday, I gave a lot of thought and thanks to my work. My kids. My classroom. That I get to work with kids every day and have some small part in opening up their worlds, that I am but one fiber on their road to success can overwhelm me at times. Mostly, though, I’m amazed at how fast our days fly.  When we are working together, the rest of my life falls away and I’m fully present in their world. What a blessing.

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Then, right after school yesterday, Husband and I took off for our 3-Day weekend up to the north coast.  Sea Ranch might be my favorite place on the planet. Husband’s family home sits on the bluffs,  at the foot of the ocean. The home is vintage early 60’s — dark wood paneling, except where there is wallpaper.  We’ve updated the kitchen and bathrooms and painted the bedrooms, but that’s a little like coloring one’s hair —  its age still shows.

It’s unpretentious and comfortable. It’s exactly what a get-away should be. It’s perfect.

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We arrived with the fog. Traveling Route 1 late at night in pea-soup fog isn’t for the faint of heart. We counted 12 deer and their babies along the side of the road.  Between the fog and the deer, we slowed down to a leisurely crawl as we traveled north.  By the time we arrived, it was too dark to see the ocean or much else outside. Morning would come soon enough.

This morning the fog was still hanging at the edge of the cliffs and it’s been clinging there most of the day.  Just now, there is a bit of colored sunset light filtering through the clouds, but I’ve been grateful for today’s fog.  There is something remarkable when the world turns sepia-toned and you have to look a little more closely for the dashes and flashes of color.  There is also a deeply moving quiet that descends when the fog rolls in.

So today, on November 10th, I am grateful that I’m lucky enough to teach middle school — and for the reflective and restorative blessing of a day on the coast, and for the fog.

 

 

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