It’s been fifty days of gratitude and if it were cricket, I guess we’d call this a half century, which is how it often feels. I’m seeing that my life is rather small. I am grateful for everything in it but it is definitely limited. I find myself waking with gratitude for the same things. Then the analytical part of my brain will realize that I did not establish any rules for my 365 days of gratitude blogging. Since, I love breaking rules in my art, I suspect the cunning and devious part of my brain is trying to set me up for a trap. As I struggle to think of another thing to be grateful, I see a fairy peering from the potted orchid behind my laptop and it makes me smile. Somewhere is a person who wakes daily to put their hands to work creating little plastic fairies!
What a cool way to see each day, imagining a world of mystical energies and fanciful realities. As a writer, I do the same, all writers do. As a society, we need sagas, legends, and stories. It connects us to something more lasting than our hundred years. Our society once sat around a fire and listened in rapture to the hunter’s tale, to the elder’s tales and we created our mythology. Lessons for our youth of the mishaps of misbehaving created adults who helped our little worlds survive. Now, we lounge on a sofa or hunch before a computer and watch the tales that feed our soul or provide balm to our restless boredom.
I am grateful, to be one who strives to weave the tales, nurture the sagas and apply the balm. I am grateful for the little plastic garden fairy who reminds me of the other world that does not include doing dishes, vacuuming or groceries.