She's Makin' a List. . . .

Considering I did 95 percent of this year's Christmas shopping with my buns planted firmly in the living-room chair,  face basking in the otherworldly glow of a Mac laptop, there's a fairly good chance that the act of opening gifts on Christmas morning will induce temporary bouts of Bell's palsy in others, as their faces drop in disappointment.  This is why I've written down and tucked away a supreme Plan B (take THAT, John Boehner!)--the Gratitude List.  Let's just hope I remember to wear this pair of jeans on Christmas morning, considering I've already placed this list into the back pocket!

Some Scenarios of A Pretty Good Life, in No Particular Order
By Jane Holt


Scenario One
The air smelled exceptionally fine yesterday--crisp, like fresh-picked lettuce, with bracing undertones of Saskatoon to help awaken the nose. While greedily pulling in as much as my fairly substantial nostrils could handle, I also lamented that most plugged-in, post-modern folks forget to breathe--really breathe--during their waking hours.  And that's a darned shame, not to mention a real waste of good air.

Scenario Two
Recently, Finn decided to go temporarily cuckoo upon wrapping up our walks.  And I, for one, couldn't be happier.  The scenario:  the moment  he reaches our property line (perhaps he was a county assessor in a previous life?), he stops cold, gives me a look and proceeds to run in insane, tight circles, public image be damned.  It also doesn't matter a whit to him that it's 6:15 a.m. and the neighbors are just now rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.  Frankly, I support this latest development.

Scenario Three
Little kids with red cheeks and stubby, short fingers somehow make homemade treasures taste even better.  I know this because I have tested this theory multiple times over the past few days, as Ava and Olivia, Annie, Ellen, Isaac and Hannah have knocked on our door, sugar-laden paper plates in hand, carrying out their parents' orders to bring a bit of good cheer to the odd family at 3448.  As if I required clarity, Hannah even provided a delightful, apt description of said gift:  "It's a tasty treat for you!"  Tasty, indeed.  Take that, Harry and David.  Your 5 o'clock shadow and designer jeans have nothing on tiny snow boots and wool hats sitting askew.

Scenario Four
Really, I could do without a single gift under our water-deprived, just-barely-hanging-in-there Christmas tree, considering I can warm my soul to the sound of three bedrooms happily occupied.  And I don't even care that the tub now needs twice-daily stubble swiping or that I find wet towels scattered about the house, like dust bunnies, only too heavy to move on their own.  When my stomach was swollen with the potential of life 21 years ago, (as opposed to being swollen this morning with the detritus of too many sugar cookies--another essay, another day) I never could have anticipated the deep joy of having four warm, slightly skunky-smelling bodies at rest on the second floor.  Again, I'd happily bypass that clumsily wrapped container of Pringles for this middle-of-the-night comfort of a brood re-collected.

Scenario Five
This year, especially, I have loved the neighborhood Christmas lights, their colorful pronouncements peaking out from snow-covered bushes.  I love the Gaussian smear of primary colors that always manage to bring a smile to my face.  More and more, I find myself dreaming of a job that exists primarily outdoors, some reason that I might spend most of my time in the real world, rather than observing it through the fluorescent, canned-air falsehood of indoor space.  Until I find that job (and, frankly, Bad Jane has been pondering how I can destroy the career of Kate Braestrup, chaplain to game wardens, so that I might apply--despite my lack of experience), I seek out the promise of nature.  I fill my eyes with its lights--chilled, ancient stars finding their way through the darkness, the blazing, winter sun bouncing off of the crust of half-melted snow, the brilliance of a Cardinal's red jacket set against the snowy backdrop of a naked wisteria.  And my heart is filled.

Mostly, I think it's incredibly important--maybe even life-saving important--that we stop and pay attention.  Right here, right now.  When we refocus ourselves, we see the life rafts that are there, and they are overfilled with reasons to have hope and know love, despite everything.