Giving Thanks

For Grandma Polly, who told me: do not be afraid of tears. And who took me on a bike ride every day at a really important time. Who told me about getting counseling when Jack died, and how much it helped her. Who bobbed her foot up and down as she held a stemless wine glass and laughed with friends.  Who kept a funny book. Who told the same story better every time. "Now, JUMP, Mama!"

For Dr. Schwartz, who wears shorts when he gets home.  Who loves the physical exam.  Who was the first person besides me to communicate with my daughters by email.

For Susan, whose inexorable logic and staunch acceptance of reality-as-it-is has been my brain for me so often that she's almost taught me how to do it myself.  Who gives goats their AM and PM meds.  My good friend, Spotted Face.

For Mazie, who sings along with the Seeger Family. Who laughs at embarrassment. Who makes me laugh so hard first thing in the morning: "Mama, I'm a tickle-neck!"

For Vivian, who loves to pull her pants up high and dance around.  Who finds reasons to hug. Who nests. Who wept last night over not getting to read The Hobbit.

For Ira L, who raises the bar.

For Adeolu, who makes beauty with her hands - quickly, on the mark.  Who sings "Sweet Lamb" and dances along.  Who sparkles with her eyes.  Who drives a race car every day, somehow. Who tells it like it is.  

For Miss LJ, who brings beauty, sweetness, and love with her wherever she goes.  Who sings like a strong, strong angel.  Who dances like nobody's watching. Who loves a man who loves to find things. Who puzzles through a human.

For Pete, who works on Saturdays and walks two small dogs every day and analyzes plot lines while learning new chords. Who works the grill in 105F weather without complaining even one time. Who first taught me about being cool. And then gave me a really hard time about how cool I came to be. Who helped me grow up with Vince Guaraldi, Steely Dan, Miles Davis, Led Zeppelin and Sade in the background.

For Richie, who finds just the right type of monkey to draw.  Who bakes turkey and shares it.  Who gets up and feeds a dog he can't stand right now.  Who loves the dog anyway.

For Grandpa Jan, who adores waterfalls as well as Irish Wolfhounds.  Who has a conductor's wand just to add veracity to his shadow-conducting. Who loves a good after-dinner Brandy.  Who taught me chess and craps.

For my Pop-pop.  Pop-pop who taught me fishing, weather, birds, fiddler crabs, math, making dill pickles and peach preserves.  He taught me not being in the picture, taking the picture with your mind. Whose quiet ways preceded his loud voice. Whose boot-clad form I saw every morning at 6 a.m. spreading birdseed in the back yard.

For Kristin, who works and plays in equal measure.  Springsteen in her heart and work on her hands, she wears it all gracefully.  Singing Happy Birthday in Norwegian.  Miss Karate!

For Sarah, strength and grace incarnate.  Humbler than humble. Pleads with me for my own sake. Who pets a parakeet's nose feathers out of the way because he likes it.

For mom, who sends poodle skirts our way and helps out at Baby Pantry and dresses as a zombie clown.  Nothing scarier or cuter.  In the whole world. Mom, who popped me out like a little guppie.  Who embarrassed the hell out of me in the mall.  My small, strong, sailor-mouthed mommy, who will ever be warm and tan in my mind's eye.  But who needs to stay the hell away from the tanning booth, dammit.