Memorial Day



This time last year, I had a powerful encounter with my neighbor who was on his way to a memorial honoring one of his friends lost in service. It changed the way I looked at that neighbor (though, if I’m honest, his dog-poop-picking-up-avoidance still gives me the mean reds). I was just sitting down to write myself a list of all the things that need doing and plot out a course to get them done in the next 72 hours, which will have to include building a time machine, because, just no. And then the cat goes and knocks everything over, and the lightbulb in the living room conks out and I remember I forgot to get dog food on the way home, and I about felt so sorry for myself that I started to plan my own telethon. Which was when, for some reason, that encounter popped up in my memory and I stopped Googling to see if 1-800-Help-Jen was available for purchase and got myself in proper order. I’m still gonna do all the stuff that needs doing, and no, probably not with a smile on my face, but with gratitude in my heart for the servicemen and servicewomen who make my life — even when it’s hectic and even when it’s not a party — possible. It is a gift to be able to complain about the stuff I do, if you think about it, because I can complain with a full belly and a roof over my head, and if I wanted to, I could list all my complaints on a placard and march around town protesting about how terrible cats are or whatever, and it’d be my right to do so. Seriously though, this weekend, especially, I am going to do my level best to remember that and show my gratitude with the work of my hands and heart in all I do. #memorialday


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s