For all the crazy children in my household, who duct tape strange objects to the ceiling fan and play weird games with PCV pipe and have loud jam sessions every weekend, who fill my days with music and fun. For my husband, an introvert who willingly lives in a crowded noisy house because he loves me. For the extras who willingly become part of our family, who help make this house a home.
For a marsh filled with snakes and frogs and rich, thick muck. For the kindness of strangers. For blog friends I've never met in real life. For snowflakes and lilacs and sunsets. For my siblings and their families. For Friday lunches with my beautiful, smart, wonderful daughter.
For the my Shadow Women friends, my monking friends, my conference friends. For Artist Friend and Mirror Friend, Quilt Artist and PoetWoman. For friends who know my faults, who see my vulnerable spots, and who love me anyhow.
For mountains that hug me. For the Colorado River, that churning, muddy wonderful river, that taught me how to move through life. For the Saint Lawrence River, the water I will always return to, the islands and the marshes. For the monastery, with its sheep farm and pastures and prayers. For the ocean with its crashing waves and strong undertow that makes me feel small and humble in the scheme of things.
For the time I've spend sailing with my Dad or talking with my Mom, for their continued health even as they grow old. For the conservative members of my community, who disagree with me on almost every political issue but who would risk their lives to save my children if my home was on fire.
For Pilgrim's bar, a safe refuge.
For my students, whose energy and idealism give me hope for the future. For my activist friends, whose vision of the world influences my lifestyle even as they keep tiedye shirts in style. For my poet friends, my artist friends, and my musician friends for the ways in which they nurture my creative spark.
For computers that bring faraway friends close.
For the creatures in my woods, the raccoons and skunks who get into our garage, the deer that graze in our back meadow and know how to stand absolutely still when I look out, the birds who fill my paper-grading days with song, and the coyotes that howl at night.
For contact lenses, and books, and feathers, and cats. For river birches, and dark chocolate, and great blue herons, and polypropylene. For the fire at the hearth, and the stars above my roof, and the wind chimes that sing from my front porch.