I had an email conversation today with someone who was on a sunny beach in Mexico. It was a bit hard not to be jealous on this somewhat dreary North Shore day. I started to feel sorry for myself, but then I started to think about topics for this week’s Unorganized Territory. And I realized this is our pre-Thanksgiving issue.
I realized how very blessed I am. I’d still like to spend some time on a warm sandy beach someday, but today, right here in Cook County, as Thanksgiving approaches, I have a lot to be thankful for.
I’m lucky to have a job I love most of the time with colleagues who are friends and who make work interesting and entertaining.
I’m fortunate to have a roof over my head and a dependable vehicle and while I don’t have a garage to park it in, I have remote start.
I’m blessed to live on the beautiful North Shore, wedged between Lake Superior and the Sawtooth Ridges. I’m exceptionally blessed that my health is good enough to enjoy the myriad trails and waterways that surround us.
I’m grateful for all my friends—the “kids” I’ve known since kindergarten and the people who have blessed my life in recent years.
And of course, I’m thankful for my large and boisterous family— all my siblings and cousins and uncles and aunts and nieces and nephews—near and far. I am exceptionally happy that my children and grandchildren are near. It makes for hectic, noisy, holidays, but what a blessing.
One of my greatest boons is that my parents are both still living—and they live next door to me. They are two of the kindest people I know, always ready to lend a helping hand. They are always ready to travel to visit friends and relatives—down the street or across the country. They still hold hands and hug each other often and they are just plain fun to be around.
My dad is especially on my mind this week as we just celebrated his 80th birthday.
Time and again during the party, people kept telling me. “Your dad never gets older!”
I agree. He looks much the same as he did in my growing up years. But more importantly, he is young at heart.
When he was probably about 40—which seemed old to me at the time—he was harassing my cousin Donald the way uncles do. Donald said something sarcastic and started to run away. A race ensued, with my dad hot on my cousin’s heels, catching him about a quarter mile down the road— proving that he was not old!
A few decades later, when he was helping us build our house, I remember dad cutting down trees and scrambling up and down log piles like a monkey—at 60. When I cautioned him to be careful, he just laughed and said he was only six. He said he wasn’t counting years, just decades.
He has continued to be a big kid, teasing my grandkids mercilessly. Last Christmas, at 79, he was down on the floor with them, wrestling with all five kids as they giggled hysterically, trying to wriggle away from him.
So when it came time to think of what to inscribe in frosting on his birthday cake, I immediately thought, “Still a kid.”
Still a kid…still a blessing.
You can’t help getting older, but
you don’t have to get old.
George Burns
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