Not to be all old-fashioned on you Words-with-Friends folks,
but I'm grateful for Scrabble. 
Just the simple board.
The wooden letters.
The way kids (and husbands) will try to pretend any letters smashed together equal a word.
I love a night when the rain is dripping steadily off the eaves and the cats are asleep in a pile of laundry (so we best not disturb them to fold it) and there's nothing to do but play a game of Scrabble. 
Don't you?

I'm so grateful to share my parenting journey
with so many thoughtful, loving and funny people. 
What would I do without you all as support and sounding boards?

I was reminded of the wealth and value of this community tonight, at our middle school, when the smart and empathic Carrie Contey spoke to a library full of parents about teenagers and stress. There was Carrie, offering scientific explanations, good ideas and just plain old understanding, and there were all these moms and dads — some needing Spanish translation, some with little ones still at their knees, some chuckling about their adolescents and some pulling their hair out.

But nevermind all that. Because we were there altogether, for a few hours on a dark and rainy night, and when you go home after something like that it is not alone, but in good company. Which is, I think, the point…

Grateful for good company….

My last few appreciations have made it into the journal by my bed,
but not onto the interwebs. 
So, here goes…

Saturday
I'm so grateful for the outrageously talented and creative community I live in the midst of — the musicians and the makers, the photographers and the foodies, and the many, many writers. Tonight, we were at a friend's gig, tomorrow there's an art opening. Real people, good friends, living their dreams — lucky for the rest of us. I'm grateful.

Sunday
I'm not going to go on and on here because I don't want to ruffle the feathers of any of you fine folk who love other football teams, but I am grateful for the Packers. They are down-home, true-blue (or green, as the case may be), and dynamite. Plus, um, Aaron Rodgers?

Monday
I'm grateful for the schools I send my daughters to — the schools that make me feel not just safe, but inspired and wowed. Schools that make them smile. That feed their curious minds and respect their open hearts. My memories of 5th and 7th grades are pretty mixed, but my girls are both in places where navigating adolescence seems natural (which, of course, it is) and exciting, and where days feel full of possibility. I'm really, really grateful for that…  

Tuesday
I am so thankful for my agent, and not just because she announced a sale for me today. (Though that always feels pretty sweet…) I'm thankful for her on all the days there aren't sales (which, let's face it, is most days). I'm thankful for her on the days we get turned down. The days I'm spinning out. The days I can't seem to put one word in front of the other. She is both tender and straight-up. She is encouraging and funny. She is a really great agent and a really great friend. Thanks, Erin.

Namaste and gratitude to you all, my friends…

So, I'm participating in a sort of Thankful-palooza this month.
30 Days of Gratitudes, articulated…

I am really, really enjoying it, and here's why:

When you know you're supposed to write about something you're thankful for each day, you spend the whole day looking for things you're thankful for, and dang if that doesn't result in a cup-runneth-over kind of mentality.

Honestly, I can't turn around without tripping over my cats (for whom I'm grateful) and my husband (for whom I'm grateful) and my kids and their sweatshirts and lunchboxes (for which I'm grateful) and my grandmother's creche set and my bookshelves and my running shoes and my neighbors and, well, you get the idea.

Today, I am feeling most grateful for the winter weather. 
I love the cold snaps we had this week. I love the pewter sky.
I love pulling on jeans and boots and sweaters. 
I love the change.

And when I get up at 5:00 a.m. to go work out, I really, really, really love the seat warmer in my van.
I know, I know. But it's the little things….

Relearning Winter

Mark Svenvold

Hello Winter, hello flanneled
blanket of clouds, clouds
fueled by more clouds, hello again.

Hello afternoons, 
off to the west, that sliver
of sunset, rust-colored
and gone too soon.

(Read the rest here)
(And enjoy Poetry Friday here)

I'm super grateful for all the brilliant, creative, generous,
supportive book-making folks I know.
I just came home from Austin's annual SCBWI holiday shin-dig,
and you wanna talk about a room full of friends?
Seriously.
As Mr. Slinger would say, "Wow."

I'm pretty sure I would've quit this work in misery or hysteria about 20 times by now if it wasn't for this amazing (and amazingly good-humored) community. And I'm grateful for every single one of them…

Two weeks ago, my mom lost a sister.
This week, my husband lost a brother.
It's no wonder that I'm feeling extra-keen gratitude for my own sibling today.

I have a sister, and I'm raising a pair of sisters — lucky me. 

There is nobody else on the planet — besides my sister — who possesses the mutual background, the same nuanced familial understanding and the singular, very funny but unwritten joke book, as me. It's like we've got encoded chips implanted behind our ears that enable us to just plain "get" each other. And really, is anything as satisfying as being "got"?

So, in gratitude for my sister today — and in honor of siblings everywhere — here are a couple of things:

Mona Simpson's eulogy for her brother, Steve Jobs, which is here.

And here's a pretty swell poem by Lucille Clifton.

Love you, Sissy….

Today I made my last school visit of 2011. 
My unscientific accounting says I did about 25 this year —
and that doesn't include book festival readings
and other non-school events. 

Sheesh.

That's a lot of clicks of ye olde Powerpoint, a lot of bottles of water, and a whole lot of kids. 
Thousands of kids, actually. 
Which makes it an overwhelming thrill and daunting honor.

Today, I'm grateful for school visits. 
I truly love the work that I do, all of it, but school visits have become a deep and unexpected pleasure.
I'm grateful for the opportunity to talk to kids about ideas and rhyme and revision and book making.
I'm grateful for devoted librarians, enthusiastic teachers, and school districts and PTAs who still think author visits are a good idea.
I'm grateful for all the kids who say they want to be authors and all the kids who say they are authors.
I'm grateful for all the kids who say writing is hard.
I'm grateful for all the kids who raise their hands to say funny things, curious things, smart things, anything, really.

For example:

“Do you know the author?”
 
“Do you have to take off your slippers and put on shoes when you hand your work into your editor?”
 
“The library is my home.”

"Will you sign my journal?"

"A heart isn't ALWAYS a pocket full of love."

"I'm pretty sure only adults get writers' block."

"You could try to write more like me — fast."

"You could learn to draw."

"You could ask me if you need more ideas."

"Is every book your favorite? Because if I was an author, every book would be my favorite."

Granted, I come home from a day like today hoarse and tired, but really, can you beat all that?
I'm so grateful….

I just spent a couple of hours hosting 15 adolescents at my house —
nine 5th grade girls along with a panel of six middle schoolers, from various schools.

We'd invited the big girls to give the "little" girls the down-low —
on homework, field trips, lockers and what not.
Y'know.
The kind of stuff the principals and magnet directors and headmasters might, um, not mention at all.

And this isn't a very profound way to describe it, but it was really cute. 
Cute and inspiring and funny and thoughtful and enlightening.
It was.

Some of the 5th graders are eager, some are intimidated.
But all of the middle schoolers are articulate and honest and generous.

When I was 10, 11, 12 and 13, we didn't really have choices like this.
We just went to the next school.
And the idea that there are choices can be kind of overwhelming.

So thank goodness for the village. 
For mentors.
For folks one step ahead — in school, in work, in craft, in parenting, in growing old, in life.

If we've got touchstones and advice and support and people we can count on, choice is exciting rather than just overwhelming. And I'm really grateful for that.

(Posting on Monday since Live Journal was finicky all weekend…)

We just got home from hearing Wendell Berry and Wes Jackson speak.
The topic was the sustainable food movement.

(I'll admit I went for the poetry.
I mean, Wendell Berry, people!)

And he did read a poem, and he also said a whole lot of lovely and poetic things:

praising "… the yeastiness of thought…"
claiming to be a member of "… The Society for the Preservation of Tangibility…"
and advocating for "… rules of affection …" when dealing with the land.

How would you like to have phrases like "yeastiness of thought" just roll off your tongue?
Sheesh.

So tonight I am grateful for thinkers or, rather, articulate thinkers, who inspire me to follow through on my own thoughts and put words to them when I'm able…

(Posting on Monday since Live Journal was finicky all weekend…)

On this humid, muggy Saturday I am grateful for curly hair. 
I know. That sounds rather trite and shallow.
But you have no idea what a bold act of self-love it is. 

I hated my hair for 30-some years.
Fought it. Pulled it straight.
Bemoaned both curl and frizz.
Wished for Dorothy Hammill's bob and gloss.

Well, guess what? 
I'm over all that. 

Even on this wet day when things get truly follicly anarchist, I am grateful.
I am grateful that I don't own a hairbrush, that I don't need a cut very often.
I'm even grateful that I don't look all "pulled together."

Pulled together is overrated. 
Acceptance and surrender, though, aren't.
It may be a little birds' nesty today, but it's my birds' nest.
And I'm grateful.