Thanksgiving Gratitude


Gratitude is Water.
A lazy river, a lake, a pool, inside, that never empties.
Any moment I remember, she rises, ready for me to dip my cup.
Dipping my cup replenishes hers.

Friday is my day at the barn. I gotta hit the 9am Hampton Jitney, or all is lost.
It was raining Friday morning, and there were no cabs.

At 8:40 I knew that my only prayer was the subway, which would only work if it came right away, and even then, I would be pushing it.
I hurled myself and my little suitcase down the stairs at Spring Street, hopped on the 6 train. So far, so good.
But then – the ultimate mind fracture for a gal on the move – the train is being held at the station.
And I noticed my internal temperature rise; I noticed how every cell in my being felt brittle and tight, like a 5-year-old rubber band holding a bunch of expired grocery coupons in my long deceased Aunt Gertie’s kitchen.

If I missed the jitney, I would miss my riding lesson. I would lose the precious whole day at the barn, and have only a scant few hours.
I would have to write this blog in a Chipotle, or worse, in midtown.

I knew my blog was going be about gratitude.
And so I wandered my mind towards gratitude, gently leading her towards the thought of my Mama, who just flew 36 hours, with her fiancé, and called me from Hanoi, with so much joy in her voice, sounding more like a teenager than an octogenarian.
She and Ted are taking a riverboat cruise down the Mekong River, heading to Cambodia and then Thailand.
I have been praying every day for months, for safe travels for them, and my prayers were answered.
At this happy thought, I felt every cell of my body hydrate, soften, engorge.
Gratitude is water, I thought, and in the midst of my crowded subway car, I reached inside to have a drink.

I cannot prove to you that gratitude changes time and space, but I know this truth with my whole being.

Next, I thought of my daughter, Maggie, and how grateful I am to have learned that it is not my anger or impatience at her 10th grade impertinence that causes her to change or grow or comply or do chores, but the joy I take at her being. Along with a large serving of truth at how her behavior feels to me. Not easy, this. But, she invited me to go with her to the Kanye concert. She is 16. This is huge.

At 8:51 we pulled into Grand Central.
I hustled like Saturday Night Fever.
And made the jitney with 3 fat minutes to spare.

I am so grateful.

Grateful for the privilege of this blog.
Grateful to live my deepest gifts and ever more fiery passions.
I am grateful to feel more beautiful, more sexy, more radiant than I have ever felt in my life.
And most especially, I am grateful to YOU.
For being here, with me.
For your sisterhood.
For your love.
For the intoxicating way you continue to grow.
For your sparkle.
Your magic.
Your wild longings.

And I have a huge desire, today.

I want you to join me in this pool, this lake, this lazy river.
I want you to share your gratitudes, right here, right now, and I promise I will gobble them up like the last stuffing and gravy on my Thanksgiving plate.
I want to know who you are grateful for, and why.
I want you to brag about who you share your gratitudes with, and how that is for you.
I want to climb inside your soul and feel into your depth and breadth, with each gratitude you whisper.

Tell me your deepest thanks and join me, knees pressed to the ground, in deepest adoration of the privilege of Sisterhood, and sharing this together, right here, right now.

With so much love & pleasure,


Mama Gena's


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