blessings | The Qwiet Muse

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I wasn’t going to write a TToT, there is a chance I may not even complete it now that I’ve decided to begin, BUT, I need to focus on being thankful – I’m a wee bit on the pissy side and I really need to change that. No one likes it when I’m pissy. I don’t like it when I’m pissy.

Reading a handful and a half of other TToT posts inspired me to sit my butt down and write. So there ya are – I am thankful. Thankful to each and every one of you who take the time to share the things you’re thankful for, even when you might be in the midst of one of those weeks yourself. It makes me feel connected and less alone. Thank you.

Today I cried. I’m thankful for that, I needed a good cry. I didn’t need the stuffy nose, puffy eyes, and headache that immediately followed, but I’ll not dwell on those – the cry felt good, it was cleansing. In the midst of my melancholy, I did something so entirely out of character for me – I reached out to a friend. I messaged her just so someone out there knew I was losing it and she helped me pull it together. Thank you my sweet Lizzi. I am thankful for you. And Xanax, I am thankful for Xanax as well.

I’m thankful for the glorious rains falling on my little corner of the world this week. I can’t help but think those precious drops of rain began to fall as much to nourish my soul as they did to nourish the land. I let my tears rain down right along with them, and like the rains cleanse all they touch, my tears cleansed me as well. So very thankful.

My daughter passed her finals and will soon be a certified EMT, she’ll continue, perhaps, onto paramedic training. We’ll see. She is young, She’s been a cashier, a firefighter, a student, and now she stocks the ambulances she may soon be saving someone in. My youngest son, my baby, will be eighteen this month. He drove me to Walmart yesterday. Their older brothers are making small strides of their own. Thankful is not nearly a powerful enough word to express my gratitude for these children I’ve been blessed with. My heroes. This week I wished they were little again, the feeling was fleeting, but it was strong. I miss the little ones they once were sometimes. No, thankful is not a powerful enough word.

I’m thankful for coffee. Silly thing to include, but I truly am. Especially the cup my husband brings me every morning before he heads off for a long day of work. He doesn’t have to do it, make me coffee every morning, but he does. That is really rather sweet, isn’t it?

Soft and snuggly blankets, books I don’t want to put down, words that reach across the miles and wrap around my heart, bedtime, music, empty laundry baskets, and silence – I am thankful.

Thankful and not quite as pissy as I was when I began . . .

I am out of the house. At Starbucks. Alone. The coffee shop is one of my favorite places to be, and not just for the coffee, believe it or not. It started with the coffee of course, but it didn’t take long to realize there was so much more to my outings than a good cup of coffee.

Most days there’s a kind of quiet here I can’t find anywhere else and the company quite often fascinates me. Most days. This morning I’m only five minutes into my much anticipated mini retreat and the gathering crowd is beginning crowd me. Todays caffeine connaisseurs are chatty and a bit on the rude side.

I’ll just sit here and write, avoiding eye contact and any possibility of accidentally appearing available for conversation, basically what I typically do anyway. You might not believe this, but I’m not much of a people person. I’ve tried to be, I admit I haven’t employed Herculean effort into my attempts at human contact, but occasionally I smile at people, that’s trying. A little.

My moment has passed. This is not turning out to be the morning I had hoped for. I’m only halfway through my venti iced coffee and thoughts of poking people in the eyes with a straw are washing over me. Just so you know, I wouldn’t do it, straws are bendy, not nearly reliable enough.

I swear I am a good person. I am.

Thankfully, the mouthy masses are moseying off to . . . other pastures. Not sure where I was going with that, all the chatter messed with my ability to form coherent thought. Maybe I can salvage the last five minutes before reality resumes and I head home to face the laundry pile.

. . . . . . . .

This morning was just made perfect. God is good, He knows just what we need and when we need it. I finished my coffee which prompted a trip to the restroom. There was a young man tapping his foot and singing to himself while waiting for the men’s room to open up. The ladies room was occupied as well so I stood in that little hallway, listening to his song.

He noticed me listening. I asked if he had a song stuck in his head. He nodded and told me it was a good one . . . Then, he took a step closer and looked me in the eyes, he serenaded me with his song.

I couldn’t understand the words, but I felt them. Each one leaving goosebumps on my arms. He was precious, he was pure and real and his sweet heart touched my soul.

A few people took notice, they stared, some even smiled. When a Down’s syndrome angel gives you a gift, you take hold of it and treasure it always.