Gratitude Monday: ordinary miracles

Man—this one’s a tough Gratitude Monday: sixteenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, and Irma still a force across the South, after causing catastrophic devastation in the Caribbean. It’s hard for me to grasp the destruction I’ve seen in the photos and video of places like Saint Martin and Puerto Rico. It’s as though enormous monsters stamped across the islands, flattening everything in their path. Maybe even going back to stamp some more.

Or, it’s like photos and video of parts of Europe in 1945.

And WRT 9/11: over the weekend I was contemplating the numbers of deaths that have flowed from those attacks and the wars that are still going on—proximate and collateral, military and civilian; American, Iraqi, Afghan, Syrian—and the destabilization off the entire region, which triggered the refugee crisis the likes of which we have not seen since 1945. What would the Requiem Mass for those hundreds of thousands look like? How long would it go on?

What if we had to name each name, and pass round a photo of each one? How long would that litany take to recite?

Well, but today is about gratitude. So, while holding the welfare of all those in the paths of storms (manmade or natural) in my heart, I am grateful that in my tiny portion of the world, I can have my patio door open to listen to the birds. The worst that immediate nature can do to me manifests itself in the mosquitos that come after me when I dash out to replenish the bird feeders. No chance of gale winds smashing the glass, or torrential rains seeping into my house.

I have working electricity, even if the wiring schema is straight out of Dalí. Potable drinking water is available every time I turn on the tap. My refrigerator is well stocked, but if it weren’t, I could walk to the two nearest grocery stores to me, and drive to about four others within two miles. I’m employed, so I can afford to buy gasoline and to make repairs to my car (even though I find that latter expenditure for some reason really, really annoying).

I am employed, in a job that contributes something meaningful to an organization that contributes something meaningful to the world. I have library cards for four systems in Northern Virginia (have not got around to getting one from D.C.), plus I still have access to the six systems in the Valley They Call Silicon, which provides me a wealth of information, entertainment and curiosity-satisfaction. I’ve got Internet connectivity in case I want to expand my understanding of present-day crackpottery and douchebaggery.

And my network of friends sustains me, enriches me, invigorates me and frankly, at times, just keeps me going.

So these are the things for which I am grateful. In the face of historical and present-day reminders of the burdens of sorrow, grief and dejection that today represents, I hope that those affected by these disasters find things—no matter how small—that will evoke a sense of thanksgiving.