Gratitude Monday: Community

 I sometimes walk through the Charter Oak cluster as a way to bump out my step count. The townhouses were built in 1969, which makes it deeply established in the People’s Republic, and I often find things in their individual gardens that fill me with joy. Like the front yard with purple flowers beloved by bees. There are others that go big time (townhouse edition) for Halloween. We’ll see them later this month.

But what’s sparking my gratitude today is the tree house that the community built in one of the two central green areas:

They had the rope swing for years, but they added the platform last year, and it just invites you to climb up the ladder and survey the world. It kind of makes me think of the forecastle of a pirate ship, but I expect that it can become whatever the kids on it want it to be.

What sparks my joy, however, is the dedication plaque:

Not (as my cluster’s tot lot is signed) for residents and guests; for all children.

That’s community. Gotta be grateful for that.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Gratitude Monday: stepping out of an evening

A few weeks ago I received notification from Eventbrite congratulating me on registering for an event at the Embassy of Italy’s cultural center. I was contemplating this wonder when an email from a friend hit my inbox announcing that she’d registered me for an event at the Embassy of Italy’s cultural institute.

Well, why not?

First of all, I have to say that getting me out of the house in the evening practically takes an act of God. This one involved me putting on trousers with a zipper (I’ve worn nothing but sweat pants for almost a year, with the exception of the two weeks I was in Europe six months ago), riding Metro for more than an hour and then walking more than a mile from Woodley Park Metro station to the embassy. I arrived with sweat soaking my face, hair and non-tee-shirt cotton top; amidst the perfectly put-together Italian ladies and the typical embassy event crowd, I looked like trailer trash just back from Walmart.

It turned out to be a promotion of this summer’s Arena di Verona’s 101^st Opera Festival, about which I knew nothing. 

The ambassador introduced the program, which was two sopranos and a tenor, accompanied by the music director on the piano, singing a number of arias. Since they’re celebrating the centenary of the death of Giacomo Puccini, most of the pieces were from him.

Well, I gotta say—it was worth every step and drop of sweat; even the zipper. (If you get the opportunity to hear Yeajin Jeon, go. She’ll be appearing in Turandot in Verona starting next month.) But it was more than the performances. Also more than the quite presentable Italian wines and nibbles served afterward. It was getting out of my comfort zone, doing something different, engaging in acts of civil sociability and stepping away from the screen, for more than six hours all told.

So I’m grateful indeed that my friend thought of me for this particular event.

 

 

 

©2024 Bas Bleu

Gratitude Monday: It was the eve

Hokey smokes—is it April already? Well, you know what that means: it’s National Poetry Month. Today is also Gratitude Monday, and it falls on Easter Monday. What to do, what to do?

Well, today I’m grateful for poetry—the various forms it takes, its ability to cut right to the heart of expression and emotions, its visible beauty, its use of language(s); all the ways it helps us communicate our most important messages. Don’t get me wrong—there’s a heap of bad poetry out there (just like bad novels, bad songs and bad movies). But when it’s good, it is perfection.

For the Easter Monday portion of today’s post, let’s go that day in 1917 and Eleanor Farjeon.

If you’ve ever listened to Cat Stevens (Yusuf Islam as was) sing “Morning Has Broken” (or been surprised to find the song in your church hymnal), then you’re familiar with Farjeon, an English poet, journalist and writer of children’s books. Farjeon came from a late-Victorian literary family, and counted among her friends D.H. Lawrence, Walter de la Mare and Robert Frost (who lived for some time in England until World War I broke out). One of her closest friendships was with the poet Edward Thomas and his wife Helen.

On Easter Monday, 9 April 1917, Thomas was killed in his first action, at Arras, France. Farjeon wrote a poem that captures that instant when we at home learn that the one at war has paid the highest price for policy. The tiniest of things are etched eternally into our memories, some to bring a glimmer of joy, others an unexpected rush of tears. Sometimes for the rest of our lives.

Here's the thing—the constant throughout every war humans have fought throughout time: no matter the scale of battalions, divisions and armies, no matter the catastrophically destructive capability of the weapons...it always comes down to the individuals killed or maimed and the ripple effect that changes those who knew and loved them. Thousands of people in Ukraine, Israel, Gaza, Syria and elsewhere are experiencing this even as I write.

“Easter Monday (In Memoriam E.T.)”

In the last letter that I had from France
You thanked me for the silver Easter egg
Which I had hidden in the box of apples
You liked to munch beyond all other fruit.
You found the egg the Monday before Easter,
And said, 'I will praise Easter Monday now -
It was such a lovely morning'. Then you spoke
Of the coming battle and said, 'This is the eve.
Good-bye. And may I have a letter soon.'

That Easter Monday was a day for praise,
It was such a lovely morning. In our garden
We sowed our earliest seeds, and in the orchard
The apple-bud was ripe. It was the eve.
There are three letters that you will not get.

Take a moment today to be grateful for the friendships you have. Consider reaching out to one or two friends to mention how much they mean to you. There may be letters that they will not get.