gratitude

The last few days I find myself full of gratitude. I would like to think I’m always full of gratitude, but I’m a normal human, which means I have more than my share of ungrateful days. I have many reasons to be full of gratitude: beautiful healthy children, good health for myself, enough financial security to keep the roof over my head and food on the table for the near future, a creative component to my life, music, books, and of course family and friends. But I’m most grateful for my lovely wife, without whom little of the above would be possible (or anywhere near as enjoyable.)

It’s Valentine’s Day, a holiday that represents the worst kind of commercialization and obligation. I normally pay virtually no attention to VD (great initials, eh?) and neither does my lovely wife. But today I did the very traditional thing: I got her roses and a card. Not because I was obligated to or because it was expected of me. Because I am so grateful for her. And I don’t tell her that often enough. Why is it so hard to tell people that you love them, that you are thankful for them? I can spew bile with the best of them but when it comes to demonstrating love and gratitude…yeah, I’m not so great.

20-plus years I’ve been with this wonderful person. Our love is the foundation of an amazing life, of which the most shining representation is our two beautiful daughters. Like any couple that are in it for the long haul, we’ve had our ups and downs, good days and bad days. That’s what life is. There is no one else I’d want to share mine with. I am deeply grateful.

On a cold fall day many years ago a co-worker invited me to her house to rake some leaves. Except it had snowed that morning so there were no leaves to rake. Instead she and I sat in front of the fire and according to legend, I talked a lot. I have no idea what about, but apparently she enjoyed it, because she didn’t kick me out of the house. Later that night we raced about Seattle with a couple of her friends looking for the latest issue of The Stranger (a free local underground—at least in those days—rag.) As the car went careening about town, I thought “I’m in the car with three beautiful, crazy women. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” I don’t remember if we ever did find a copy.

Shortly thereafter I was invited back to this co-worker’s house, and it was just the two of us. We were discussing PJ Harvey and she said “You haven’t heard Dry? You have to hear Dry!” Of course, the stereo was in her bedroom…and reader, the rest is the most wonderful of histories. I’ve been with that co-worker ever since, through life, death, babies, houses, apartments with fungi growing on the carpet…through scares and joys, through tension and sensual exploration, through miscommunication and overwhelming joy. There’s not a moment of it I would trade for anything. I am the luckiest guy around.

I am profoundly grateful to share my life with her.