In My Opinion
By L.N.P.

GIVING THANKS*

It rained on Halloween night, upsetting the plans of trick-or-treaters, from tiny costumed tots to adults fully festooned for parties and parades. Nevertheless, after days of devastating fires, we in southern California were grateful, accepting the minor inconvenience as a blessing. How fitting that the very next day we entered the month in which we as a nation celebrate Thanksgiving. Fitting, because so often our thanks seem to follow a time of disaster, destruction, or suffering. Perhaps that's when we are most able to put things in perspective, to be grateful for what we often take for granted, like the rain, or the roofs over our heads, or the men and women whose lives are devoted to protecting our own.

So it occurred to me that this might be a good time to take stock, to humbly give thanks for the many things, the sometimes overlooked things, the ordinary and the extraordinary things that fill me with gratitude. To list them all would take volumes, but here are the top six:

Being born in and living my life in the United States of America. Sure, I complain, I criticize; I tear it apart for its shortcomings and mock its hypocrisies. But that's just because I have no concept of what it's like not to be free to do that. Or what it's like to live under a brutal regime, or how empty my stomach would feel on $300 a year. I could have been born in Iraq. I could be struggling to survive in Somalia. I rarely think about that, so I humbly give thanks for where and when I was born.

Then there's my body. It's not that I haven't given my body a lot of thought, because I certainly have. I've noticed immediately if it's 5 pounds lighter or 5 pounds heavier and I've always wished it were 5 inches taller. I rejoice when it looks good in a pair of jeans, and I've even enjoyed my hair ever since I discovered the flatiron. There have been times when I hated my pug nose, longing for one that was thin and straight, and at this point, I'd sure love a few less lines and wrinkles. But when was the last time that I thanked God for my eyes and ears, my two hands, my two feet, my unbroken spine? When was I grateful just to be able to hear the wind chimes on my back porch, or the chirping of the birds that awaken me each day? When did I last express my appreciation for being able to see the incredible blueness of the sky? I've complained that my back was killing me after mopping the floor or walking around the mall, but when did I feel gratitude for the simple fact that I could walk? So, with true humility, I give thanks for my body.

In the past few years I've poked fun at my failing memory. Recently I received an hysterical e-mail about AAADD: Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder, which described the trials and tribulations of an average day for those of us who are "getting on" in years; we forget where we put our glasses only to discover them on our heads, or where we left our keys, or what we went to get in the kitchen. And yes, it's frustrating, and yes, it's true. But what's also true is that I can think with the same clarity as ever, and learning continues to delight me. I can write a column, read great books, understand complex concepts and express myself coherently. I may forget where I left my glasses, but my mind works! And I take that for granted. I expect it to work; I demand that it works, when I should, instead, be exceedingly grateful. I am thankful for my mind.

On the other hand, I've always been thankful for my children. My daughter and son have been my constant joy, and my love for them knows no bounds. But when I think about it honestly, it seems to me that for the longest time I may have been thankful for the wrong reasons. Sure, I was grateful that they were both healthy, but I was also grateful for their beauty and their talent and their intelligence. I saw them as extensions of me, and somehow, vicariously, took credit for who and what they were. It was difficult for me to separate my pride in their accomplishments from feeling proud of myself, and when they faltered, I felt guilty. Then, about a year ago, my son got married, and with that rite of passage came a realization, at first wrenching, and, ultimately, comforting. He had separated. He was now the head of a different family, his family, and I could watch from the sidelines as he took on that role. And I think, in accordance with God's perfect timetable, that my son became a man, a good man, at exactly the right time, at home with his wife, awaiting the birth of their child. So for that I give thanks, for all the right reasons.

It was harder with my daughter, because she and I have always been so close that we shared the same friends. My daughter, Myself; I wrote a poem once with that title. In the last few months, however, the twists and turns of life have taken us, for perhaps the first time, in some very different directions. Yet even as we have finally experienced what having different worldviews means, I am certain that our love for each other hasn't wavered.

But it wasn't until the other day, in what I once might have called an epiphany, that I felt truly separate from my daughter. Suddenly I wasn't comparing her against the same standards I'd set for her almost from the day she was born; I was looking at her with new eyes. And what I saw was an adult-a highly responsible, totally independent adult, with strong values, opinions, and ethical standards. She holds herself and those around her accountable, and places a high premium on honesty and integrity. In other words, she's a separate person whom I deeply respect. With great humility, I give thanks for that.

I have also always been thankful for my husband; he is the love of my life, as well as my partner, friend, and confidante. But lest I take it for granted, I am also eternally (and I mean eternally, with all its implications) grateful that he has been my constant companion on the path we have chosen, a path that has as its goal a purpose-driven life, one that is God-centered rather than self-centered. Holding onto his hand throughout that journey makes all the difference, and so, with all my heart, I give thanks to my husband.

*Dedicated to Rene, who told me what she wanted to read about, and for whom I also give thanks.

Send me your opinions at LParis@netlistings.com