Thanksgiving, Three A.M.

May I declare, my friends, that it is totally disconcerting to have rats in one’s ceiling!? Imagine it. You’ve clomped regrettably downstairs after being awakened by your own teeth grinding at three in the morning. You and your aching jaw settle into the sofa in a house filled with a saintly sort of quiet and then it starts – the nightmarish sound of clawed rodent feet doing God knows what right over your head – break dancing? Seriously, people! This is an extremely active rat posse, scampering their ugly turd-shaped bodies from one end of the fifteen-foot ceiling to other. I picture them spinning on their greasy, furry backs, performing the windmill on their grotesque and plump tails, coffee grinding and all the rest... they’ve got it going on up there. I am almost envious of what seems to be a nonstop party in our ceiling. Yes, the rat hood has been at large for over a month now. Chad has attacked the problem with an impressive storehouse of ingenuity: sticky traps, holes drilled in the ceiling with rat poison, and good old fashioned slap traps smeared with peanut butter. But the rats are still with us...and other bum things -- like tonight when I was brushing my teeth before bed, a pipe under the bathroom sink sprung a leak, and suddenly I found myself wading in toothpaste water. And...the baby has the dreaded Croupe, so we had to call and cancel our Thanksgiving plans. Guess we'll be mashing our own potatoes this year.

All the same, I find myself down here on the sofa feeling rather thankful-ish. True, it’s officially Thanksgiving now, though the rest of the town doesn’t know it yet (it being still pitch black). And true: I am down here making the best of it all, nursing a glass of organic wine and nibbling (yes, like a rat) on a Sharffenberger Nibby bar (no, my friends, I am not cheating on The Lumpy Bumpy Bar – I appreciate the concern, but chocolate and I have an open relationship). What really gave me the thankful bug, though, was what I saw when I turned on the television to drown out the noises of the crazy legs posse. Truthfully, I was actually just getting ready to throw a mini pity party about being up at three with an aching head and all when I turned on the TV. Instead, I found myself captivated by a World War II documentary, called “The Colour of War.” Suddenly I found myself a witness to starvation, towns on fire, prison camps, and families torn asunder. The history channel really foiled my plans for a proper pity party! Tell me: how do you feel sorry for yourself over a rat in the ceiling and a case of insomnia when you see these emaciated, hollowed out, pale little Polish children dying in the streets; when you are listening to a narrator read letters German fathers have written from the war field to their children at Christmas time? I picture James, Charlie or Henry lying in a gutter like that, or having a father at war and suddenly, it’s all I need to feel grateful for the moment.

Here’s the thing: it’s not just history making me feel grateful; it’s that other versions of this documentary are taking place in the world, right now, as I crunch the divine cocoa nibs in my Nibby bar. There is war torn ugliness and the unimaginable suffering of children and adults alike right here on this very globe we all share. I feel both disturbed and grateful all at once: disturbed at the reality of a suffering so great I don’t know how to even imagine it; and grateful for safety: that the people I love are all snug in their beds right now, and I am here safe and sound in my woolly blankets on the sofa, awake or not, with nothing to fear but a pack of punk little rats.

So, it’s quite easy, really, to name all the good things in my life – the things that make me feel all thankful-ish inside. Beyond clean water, food, safety, shelter and love, which are not to be taken for granted, I leave you now with a stream-of-consciousness-four-in-the-morning-list of extra good things I am thankful for: chocolate (shocking, I know), the vegetable garden, the sound of my children giggling, Vicodin, my laundry-folding husband, Pandora radio plus music, in general, Wilson (my acupressurist), Point Reyes seashore, oysters on the half shell, Aleve, lime flavored sparkling water, Yosemite in the winter time, Chad's sense of humor, my college years, endorphins, the ability to walk, poetry, books, libraries, hiking trails, Eatwell Farm, Rachel Gomez’s parties, art projects, being alive, friends who laugh with me, wine, friends who cry with me, Anne Lamott, food, Charlie hugs, my kids’ friends, fall leaves, photography, coffee houses, writing, our house, Chabot Elementary School, Mochas, the joy of cooking, Holy Cross Community, the city of Berkeley, our Boy Scout Troop, Chad’s job, Julia Childs, hot lavender baths, photography, the granola-loving folk who keep me in business, and last but never least: the people who love me: my Chad, my boys, my parents, my big old extended family, my friends, and finally – YOU: the people who read my words and make me feel that they matter! AND NOW: I want to hear your thankful lists! Off the top of your head, go! Hit the comments button and share! And happy Thanksgiving!