Try as I might to sustain the face of a splenetic misanthrope, the mask is cracked and needs constant attention from the glue gun to keep it together. *sigh* Damn. I was so sure I would age into one of those nasty blue-haired creatures that could spit venom through their front teeth and had one glass eye due to the time they poked themselves with the hard point of their unmanicured claws.

As I wrote yesterday's post, the pleasure I once enjoyed whilst snakes and toads leapt from my lips (or fingertips, as the case may be) was no where to be found. Instead, I had to grapple with the fact that I have made peace with those around me and what I was writing was only half true and as far as my family goes, underneath all the inability to communicate is a whole lotta love.

Double damn. There goes my edge. Looks like the only delightfully unkind words I'll get to string together will be coming out of my character's mouths--- seems so wrong. Is this what country living does to you? Maybe once I'm back in the city two months out of the year (which is the master plan) I'll be able to get my verbal tools sharpened. But I wouldn't hold your breath . . .

The simple truth is I am grateful down to the very neutrons holding my cells together--- down to every opiate receptor. And I say thanks as I wake up each morning, thanks between my thoughts throughout the day and thanks yet again as I drift off to sleep. It's a constant stream of thanks. Because the truth is, I have had more than one lifetime here this go-round. And I am so utterly grateful to be in this place of peace and gentleness and abundance and love that I really can't be anything but constantly grateful. Which really sucks for all of you since there's hardly anything entertaining about contentment.

Except when it is ripped out from under you, of course. Then the entertainment value sky rockets.

So, on this warm but cloudy day I will tell you that I am thankful for the hope in my heart that I might really create the life I have dreamed of for so long: living in a small town, off-grid, surrounded by flower gardens and writing plays for the local theatre. With my T, of course (I trust you have had an overload of that subject). And my non-human companions who teach me so much about how to be gentler and excited about every day.

No doubt they have their own reasons for gratitude.

Henry: I'm grateful for all the deer to chase.
NOTE: Ollie and Henry have run off a number of time for hours and miles and it finally ended when we got a phone call saying that our dogs had been chasing deer and the hunters were getting pissed. So we've got them under house arrest and we're counting our blessings that they didn't get killed, but not-so-secretly I'm kind of glad to know they fucked things up for the fucking hunters.

Ollie: (in back,) I'm grateful for brotherly love.

Henry: Me? Not so much.

Ollie and Henry: Things to chew and destroy.

Ollie and Henry: Getting to sleep on the couch.

Ollie and Henry: For all that is good and beautiful and beyond our ken.

Amen.

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