Grateful For Gratitude

Barbara: Yes, last week was my birthday—and I just want to thank you all soooo much for your lovely birthday wishes and thoughts. I had a really beautiful special day with my closest beloveds (except my younger daughter who had to be away for the weekend). It was a day of enjoying life, being spoiled … and practicing gratitude.

Remember back in the nineties when books about gratitude were all the rage? We were encouraged to be grateful every day for something. Even—and maybe especially—something small (the smell of the garden, a bubble bath, a fresh strawberry, a good cup of coffee, etc). Then we were reminded to think of the people and events around us for which we were grateful. On bad days, this might be more difficult, but for just about all of us, there is definitely someone out there in whose light we can revel for a few grateful moments.

The philosophy behind this practice was that if we did that small bit of work every day then we would slowly, inevitably, shift the colours of our lives until that lovely rosy hue would outshine the dark. I never ended up reading the bestselling books, but I certainly listened rapt as those who did expounded on the theory. It made sense. And I started to become aware of my own gratitude and how deeply I felt it and how, in many ways, gratitude was one of the most consistently achievable feelings of “good” that I could attain. Even on a really shitty day.

I am truly grateful that gratitude has been a consistent theme on this blog and that our readers so quickly and readily jump on the “gratitude bandwagon” whenever we bring it up. So I hope you don’t mind if I revisit it one more time??? I want to share a small experience with you and then see where we land afterward:

For my birthday dinner, we went to an amazing little restaurant called Keriwa Café. It is a cozy little place, the kind that makes you feel very much like you’ve walked into a (stylish) friend’s farmhouse kitchen. The air is perfumed like a warm smokehouse and you picture not a bland city alley outside its kitchen doors, but a vast farmland, filled with all things good and clean and delicious. The server was a charming guy who took amazing care of our every need, and who made us feel like we were already on comfortable terms—maybe like he was the friend of a friend (ie not overly-familiar, but also not cold and standoffish). The food was divine: earthy and sophisticated in equal measure, sublime combinations of herbs and sauces, and the absolute truth of flavour that comes from the freshest and best quality ingredients. We were in raptures with every single mouthful, from the homemade sourdough bread at the start (washed down with the loveliest signature cocktails) to the gift of the airiest truffle I’ve ever eaten at the end. Now I’m telling you all this not to try and sell my skills as a restaurant reviewer (although, for me, that wouldn’t be the worst job!), but to underscore my point about gratitude.

As we were eating, we shared our sentiments with our server at every course. We mmmed and ahhhed and made sure he knew that we thought everything was delicious and perfect. We weren’t ridiculously effusive, but consistently grateful. And he was … surprised! Not because we found the food wonderful—this restaurant is run by one of the best new chefs in the city—but because we were sharing our love. On the drive home afterward, Stefanie expressed her own sense of gratitude that we had taught her how important it is to communicate gratitude if one truly feels it. She has been able to see just how deeply it affects people, while also realizing—through the sincere surprise at the restaurant—that this means it is maybe all too rarely communicated. She reminded me again that, while she considers herself a fervent foodie, she maybe wouldn’t have had the courage to rave. She is “too shy”. But this experience—and others like it over her growing years—has taught her to keep trying to work at sharing her gratitude. Because it literally makes everyone feel good.

So, if we’re going to revisit this theme again, here’s what I’d love to hear from you:

1.     Are you too shy to share your gratitude with strangers?

2.     If you do share your gratitude, what is the response?

3.     And, how do you feel when people express gratitude toward you?

Deb: Well, you know me. Not too shy about anything. I share my gratitude easily and frequently. I also share my gratitude silently in the morning and the evening for a day lived and a day woken up to. When I share my gratitude I am ALWAYS moved by people’s reactions. Always. Some are shy about it, some are gobsmacked by it, but they are always grateful for it. When people express gratitude towards me ... well ... hmmmnnn .... I am getting better. Much better. I am starting to be able to look people in the eye and say how happy and grateful I am for their gratitude. But that one remains the toughest. As I have said in other posts, I love to be the bestower, not so much the bestowed upon. But I am getting better. It is something I have worked really hard on. Grace is the word I use when someone expresses their gratitude to me. Be graceful, I tell myself. And it is working for me.

Deeply Grateful To All Of You

Deb: Today my plan was to post—as is our wont—a light fluffy Tuesday/Thursday thaingy.

And I had such a lovely thing ready for the Easter Passover season. But I can’t. I will do so next week.

Because sometimes you just need to take time to say thank you.

And so I am.

To each and every single cell of you for the support, the love, the advice, the tips, the stories, and the grasp of joy as you see it and share it.

I love you for your support and I love those of you who need my support. 

My cousin Scott (you may know him as my savior from other blogs) upon reading yesterday's blog, simply and lovingly drove here to be with me. Got in his car he did and showed up at my door, just as I was arriving home from Mom and Dad’s. Perfect timing. It mattered.

People called and people shared, and I do not want any one of you to think that your efforts went unnoticed or unconsumed.

I have swallowed your love and now I shine. Like diamonds. Turns out I didn’t have to search for them after all. 

The Grateful Alive

Barbara: I’m just back from my wonderful holiday and asked Deb if it would be okay if I just wrapped things up before we continue to our planned posts for this week (we have a new 3-way coming up, yay!! And some great pics and stories from Deb’s own adventure). Deb said she is more than happy to accommodate me, so this will be my last “solo”. 

First of all, I want to thank all of you for sharing my vacation with me, with special thanks for all the comments and well-wishes. I just loved reading them all when I got home. And an extra-grateful thanks to Erica and Christy over at erica and christy for their recent award to us. Thanks, ladies!!

Now here are some answers to your questions last week: yes, Hollye, it was a Sandals resort (Grande Ocho Rios). Our first ever Sandals—and we chose it because of the 65% off deal (apparently the best off-season rates are the last weeks before the Christmas rush, ie, November, first week of December). Not only did they throw in the substantial spa credit, but all the diving and snorkeling tours are included. Phil is an avid diver and dove every morning and afternoon while I snorkeled or read (remember, I tried diving long ago and am sadly too poultry-esque). So that was another huge savings.

At first we were disappointed with the smallish beach and, of course, the fact that half the resort is on the other side of a busy road (which is why we upgraded to the ocean side—for a relative pittance, again because of the low season). Then half the beach was under renovation in anticipation of the busy season, making the beach options even smaller. This also ruled out any chance of our skinny-dipping, Tannis … unless we’d chosen to do it in full view of the dining patrons. (I’ll let you all in on a little secret: not nearly that adventurous!) But any misgivings we had soon faded in the light of … well, the light. We saw it. And it was good.

We can't say enough good things about the service and people and cleanliness and attention to detail. They spoiled us, but they also "spoiled" us. We’ll probably start whining now for butler service and heated towels and hourly massage-applied suntan lotion the next time we travel. Phil already grumbled this morning when he opened our fridge door that “the buffet here isn’t very good”. This is how the monster is created, people!

On the last day of our vacation, I discovered something interesting about the Jamaican people. I found myself among a large group of resort workers who were gathered on the pier. We started chatting and they told me that Sandals was taking the housekeeping staff on a catamaran party to thank them for all their hard work. It was a well-deserved trip of Gratitude. And they appreciated the gesture.

I asked them if they would also be going snorkeling or swimming out on the reefs. They looked at me askance—it turns out that 95% of the Jamaican people DO NOT SWIM. I was gobsmacked. I asked them how they could live in that paradise surrounded by that healing, soothing water and not swim. They said they had no desire at all to go into the ocean, never mind learn to swim. The very thought appalled them. Apparently the Jamaican mothers in all their protective glory (and they seem an incredibly maternal people) refuse to allow their children to go into the water for fear of drowning. This fear stays with them their whole lives. I raved to them about the curative powers of salt water, how it makes you float, how there are several shallow, protected areas ideal for cautious first steps. They kept balking, but then seemed intrigued by the thought that maybe the water would be good for them. I admit I pushed a bit—like it was my mission to convert this little group to the ways of the ocean. And maybe out of polite courtesy, maybe out of piqued interest, or maybe out of desperation to get this mad white woman off their backs, they started to express interest in trying it one day. I could feel my latent missionary rise up stronger within me as I began to preach and advocate. I found myself wishing I could stay longer and physically coax this gang of hardworking women down to the shores and into the sea, just to its turquoise shallows, and encouraging them to just lie back, just suspend themselves in the viscous water, and release their tensions and worries into the warm salt water like I did mine. I can’t help hoping they will find the courage to actually do it one day.

One last rumination that ties our vacation with the “compliments” discussion from last week: I can truly say that my gratitude at being so looked after at the resort just made my heart full to bursting, which in turn unleashed an unprecedented barrage of compliments. Even though I knew that people were getting paid to pamper us (ie, it’s their job), it still affected me greatly that they were doing it and doing it so well. I know the difference between a service rendered with indifference and one infused with warmth and dignity and pride and goodwill. The people who worked at the resort had all these qualities and more. And I praised them profusely. I thanked; I raved; I patted backs. And you know what? They didn’t compliment me back and they didn’t tell me it’s simply their job, but they did smile and say thank you. And you know what else? I felt even more heartwarming gratitude.

Gratitude is an amazing feeling. It is wholesome and cozy and uplifting. As good as a resort getaway. Please, please, don’t take it away from me!

So let me finish by saying: you guys are utterly awesome and super-beautiful!! Take that and a bag of chips.


Deb: If I was an enterprising Jamaican––and some of you may know some (word in their ear)––I would start a swimming school: “Own the Ocean!” and make a bundle turning it around, teaching people of all ages to swim and love it. Change a fear into joy! I have been to Jamaica three times and have never realized this fact. Wow.

Irie, mon, and float!

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way with Annette

For this month’s three-way, we asked Annette to join us. She’s a regular reader and commenter, a beloved longtime friend of Deb’s, and a new and cherished one of Barbara’s.

Annette: As you ponder today’s post, allow me to immediately disclose I owe my participation herein to the old adage “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know!”. However, before chafing at this preferential treatment, recall the original basis for these lively exchanges was––but charmingly has turned out to be not limited to––the exploration of that most fabulous of manifestations … the female friendship. Now, upon learning that I am middle-aged, female, and a friend to both bloggers, perhaps you’ll agree the burning question becomes, “Why wasn’t I asked to contribute sooner?”.

By way of background, lovely Deb and I go back several life-affirming decades. Gracious Barb and I, once merely seasonal pals bonding annually at Deb’s magical holiday soiree, have seen our relationship flourish courtesy of the exponential power of Facebook. Two of the most incredible women I know, I am beyond grateful for their camaraderie … which leads me to today’s musings.

Having had the magnificent kismet to reach this age and stage, I think a lot about gratitude … specifically the shifting, ephemeral nature of thankfulness … while wondering why it’s so hard for us to truly appreciate our lot. Oh sure, most of us pay lip-service to counting our blessings and all of us can claim occasional bouts of true mindfulness, but it’s the inconsistency that intrigues me. How easy it seems for us to suddenly consider our glasses half-empty instead of half-full…

Case in point, recently I endured an affront courtesy of a family member … not a “Gosh, you people don’t get me!” slight but a really disconcerting dig that normally might send a person to a professional’s couch for an extended period. Intellectually, I understand the perpetrator operates out of ignorance rather than malevolence, yet still emotionally the sting was surprisingly bitter. Suddenly my considerable good fortune was overshadowed by my fixation on this offense.

Wounded thus, I felt compelled to share said transgression with my first-born 21-year-old son. Upon hearing of his beloved mom’s trial, his response was to burst out laughing and facetiously declare, “Well, that’s a surprise!” And so it was––courtesy of his succinct but still illuminating assessment––that I entertained simultaneous realizations. The first was that it’s an extraordinarily efficient shortcut to madness to expect more of people than they are capable of delivering. And two, when I consider the largesse of the forces in the universe that saw fit to deliver the gift of this insightful boy, who knew I knew such a thing and needed only a gentle reminder, gratitude should be my default.

Barbara: Dear, sweet Annette. Just so you readers know, of course I HAD to find out what said affront was, even if Annette wasn’t going to share it here. And, trust me, it’s a doozy. Without compromising Annette’s privacy, let me just say it was a carelessly dropped announcement that revealed a terrible betrayal. The kind of shocking declaration where you would not have blamed her one little bit if her glass had drained completely dry. But our wonderful Annette did what most us here try to do: she put on her rose-coloured glasses, shrugged off her pain, truly noticed the things for which she was most grateful, and shared her beautiful spirit with us.

But the thing is, we all have those moments of cathartic shock in our lives, don’t we? There we are, innocently chugging along, trying to live as good and wholesome lives as we can (by our own definitions), feeling pretty good about stuff––and BOOM, some act of treachery knocks the friggin’ wind out of us and we are left reeling. “Where did that come from?” and “Whhhhhhhyyyyyyyy?”

I’ll give you one of my own examples. My husband and I were just starting our married lives with a new baby when a trusted friend embezzled money from us. Yeah, the kind of friend you share secrets with. The kind you hang out with on lazy weekdays when you’re waiting for the next acting gig. We were a struggling young family and money was very tight, which our “friend” knew. And then we were tens of thousands of dollars in the hole … only to discover that this “friend” had taken all our money. It is a long, tortuous story, but the absolutely worst of it, I swear, was the shock of the betrayal … by someone who was our trusted ally.

The good news? No, we didn’t get our money back. The good news is that we managed to put those rose-coloured glasses back in place, hug each other close, and carry on. To this day, I am grateful for that.

Deb: Barb, I have never heard that story and I am shocked! What a dick. May the bluebird of happiness crap on his birthday cake! And how wise of you to put on your happy faces and move past it. It is with that example that I would like to pay tribute to my dear friend Annette.

Annette is the poster-girl for the expression, “God doesn’t give you any more than you can handle.” And believe me, she has been given more than her fair share of shocking and disastrous issues. And I am here to attest to the fact that she has handled every single bomb with grace and with humour. Annette is one of the most honest, straightforward, fair people I have ever known. She is the real deal. It is easy to be honest and kind when life is running smooth. But when life throws us curves our true mettle is tested. Annette, through it all, has employed her secret weapon and it has seen her through every single time: Humour. Annette can find humour in everything. She never plays the victim and yet she has been victim time and time again. And all the while I can see the wheels turning and she is thinking, “This sucks … but it will make a great story”. She has hung her hat on that mindset and she has been rewarded for her efforts. The universe has seen fit to deliver to her a wonderful loving husband and two gorgeous, smart, magical kids. But she has paid the piper, oh yes. Hopefully the piper now has enough money to take a holiday. Annette could use it.

Annette, a transplanted Torontonian, currently lives in the Buffalo, NY area and makes a living as a freelance writer penning pieces about stuff she knows. Sadly, given that parameter, she won’t be getting rich any time soon. Her move to Western New York was motivated by her marriage to her Math Professor husband with whom she is currently overseeing putting the finishing touches on their four college-student children.

What I Noticed

Barbara:Today is Thanksgiving in Canada, but the thought of writing a post about all the things I’m grateful for—while very worthwhile (I am a huge fan of gratitude, HUGE)—felt kinda, how do I say … uninspiring. As a wholehearted devotee of the emotion, gratitude is something I try to revel in daily, not just over turkey and mashed potatoes.

But as a somewhat beleaguered possessor of an always-churning, usually-racing, problem-solving, conundrum-facing, event-replaying, needless-worrying, very busy mind, I thought I would use Thanksgiving as an opportunity to shut the ol’ blabbermouth of a noggin up and just plain notice stuff. Little stuff. So I took my dog for a walk through the urban residential area where we live and I opened my eyes.

I noticed that on a beautiful warm autumn day a lot of men like to wash their cars. But not one woman seems to.

I noticed that swarms of gnats can suddenly appear out of nowhere and enshroud your head, getting stuck in your eyelashes and down your mouth. I noticed how really gross that is.

I noticed that if several bright red splotches on the ground appear in my peripheral vision, I will immediately and without doubt assume there was some horrible crime for which these splotches of fresh blood are the only remaining evidence. But then on closer look, I noticed that sometimes fallen maple leaves can turn so vividly red, they look exactly like splotches of fresh blood. I also noticed that I can feel quite embarrassed at my ridiculous assumptions even if no one else is privy.

I noticed that a lot of cyclists like to wear the Lycra outfits favoured by Tour de France athletes. I wonder why. I noticed not everyone looks very good in skin-tight Lycra. But then they’re exercising, so good for them.

Down by the lake, I noticed that when swans tip their heads and upper bodies over to troll for food, their white elliptical butts look exactly like elegant vases bobbing on the water.

I noticed that a woman’s perfume can waft across the air from quite a distance, even if it is very delicate. I noticed how much I like the scent of delicate perfume.

I noticed that most people when they pass you will not look at you, but if they do and you smile at them, they will usually (but not always) smile back. One older woman’s face went from dour and angry to the most angelically beautiful smile I’d ever seen. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. I noticed how I didn’t like the people who didn’t smile back.

I noticed the house by the lake that’s been abandoned for the thirteen years we’ve lived here has its garage door open and its years of ruined contents spilling out. Maybe someone will finally fix the place up. I noticed an old pillow by the gate on the grass; it still had its pillowcase on and was spattered with grime and dust. It looked like a nap by the gate had been intended then abandoned many years ago. I noticed that the house still looks like it’s haunted. And maybe the house is haunted because nothing except the pillow and garage have changed in all these years, even though the house is on a beautiful property with a primo spot by the lake.

I noticed that when two young brothers play in the leaves together, even if they are talking about monkeys flying in the sky, they can still have unabashed, unconditional love pouring from their eyes. The kind of unrestrained expression you almost never see pouring from grown-up people’s eyes.

I noticed how good it feels to shut my brain up for a few glorious minutes to notice things. Especially after turkey and mashed potatoes and a serious helping of gratitude.

Have you noticed something interesting today?

Deb: I noticed when I was reading this that my puppy was whining. I noticed my husband’s top lip pushes out when he dresses a turkey and in that moment I took time to notice how much I love him. And not just because he is doing the turkey. I noticed that the pilot light on the fireplace behind my head makes the sound of a tiny roaring fire when not on. Kinda like a fireplace in a mouse’s hole. I noticed that the birds outside who are scavenging the last of the apple berries on our tree all have different personalities, except for the ones that don’t. I noticed that when I hold in my pee while I am completing a task I am really proud of myself, even though someone said it isn’t good to do that. I noticed that when the sun hits our green and white variegated leafed bush just right, it looks like snow. I noticed that my camera charge light is on, which means I can take some pictures at our goddaughter’s birthday today. I noticed that her gift is wrapped but I haven’t yet signed the card. I noticed in the sunlight that the grey jacket I wore today does not match the plaid colours in my new pants. What I thought was a grey stripe, is pale yellow. I further noticed that I don’t care. And I certainly noticed that Thanksgiving ROCKS. Gorgeous warm weather, sunlight, and a smattering of cloud, the leaves giving off glorious colours, the smell of turkey and a beautiful table. And plenty to be thankful for. And thanks to Barb for inspiring me to notice too. I watched the wee Bairn chase a red leaf today on our walk and noticed that I was laughing out loud.

Happy Thanksgiving to all our Canadian and British friends! Gobble Gobble. Or Tofu Tofu!!!

And in a Thanksgiving-inspired homage to “the bird”, here’s a truly amazing bird for us all to admire (you have to watch to the end––it's astounding) (PS thanks, Cheryl, for sharing it with us!)