Thankful

I am thankful for everything that makes me who I am. I am thankful for the place I grew up, Peterborough. The way growing up in a small town shapes morals more than a big city. The way everyone knows everything about everyone, even the things they don’t know. How when tragedy strikes, the whole world really does stand still for a moment in a small town. The way the hills roll in with orange and yellow and red when things are changing. The way the snow whips up all of our emotions and buries them for the winter until they thaw in the spring. I am thankful that the seasons mark the changes, because without this symbol of time, things would drag by. 

I am thankful for the summer, and how after a long cold winter it bursts upon us as though it had never gone. The way the heat blazes my shoulders as I run from my air-conditioned home to the air-conditioned car. The way my feet scream as I hop up and down on the hot pavement from parking lot to beach. In summer, I’m always going from one place to another. In winter, I stand still.

 I am thankful for the peace the snow brings, covering dirt and pollution under a blanket of tranquility. The way I can curl up underneath a fleece blanket and just breathe. How no matter what I do, my footprints will always show up in a bed of dirtied snow. The way all the white seems soothing after the intense array of sun colors.

I am thankful for fall because it is the forgetful season. For the way the bird’s song sings softer, until it suddenly vanishes and I forget that the silence is unusual. The way I am weaned off the heat and sun, slowly, until I don’t remember it was ever there.

I am thankful for Adams Playground, PES, Cunningham Pond, my back yard and all my memories as a tot. The way my mom gardened in the sun, and as I ran by would toss me a cherry tomato wrapped in basil. I am thankful for the sweet juice exploding in my mouth as the basil crunched and emitted a sweet and familiar taste. I am thankful for the bucket of about two hundred golf balls my sisters would scatter about the yard in all of our secret hiding places, telling me, the child in our game of house, to “Go collect the eggs, Zoë!” I am thankful for the time my sister, my dad and I took Margaret, our puppy, to the pond to swim and she was so scared she clawed me and I nearly sank right down to the murky bottom.  I am thankful for the big yellow slide and the tire swings that were eventually ruled “unsafe.” I am thankful that my childhood was not child-proofed and that I got bruises and ate wild mushrooms in the woods and got my stomach pumped. I am thankful because I got hurt, and when it was over the doctor gave me juice.

            I am thankful for violin lessons, singing lessons and dance lessons. For the way the bow glides across the strings and lets out a screeching wail when you haven’t practiced. For the way my voice cracked and I kept on singing until it was trained to hold that high note perfectly. For the way I shone on stage at my recitals, feeling every step coming together in a beautiful string of choreography. I am thankful for the time I sang “The Tigger Song” with my best friend in front of over twenty strangers, accompanied by dance moves and many giggles. Continually peeking down at my wrist where I had scribbled, “They’re bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy fun, fun, fun, fun, FUN! But the most wonderful thing about Tiggers is I'm the only one”

            I am thankful for the tree house my dad built us, complete with trap door, hand-made ladder, screened-in windows and an American flag. The way we proclaimed it our “Secret Club House” for about a week, and the way I was included in this game. How we had to pay dues, but I was the only one who paid, being the youngest of two sisters. How when the game was over, I was once again taboo and would be left alone in the tree-house, too afraid of heights to clamber down the rickety swinging ladder. I am thankful for my dad, who came to rescue me, wondering aloud why I had climbed up there in the first place. To be included.