Any Similar Revival

I like my personal space. I need time to be alone, and while I love to be cozy with my loved ones, I go a little crazy if there is TOO MUCH coziness. The same thing goes for my physical surroundings. I like order, openness, air, room to walk. So it's kind of ironic that we have as much furniture as we do. We have a lot of furniture. It's not our fault, either. We have absorbed much of both of our parents' households when they downsized, so not only do we have a lot of stuff, it's a lot of stuff that is loaded with emotions.

A few weeks ago, I snapped and decided that I am NOT going to live all crowded in my own house. Some of this stuff would have to go. Very slowly but surely, things are moving out, and I am breathing more freely. Today I decided to tackle our bedroom, and I removed THREE pieces of furniture. Two, I repurposed in other rooms, and one is going to live at someone else's house now.

I am thankful that we don't need any furniture. I'm thankful for simplifiying. I'm thankful for space.

I might have lived on this planet for 33 years, but inside, I'm just an 8-year-old girl. Really. Ask anyone. I like to play, to party, to make merry, to dance around and sing silly songs and wear goofy hats. I lick my plate in public if there is something really, really worth it on it. I don't mind getting dirty or having leaves in my hair and sand in my shoes. I own snowpants, and I'm not a skier. I'm really thankful for play, for fun and good times, for light-hearted, care-free, child-like exuberance. I am an enthusiast.

Photo by Ben

Photo by Emma

These guys are pretty good at it too.

Too predictable? Oh well, I've been planning today's post for a week!

So, I woke up at 6AM this morning and tottered down two flights of stairs to Chad's basement lair, where he was all washed and dressed and coifed for work.

"You want to go vote?" I croaked out in my best morning voice.

"I don't see why not!" he answered.

I put on some clothes that were not pajamas and we drove through the dark to the pretty Episcopalian church with the red door.

There was a line at the Episcopalian church with the red door! I was so excited! There has never been a line here before! We waited a whole ten minutes while all the poll workers (most of whom were, like, 100 years old) fluttered around like little nervous birds to get things all ready. They opened the polls and we filed in. They kept processing us even though there were only three machines available. We started filling in the room, staring at the backs of the voters in front of us. I finally got my turn, and when I was finished, I looked around for the sticker, because I ALWAYS want the sticker.

They didn't have any stickers. My heart was broken. Chad's was too: he wanted that free coffee from Starbucks. Oh well, as my dad would say, "Easy come, easy go." No freebies for us.

I took this photo while waiting for Chad to finish up. It's not the best picture, but I figured people might get nervous if I starting snapping the camera at them while they were voting. They might even call that voting hotline number and report me as a violation. So this is my picture of voting.

I'm thankful that I get to vote. It's my chance to have a say, a very small say, but still, a say. I'm thankful for the women who fought for my right to vote. For my immigrant great and great-great grandparents who left Eastern Europe seeking a better life for their descendents. I'm thankful for the old people who man the polls every election day, no matter how big or small the turn-out. I'm thankful, even though things don't always happen the way I've voted them to.

Have you voted today?

It's funny that I live where I live. It's funny that I like living where I live, in a small town in Ohio. They call it a "city" here, but it's not. I grew up a few towns to the east, and Medina was just this place we drove through to get to the fair. When Chad and I first moved here nine years ago, I never thought it would become my "home-town," the place I mention when people ask me where I'm from. Somehow, it has become that place for me.

I am thankful that I can walk two blocks up the street to the library and the farmer's market and the square. That many of our dearest friends live less than a mile and a half away. I'm thankful for the free community concerts in the summer and the Christmas tree in the gazebo in December. I am thankful for Dan's Dogs and Sully's Pub. I'm thankful for the pretty little Episcopalian church with the red door, where I vote. I'm thankful for the county fair every hot, sticky July. For the parades with all the little scouts and old veterans and the happy golden retriever therapy dogs. For the new traffic signals that talk to you and tell you to "wait, wait for walk signal." I'm thankful that I get to watch the same kids walk past my house every morning on their way to school, and I listen for them on the way home. I'm thankful for my cranky old man neighbor across the street and his sweet wife and their naughty kitty who is always escaping into our yard. I'm thankful for the train, blowing its horn on lonely, sleepless nights.

Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of things I DON'T like about Medina. The big truck traffic from the industrial park on the west side of the city, the rental property next door that the police have busted at least TWICE as a drug house, the uneven sidewalks, the crazy traffic on our street around rush hour, the strip malls and shopping centers up on 42. But for the most part, I live in a great little town! And I'm thankful for all the blessings we enjoy here. I am trying to not take them for granted.

This might sound like a weird thing to be thankful for, but when you are like me and start many, many projects, you come to view finishing the job as the most difficult and desirable thing ever. I am really very good at starting things. I can find ideas, gather materials, outline, plan, list and brainstorm WAY too well for my own good. I get bogged down in the middle, though, and usually, my projects end up in a bag somewhere in the closet, or as a half-painted room, or a messy, overblown garden in October.

Yesterday, I went outside and cleaned it up. I cleaned it ALL up. I emptied planters and pots, and then, get this, I hosed them off and put them in the garage. I know! And it's not even spring yet! Then I pulled out all the dead annuals and threw them on the compost heap. I mowed the yard with the bag attachment, so I was able to mulch all the leaves as well. This I emptied directly into the bed in the side yard that will be planted next year. We re-organized the woodpile, made some sense of the brush heap I affectionately call our compost pile, and Chad painted the storm door insert for the non-used second front door. Ahhh, that sweet feeling of accomplishment! The garden has been put to bed, and now I don't have to feel a trickle of guilt or anxiety about planning next year's plantings.

After I finished all this, I wandered around the yard with the camera. The maples in the tree lawn are still on fire.

Painting away:

This November, I am going to post every day about something I am thankful for. Heidi is going to be joining me in this project on her blog, and I invite all of you to join us as well.

Today, on this first day of November, with the trees still fiery and dressed in their best, I am thankful for seasons. I love it that just when I am sick and tired of one, the next one comes along, with its specific joys and beauties. My heart is always ready for the change, and the rhythm of the year helps me to make sense of life and to enjoy it more fully. I am thankful that I live here in Ohio, where the seasons still faithfully change, year after year, even when we are worried about a late spring, or a warm fall, or a winter snowstorm. I love the holidays that correspond with each season, how winter weaves itself into Christmas traditions, summer is nearly synonymous with the 4th of July, that spring symbolizes the great triumph of life over death we celebrate at Easter, and how autumn and Halloween & Thanksgiving are so intertwined, we can't separate them in our minds. I love that we always know what to expect with the seasons. Now, fall is on its way out, and I know what comes next. That is a comfort to me.