Every so often I get an overwhelming sense of thankfulness.
I live a simple life, and enjoy simple pleasures . . .
it doesn't take anything major to bring me to this place.
It's the way the birds sing early in the morning,
the way the sun shines through my window,
a song I hear.
It can be holding hands with one of my grandchildren
walking barefoot though the freshly cut grass.
I suppose it has much to do with the way I was raised
the stories I was raised on.
I was born into a large family
of five generations.
to have not only grandparents,
great and great-great grandparents living,
I was privileged to learn the history of the family.
It was my greatest delight to listen to these
men and women
as they related their
struggles and successes.
"This was your great-great-great grandmother's teaspoon".
"This bible belonged to your great-great-great grandfather".
True stories of their quests
were more thrilling than any fairy tales or novels.
Great-great grandmother could recount history from her grandmother,
taking me back to the time just following the Civil War.
The struggles and privations,
the journeys and risks,
the sorrows, successes and joys
of their lives
were the most astounding stories
because I knew they were real!
They lived through wars and Depression, droughts and epidemics.
They struggled against loss and poverty and being uprooted.
They began again . . .
I grew out of these people.
My strength and courage and endurance
in my life to come
because I was made of strong fibre.
If they could do it . . .
chances were I could too.
They assured me.
They were behind me.
they had gone before me,
paving a road that they had forged
generation by generation.
The most important thing they taught me
"enjoy the simple pleasures
More to come . . .