The Blades of a Leaf

As we flew back from Pittsburgh Sunday morning, I felt like I had the magic touch. Babies were crying in front of me and behind me, and I had lulled mine to sleep. Bobby was in a deep slumber on my left leg; Margaret nestled peacefully down the center of my chest, and Mary snuggled under my right arm so she could doze off as well. I looked at Peter and caught him looking back at me. We didn't say anything to each other. (He had his ear phones in, so he wouldn't have heard me anyway.) But we were clearly thinking the same thing. How sweet. How blessed. How thankful.

If I was counting, that would be four things, right off the bat: Mary, Bobby, Margaret, and my one of a kind husband.

But at Mass on Thanksgiving Day, Father Grecco suggested that we each had more than our families to be thankful for. He instructed that a fallen leaf could be your guide. Find one, he said, count its blades and then give thanks for that many things in your life.

With that, you can remove your gratitude from the realm of the grandiose; our health, our loved ones, our faith. And into what might seem mundane; say the coffee in my cup, the book that I'm reading, or the ten hour sleep I got last night.

I loved his homily and wanted to take action; to collect leaves and place one on every plate around the beautifully set Thanksgiving table. I wanted everyone to share their blades of thanks.

My Dad had the yard cleaned up by professional leaf blowers though, and I got caught up in the Macy's Day parade, so never achieved my goal. Besides it would have taken all night; twenty people, hundreds of blades, not enough time in the day. So I settled for an impromptu inquisition; one thing, round the table. ready go. Stories, emotion, laughs unfolded, making my list of appreciation even longer.

A couple days later I was walking home from Mellon Park with Mary and I found a particularly pretty golden brown leaf. I picked it up and had Mary count its blades; 18 in total. We spent the rest of the walk home, trading items we were thankful for.

You first, Mary.
Hmmm ... let's see ... Nana, Mimi and both Opas.

Then me ... Baby Margaret and Baby Emmie.

Ellie and Joe
Lyla and Will.


Those really, really big cookies you brought us from the party you went to (gesturing with her hands.)

That really, really good Manhattan Uncle Adam made the other day.

Those buttons you get to press around the train.

Patience ... when you guys press too many of my buttons.

Swings.

Playgrounds within walking distance. And strollers. 
All of my friends. 
The people who host parties that get friends together.


The people that keep us safe from bad guys.

All the good guys.


Stories.
Getting a chance to tell them.

All my toys.
The house that's quickly being engulfed by them.     

When you hold me.
When other people offer to help.

Dessert time.
Dinner time. And cocktail hour.      
Movies.
How quiet you are during a movie.

When my hair is up in a beautiful braid.
When you're done crying about me braiding your hair.

Hugs.
Margaret's kisses.

Christmas lights.
The way you light up when I walk through the door at the end of the day.

So that's more like 30. And we could have kept going.

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays, and with each passing year, I love it a little more. The trip home to Pittsburgh; dinner at the Golf Club; the extended family gathered around Lou's famous turkey dinner, passed down to my Dad to execute years ago; seeing the Phipps winter flower show; doing a little Black Friday shopping on Walnut Street and Forbes Avenue; trying some of the city's newest restaurants (Or, the Whale and Eddie V's were excellent!), walks through Mellon Park, spending a night out with my high school friends, and just watching my kids play with all the old toys at my childhood home.

Like everything though, it goes too fast. But with a whole lot of leaves to rake in our yard, and with Father Grecco's message fresh in my mind, I will carry the spirit of thanksgiving into the Christmas season and throughout the new year. 

Lo.