Thank You

The last few years have been some of the most challenging of my life and at times it's been difficult to find things for which to be thankful but this year my blessings are easily recognizable and I am can say for the first time since my family lost my grandmother in 2004 I am truly grateful and humbled by the blessings that have found their way into my life. On this incredible Thanksgiving afternoon, on a warm, sunny Denver day, I am thankful for

• Ken, who was able to find his way back home to Denver, and for the time we've been able to spend together since, rebuilding our family and bringing new life into these nearly sixteen years we've been a part of each others lives.
• the smell of homemade pumpkin pie first thing in the morning.
• Kevi, who reminded me this morning that we should be thankful for our troubles, for they too have purpose: to make us stronger and to help us truly appreciate the blessings that we have found.
• Patty Griffin's song "Heavenly Day," in which she sings, "No one on my shoulder / Bringing me fears / Got no clouds up above me / Bringing me tears / Got nothing to tell you / I got nothing much to say / Only I'm glad to be here with you / On this heavenly heavenly heavenly heavenly heavenly day."
• The good people I work with, who are supportive and kind, who make me laugh and think equally hard, who have become a sort of family to me.
• The poetry of Mary Oliver.
• The soft weight of cats sleeping against me on cold nights.
• My family, who seem to get stronger and closer every day, especially my sister, Casey, who had a difficult year but has shone brighter than ever before.
• The memories I have of the people who have walked with me, if only for a time, and shared so many special experiences, from April and the WNG to Marc, who knows he's smarter than me; from Kelly and The Dirt People to John, who has cow dreams; from Little Ruth to David, who taught me that not only are things good, but they're good for you; from Karren and her cookies to Rick, who understands the butterflies as well as I do.
• The power of Skinadinkinaw!
• The "It Gets Better Project" and Dan Savage for changing so many lives.
• Russian Olive and Linden trees for being sweet enough to get me through the entire year.
• Orion standing watch over these Autumn skies.
• Facebook and the connections it has restored.
• Duncan, for his ability to say "I love you," for his voice and eyes, his delight and wisdom, for the miles we have walked and will continue to walk, for the courage he has taught me and the dreams he has encouraged, and for being with me, not only during the difficult days, but the kind ones as well.
• And, as always, A.A. Milne, who wrote, "And by and by Christopher Robin came to the end of things, and he was silent, and he sat there, looking out over the world, just wishing it wouldn't stop."

And I am thankful to all the people who have joined Duncan and me on our walks through this blog, who comment and email and love him as much as I do. You have all enriched my life in countless ways.

Blessings to you, this Thanksgiving Day. May they be too numerous to count.

Home

There are two kinds of families in this world, the family we are born into and the family we make for ourselves once we strike out on our own. I have spent much of my time in Denver telling myself that my first family is the best I could have hoped for and that the one I began building all the way back in kindergarten with my friend, Karren, and up through high school and college was good enough, that it was too much work to develop friendships that are as strong and good and loving as the ones I already have. But I was wrong.

Andy and Sarah have invited me into their family, included me in weekend gatherings and special events. Today they watched over and cared for Duncan, fell in love with him like I love him, assuaged my fears and anxiety about leaving him with them, sent me pictures of him playing throughout the day, and simply put, have become some of the best damn people I know. It is a testament to their kindness and open-hearts that when I slipped into their home to pick up Duncan after work that he didn't even notice me, and once he did he didn't seem too overly excited at my presence. He had the time of his life today, playing with Kahlua and the kids, running wild in their backyard, begging at their table. Admittedly, it was a bit disappointing but after only ten minutes on their patio I understood how comfortable and happy he must have felt all day. Before I knew what was happening I was tossing a football with their son, something I have never done in my life and wasn't quite sure how to do, playing keep-away from the dogs, laughing and jumping and feeling perfectly at home. I am more truly myself with them than I am with just about anyone else I've met since Ken and I left Illinois.

The unexpected hour or two I spent with them after work was wonderful and as Duncan began to wind down, looking at me in that way he has, as if to say, "Hey, isn't there something focused entirely around me that you should be doing?" I found myself not wanting to leave. I wanted to stay and play and laugh as I do now when I am in the presence of my other two families. And so I stepped back for a moment and just watched them be what they are, human and joyous, and with a love for each other and life so strong that the occasional frailty of family doesn't even matter. I am privileged and lucky to have found them and grateful for far more than the fact that they tended to Duncan today.

Magic Feather Update

A quick word of thanks to the people who have sent or given me feathers:

• Matt, for grabbing the first one and calling it "Arapahoe Community College's contribution." It's a lovely striped goose feather, small and round, shaped like the belly of a spoon or a canoe paddle, the kind of feather than could float and drift for days at a time.
• Amber, for bringing two lovely white feathers from her pillows. They are long and icicle white and curl into elegant points like pale, sinewy quotation marks. They will be the voice of my journey, calling out our coming across the long Wyoming miles and winding Idaho roads.
• Penny, from work, who knows nothing of my feather seeking, but picked up a soft gray chalk smudge of a feather and was told by Amber to bring it to me.
• Karren, who sent a lovely, lovely feather she inked by hand. She was clever enough to notice that I did not specify the feather had to be real, but figured out it could be imagined as well, then made real by the magic of her long years of friendship. It is long and dark with the slightest, most delicate of arcs at either end, round on the tip, whispy but strong, the kind of feather that could both guide an arrow or tickle a nose.
• David, in Illinois, sent a single, whisper of a feather, like the sheddings off a summer cloud. He included a lovely note which said, "this little fellow popped to fore from my featherbed where, for years, he has offered comfort and warmth to me during good times and bad, during the coldest of winter nights. On this feather I have fretted, dreamt and slept in peace. Now it insists on lifting you as you fly."
• Carol, a work colleague from days of yore. We both survived our time at the Quality Inn in Pocatello, she as the snappiest, smartest waitress in the place and me as her ever-laughing, acne-marked busboy. Carol had big dreams and decided she wanted to be a pharmacist when she grew up, which finally happened. She is one of the most imaginative people I know. She sent a single long feather from the tail of a pheasant, which she said came from her grandson. It's gold and amber with stripes of dark chocolate, rough near the quill, but soft and downy along its length. It's a feather for a Robin Hood, or Powhatan, or a feather that when dipped in ink could write many tales of one traveler's journeys.

Thank you all. Your contributions mean the world to me. I feel more and more brave with the arrival of each one. And I look forward to receiving more as Christmas draws closer. Before I leave I'll be sure to post a picture of my collection.

Day

I'm trying not to get sick. Ken has been trying but apparently not quite as hard as me. He succumbed last night and woke with a terrific fever. We've both been snorting Zicam, Ken to reduce the gunk that's infected him and me to stave off any possible advance on the gunk front. War has been declared.

I spent the day dealing with students anxious to sell their textbooks at our bookstore. Some were lucky and received hundreds of dollars; others did not fare quite as well. And while some were angry and hostile (it's not uncommon to have my physical safety or my life threatened) others were gracious and patient. They are the ones that made today bearable. And the Xanax certainly didn't hurt. The next week will be a challenge but soon it'll be Christmas and I'll be loaded down with feathers, driving and whistling my way back to Idaho.

Karren had a tough week at work but somehow managed to look beyond her trouble and find some peace and solace right here with Duncan and me. She sent me an email this morning that truly touched me: "I couldn't wait to get home and read your next posting. It helps me stop and think about the simpler things in life... It may seem silly and I know it’s not why you write your blog, but I just wanted you to know that it’s very important and special to me. It’s funny how you can touch peoples lives without even realizing it and I believe when someone touches your life like that you should tell them. So I’m telling you." What she doesn't realize is that this is precisely why I write my blog. Duncan has taught me to focus on the details of my life, the particulars of our time together, be it huddling in the cold, chasing snow or hunting rabbits. Watching his daily discoveries and rediscoveries has opened my eyes to the ways of the world I would never have noticed if he hadn't joined our family. Sharing that time with Duncan has allowed me to share my time with everyone who occasionally reads these pages. I'm grateful for each of you.

While I'm not exactly sure how Duncan spent his day, I know it involved sleeping, cuddling on the couch with his dad, chasing Pip, and giving his Berry a bath. No crowds, no yelling, no coughing or sneezing, no bosses, just the lazy joy of being a dog.