One Thankful Memory

Rather than flood you with a list of all my grateful minutiae (one of which is actually the word minutiae, I love to say it), I want to share a thankful memory. It came to me over the weekend and it keeps driving around my thoughts, tripping my tear ducts and making me appear to well up in emotion at completely random moments. Like during toilet paper commercials.

The memory is of my sister Leslie's little red Honda. It was old and inconsistent and sort of the anti-luxury vehicle, but I loved that car. It was cool in its own hatchback way. It didn't have a formal clutch but you did have to shift it from first to second, which I adored. I once referred to it as a semi-automatic and got an unintended big laugh. The car eventually earned the name DAMMIT!, for such was it called. (It had a knack for dying. In intersections.)

But the thing about the red Honda, the thing I'm thankful for, is the memory of seeing it pull up to my middle school at the end of the school day, my big sister Leslie behind the wheel. She picked me up and drove me away, sparing me a two mile walk and time to ruminate over another miserable day. She was a teenager with a boyfriend and girlfriends all of her own regular teenage minutiae (so thankful for that word!) and yet, she showed up again and again and again. Just to be nice. It was a little thing that meant a lot.

Did I ever thank you, Leslie? Thank you. To borrow a phrase from my 14-year-old self, Seriously, like, for reals.

This memory bubbled to the surface after discussing a blog post I came across last week. (If you were the one who shared it with me, thank you!) It gave me a lot to think about. If you have a minute, check it out.

And while we're on the subject, I'm also thankful for you, kindly blog readers. You are nice to me again and again and again. It's a little thing that means a lot. I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving and eat right up to the delicate border between Blissfully Full and Mournfully Overstuffed. You deserve it.