Every mile is two in winter.
[George Herbert]

I really have to work on my attitude in winter. Grandson, Owain, and I shoveled snow last evening—not much, but enough to require an attitude adjustment on my part. My buddy, Toby, looks like he shares my attitude. Owain, on the other hand, is delighted with seeing his first snow. Then I ran an errand and was thankful I’d bought new tires. This is just the beginning of winter. Ugh.

One thing that helps is the holiday lights. Several houses on each city block sparkle in the dark. The skiff of snow reflects the colors and enhance the effect. It almost makes up for these long nights and short days. Knitting woolen mittens, hats and socks almost make up for nine-degree temperatures—almost, but not quite.

I think, at a child’s birth,
if a mother could ask a fairy godmother
to endow it with the most useful gift,
that gift would be curiosity.
[Eleanor Roosevelt]

Early in my childhood, I learned not to say the words, “I’m bored,” to my mother. If I did, she’d grab a scrap of paper and make a TO DO list for me.

• Dust the plate rail
• Iron handkerchiefs and napkins
• Put away toys

That motivated me to keep my mouth shut, and make my own TO DO lists—mine were more fun. I soon discovered that curiosity is an antidote to boredom. The more I looked for something interesting to do, the more things I discovered that whet my curiosity.

Last night, I watched my daughter spin wool into yarn on her new wheel. How did it twist the fiber and wrap it onto the bobbin at the same time? I wished for a camera so I could slow the motion and study the mechanics of it. Almost everything captures my curiosity. Thank you mama for giving me the gift of curiosity.

If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, “thank you,” that would suffice.
[Meister Eckhart]

Relatives and friends have gathered from as far away as North Carolina and Wales. More will gather from across the city and county for Thanksgiving dinner. Today, I will gather chairs enough for everyone to have a seat at our odd assortment of tables. I will cook goodies. I will tidy up. I will add to my gratitude list. You who have read my web log are on that list too. I send you my best regards for this happy holiday.

A politician thinks of the next election;
a statesman thinks of the next generation.
[James Freeman Clarke]

I was standing in the rain when they unlocked the doors to the polls at six this morning. There is no reason I need to be there that early—I work in my home office and set my own hours. But I like that group of people who come to vote before they have to be at work by seven.

I stood in line behind a Marine Corps, Korean War veteran (it was written on his cap). The topic of conversation among the voters was neighborhoods as we tried to figure out the precinct map so we’d go to the proper table to check in. The consensus was identifiably American, “Who do those martinets in the neighborhood association think they are to tell us what we can do with our own property?” We were all from different neighborhoods and there wasn’t a person in the group who looked like a rebel. I chuckled because I’d had the same thought even though I don’t break any of the association rules.

Gone are the booths with the curtains and the paper ballots. One man needed help through the whole process—he looked at the computer screen with terror. When it was my turn, I stood there and imagined that mine was the deciding vote—the one that would tip the balance of power. Then I looked around the room and remembered why I love being an American. Every face was different. I have a feeling that every place in the world was represented by someone there. I felt like, as an American, I was a child of all cultures.

I love election day. I celebrate it as a memorial day. I vote for one reason—folks have died so I can spend five minutes at a polling machine casting a vote with which they might have disagreed.