Looking back with Lot's Wife

This is the “thanksy” time of year. The time of year at which we all demonstrate our desire to be grateful, grateful, grateful for all the many little blessings that we have all around us. If we’re stuck, we can be grateful for the obvious: penicillin, tooth paste, and, inevitably, living in a free country. None of which, I’d like to add, are things I’m against. What makes me feel inadequate is when people start talking about all the little things they’re grateful for. Like “a child’s smile,” or “the song of a meadow lark in the morning.” That’s when gratitude starts to feel like a competitive sport. Like bowling or the backyard basketball game “horse.” It can make you feel like you’re not only ungrateful, you’re unpoetic and not very observant. People start to vie for the most obscure, idiosyncratic gift. The gift that says they’ve been given the most. They’ve been given, dare I say it, MORE than anyone else. These people are always grateful for the wonderful memories of their mom. Th

I’m not sure when I officially stopped noticing things, but it’s been awhile. I noticed my not noticing the other day while out doing that most horrible of autumn chores: deciding which plants are going to die. I looked at the sweet faces of the annuals who’ve knocked themselves out for me all summer; and, then, I pulled the plug on the petunias: “You are no longer allowed to live, while this awful rust-colored mum I got for Mother’s Day last May, and didn’t have the guts to throw away, gets to live a couple more weeks because it goes with the pumpkins.” When I throw away a whole basket full of used plants, I can hear their squeaky little voices calling, “Liz, Liz, come get me. Just one more drink before I die.” But, sometimes I wonder, when did I stop thinking chaos, for example, was a bad thing. As we enter into this, the most chaotic of all seasons, the Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day season, let us take a moment to remember the value of a good mess. I p