Small art and love and beauty

I give thanks for going into the kitchen this morning and discovering I'd done all the washing up and wiped the work surfaces last night. I don't remember that! Must have happened in the zen zone of pain I get into sometimes...I thought I was watching some tedious ITV drama with one eye while using the other to assess whether there was enough appealing content on any of the movie streaming sites to be worth even signing up for a free month.*

I give thanks for picking up a handful of cutlery to dry with bum on a big stool and feet on a little one as I stirred my dried cranberry laced porridge in slightly less discomfort than standing up. As usual I dropped some pieces - two teaspoons - but by some kindly twist of fate they landed in my dressing gown pocket! I give thanks for spotting the mist rolling up the estuary while dancing light on the parked car rooves sparkled like water this afternoon.

Predictably my lower left hand side has been incredibly sore after yesterday's brief excursion, but I give thanks for sleeping more soundly than of late as other parts enjoyed it so much, and that there's been no rush to achieve anything today. I give thanks for laundry processed, recycling sorted, hair washed, body bathed, daytime catering done and a lentil curry simmering in the slow cooker for my tea. For working out the the scummy bath I couldn't bear bending over to scrub could be cleaned quite well with a mop...  Doesn't sound like much to be grateful for? Well no, I know, not compared to being a purposeful and useful member of society, able to contribute, to pursue hobbies and dreams, to be active and socialise...but compared to how my hard my existence could be in a less helpful place or time, or if I couldn't still look after myself after a shambling fashion? Yep, immeasurably so! I give thanks I know how to be grateful.

*Jury's still out on that... but I give thanks for finding the excellent Pride on BBC iplayer, and for my wireless headphones allowing me to have the soundtrack louder than the footsteps of the folk upstairs. Good script based on a true story, well filmed, made me helpless with laughter (especially the depiction of rural Wales in the early '80s) and tears (especially Bread and Roses in gathering harmony). It made me forget being me for a while...or is that remember being me? Who knows, but I was very grateful indeed...