It’s a day to be grateful for things, I guess. Right now – now, this minute as I write this – there’s a funeral over in England for a young man who died at 28 of colon cancer. I only know of this through his wife’s posts on Ravelry, but somewhere she wrote that they’d only had 9 months of marriage in which they didn’t have to worry about health. It’s not that I can’t even imagine what it’s like to lose your spouse; it’s that I can, all too easily. As Archie Fisher sings, “The longer you love, then there more there’s to fear”. So I am grateful for the past twenty years, and the prospect of more.

So far the list of things I can’t go to next month because I don’t get to live in my house includes Black Sheep Gathering fiber festival and Faerieworlds – Solas, Brother, and Charles de Lint are all playing there! (Last time (only time) I saw de Lint play he did Fred Eaglesmith’s Lucille, just for me). Seriously, they’re both within about half an hour of the house. The reason this complain shows up in a ‘grateful’ list is that I can’t really complain; those are the weekends I’ll be in Budapest and at the Paris Airshow. I mean, I REALLY CAN’T complain. Besides, those are both annual affairs; they’ll be there for me next year, and the year after that.

And third, I’m still immersed in Welcome to Bordertown. Or you could say that I haven’t finished reading it, but the marination metaphor is more accurate in my experience. I am grateful for this and just for the fact that there are so many books in the world. (Irrelevant trivia: did you know that Milton prided himself on having read (or, presumably, listened to) every single book that was available in that time and place?)

Finally, because today is the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May, today I am grateful for all the people who have done the hard and necessary things they didn’t have to do.