pajama days,
Vacation Bible School,
and watermelon.
Oh, the sweet, glorious watermelon. . .
Showing posts with label Gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gratitude. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Things I Love about Summer, Part 1
Fresh tomatoes,
taking walks,
smoothies for breakfast,
having lunch with my husband,
perfect skies,
picnics at the park,
lazy days at home,
and lush green landscape.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Another Year's Gone By...
Now it's been four years since we lost Donnie to himself. I spent the day with tenth graders visiting a Jewish synagogue and a Muslim mosque. All day my thoughts floated back to my dear friend who would have been so, so good at teaching these kids about God's truth and the love Jesus has for them. My heart is too full to write a new post about my precious friend, so I'm reposting what I had to say last year on this day. The truth is, my thoughts and feelings are the same. This year the process of grieving Donnie's death hasn't moved much. Sometimes grief goes quickly and then slows down and then picks up its pace again. Right now I'm moving slowly, but at least I'm moving.
--------
I was in high school before Donnie and I became friends. First, he visited my church and then my home. My parents reached out to him, and he reached out to us. It wasn't too long before Donnie spent Saturdays with us. Then, he found his way into suppertime and sleeping on our couch. He came to our family birthdays and Christmases. Santa even dropped some gifts off at our house for him. He quickly became an important part of my life. More like a brother than a friend, really.
I've never had a brother, so I could be mistaken, but I've heard that they show up at inconvenient times and irritate you and tell stupid jokes and make you laugh and make you want to hit them in the face and they're sometimes quite messy, but more than anything you love them so deeply that the thought of losing them takes your breath away. Isn't that what it's like to have a brother? I imagine it is; at least, that's what it was like having a Donnie. Donnie was all of those things to me, and even more. We would sit and talk for hours. We would solve the world's problems and talk about our families and our friends and our God and our weekends and our schoolwork. He is the only person who ever made sure to ask in nearly every conversation if Hub was treating me right. We dreamed big dreams together, had a lot of fun, laughed a lot of laughs, and cried a lot of tears.
It was the first time I'd experienced such loss, hurt, confusion, and anger all at one time. In one breath I could bid him good riddance for his selfishness, and in the next, I'd beg him to come back for a do-over.
Never will I understand why he decided to end a life so full of promise. If he was at the end of his rope, I would have given him mine. So many people would have. He was, he is, so deeply loved and so deeply cherished.
Sometimes I dream that the buzz at the door is him, and I'll answer, and he'll come inside. He'll sit on the couch, and I'll offer him something to drink. We'll spend the afternoon talking and laughing, and Hub will come home, and I'll fix dinner, and Donnie will eat three plates, help me clean up the kitchen, and be on his merry way again. But that never really happens.
Sometimes I wish that when I picked up the ringing phone, it would be him on the other line calling to see how life is in Kentucky. But that never happens, either.
Sometimes I imagine that I'll get a letter in the mail apologizing for missing my college graduation and my engagement and my wedding and a promise to come and see me soon. But that never happens.
They won't ever happen, these things I dream of and imagine and pray for in the still of the night. These things won't ever happen, and it's his own fault. It is a dark and unsettling place when the person you have lost, the person you so desperately want one more conversation with, is the same person who caused all of this pain in the first place.
Sometimes I look up to heaven and I think, "Donnie Ferguson, if you can see me right now you'd better be sorry, buddy. I hope you see all of us down here and you feel bad for what you've done and all of this pain you've caused. Because you should. You should feel terrible."
And then other times I look up to heaven and thing, "How is it that a person so loved by so many could feel so desperate, so alone." And I feel guilty for his death, like it was my fault somehow because I wasn't right there the moment he needed me.
Most of the time, though, I just hope and pray that he is happy.
Before I ever had to think about it, I knew that losing him would take my breath away. That it would rip me open and scrape me out and shake me up. I was right. I carry on, though. I carry on knowing that if he could go back and change the circumstances of his death, he would. I carry on knowing that if he could see the pain and the torture he had caused the ones who loved him, he would put the gun down and back away. That's what I tell myself, anyway. And maybe I am wrong, but I know who Donnie was and how much he cared, so I believe that if he really understood the consequences of shooting himself in the head, he wouldn't have. He would have stayed alive and protected the people he loved, the people who loved him.
When I tell my children about my precious friend, I will make sure that they know his death was not the definition of his life. That although he had many struggles; he had many more victories. I will make sure they know that even though he had a temporary, life-altering, and terrible lapse in judgement that he was a brilliant and loving human being who changed my life, and many others, for better. More than anything, I will make sure that they know they are loved and cherished, no matter what, and if the desperation ever comes, that suicide isn't the way.
--------
I was in high school before Donnie and I became friends. First, he visited my church and then my home. My parents reached out to him, and he reached out to us. It wasn't too long before Donnie spent Saturdays with us. Then, he found his way into suppertime and sleeping on our couch. He came to our family birthdays and Christmases. Santa even dropped some gifts off at our house for him. He quickly became an important part of my life. More like a brother than a friend, really.
I've never had a brother, so I could be mistaken, but I've heard that they show up at inconvenient times and irritate you and tell stupid jokes and make you laugh and make you want to hit them in the face and they're sometimes quite messy, but more than anything you love them so deeply that the thought of losing them takes your breath away. Isn't that what it's like to have a brother? I imagine it is; at least, that's what it was like having a Donnie. Donnie was all of those things to me, and even more. We would sit and talk for hours. We would solve the world's problems and talk about our families and our friends and our God and our weekends and our schoolwork. He is the only person who ever made sure to ask in nearly every conversation if Hub was treating me right. We dreamed big dreams together, had a lot of fun, laughed a lot of laughs, and cried a lot of tears.
I was in college when Donnie died. It was Saturday, and he shot himself between the eyes.
Never will I understand why he decided to end a life so full of promise. If he was at the end of his rope, I would have given him mine. So many people would have. He was, he is, so deeply loved and so deeply cherished.
Sometimes I dream that the buzz at the door is him, and I'll answer, and he'll come inside. He'll sit on the couch, and I'll offer him something to drink. We'll spend the afternoon talking and laughing, and Hub will come home, and I'll fix dinner, and Donnie will eat three plates, help me clean up the kitchen, and be on his merry way again. But that never really happens.
Sometimes I wish that when I picked up the ringing phone, it would be him on the other line calling to see how life is in Kentucky. But that never happens, either.
Sometimes I imagine that I'll get a letter in the mail apologizing for missing my college graduation and my engagement and my wedding and a promise to come and see me soon. But that never happens.
They won't ever happen, these things I dream of and imagine and pray for in the still of the night. These things won't ever happen, and it's his own fault. It is a dark and unsettling place when the person you have lost, the person you so desperately want one more conversation with, is the same person who caused all of this pain in the first place.
Sometimes I look up to heaven and I think, "Donnie Ferguson, if you can see me right now you'd better be sorry, buddy. I hope you see all of us down here and you feel bad for what you've done and all of this pain you've caused. Because you should. You should feel terrible."
And then other times I look up to heaven and thing, "How is it that a person so loved by so many could feel so desperate, so alone." And I feel guilty for his death, like it was my fault somehow because I wasn't right there the moment he needed me.
Most of the time, though, I just hope and pray that he is happy.
Before I ever had to think about it, I knew that losing him would take my breath away. That it would rip me open and scrape me out and shake me up. I was right. I carry on, though. I carry on knowing that if he could go back and change the circumstances of his death, he would. I carry on knowing that if he could see the pain and the torture he had caused the ones who loved him, he would put the gun down and back away. That's what I tell myself, anyway. And maybe I am wrong, but I know who Donnie was and how much he cared, so I believe that if he really understood the consequences of shooting himself in the head, he wouldn't have. He would have stayed alive and protected the people he loved, the people who loved him.
When I tell my children about my precious friend, I will make sure that they know his death was not the definition of his life. That although he had many struggles; he had many more victories. I will make sure they know that even though he had a temporary, life-altering, and terrible lapse in judgement that he was a brilliant and loving human being who changed my life, and many others, for better. More than anything, I will make sure that they know they are loved and cherished, no matter what, and if the desperation ever comes, that suicide isn't the way.
Because suicide never heals. It only creates more anguish.
If you or someone you know is struggling, please call
1-800-SUICIDE
or visit
because there is always a way out, even if you can't see it just yet.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The Very Same Coin, I Tell You.
I am the spitting image of my mother. My nose is slightly smaller, but other than that I'm all her. We have the same hair and the same eyes and the same toes. My whole life has been full of listening to people say,
Child, you look just like ya Mama. You do know that, right?
Little Jan! I'd know who you belong to just by lookin' at ya.
You look just like your sweet mother! I'm sure you get that a lot.
Nobody ever said I looked like Daddy. Except once.
A lady I don't know but won't ever forget came up to me and said,
By God, girl, if you are not the spittin' image of Rhett Maris, then I don't know who is.
Before she walked away she added offhandedly with a bit of a smile,
Huh. I think you may look a little like his mother, too.
She turned swiftly, and I choked back tears and muttered a thank you too quiet to be noticed.
My mama always says that when I was born I looked so much like her that Daddy would say, a little begrudgingly,
You can't tell I had anything to do with her.
He shouldn't have been worried because just as much as I am mother, I am also him.
You see, Daddy and I are a peculiar pair. We are just enough alike and just enough different that we either really get along nice or we butt heads at every turn. There is no medium heat for the two of us, and I like it that way. It means that good or bad, happy or sad, we're us. Real all the way, and we love each other too much to ever give up on the other.
We don't have to speak to understand each other. A look or squeeze of hands will always do.
Daddy taught me to love music and appreciate the importance of the written word.
He inspired my love of cooking.
I try to choke back a cry the same way he does, and when we laugh, I mean really laugh, we throw our heads back at just the same angle.
If you watch closely, you can always see him in my facial expressions, and he is ever present in my thought processes.
His life has taught me that where you come from doesn't have to dictate where you're going.
More than anyone else, he is who I want to be proud of me.
I am certain that God could have chosen no better man to be my father, to challenge me in all the right ways and push me beyond my imagined limits and teach me unwavering love.
We really are two sides of the same coin, Daddy and me. We were made to fit together; we belong to each other.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. I love you so very much,
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
...and had Dinner.
The food was delicious and the atmosphere delightful, but the company was even better. The rehearsal dinner was the time when our friends and family toasted to Hub and me. They told funny stories and said the nicest things and everyone laughed a little and cried a little bit more. I don't recall another time in my life that I have felt so loved, so appreciated, so special.
The time spent at Bistro Bijoux in the picturesque party room illustrated more brilliantly than any other life experience the true meaning of family, of love. Family isn't only about flesh and blood. Family is about love and friendship and honesty and trust. I firmly believe you can be somebody's sister or brother or cousin or niece or nephew without a single relative in common. I know this to be true because of the people in my life who have taken care of me, leaned on me, believed in me, and loved me.
These people are my sisters and brothers and uncles and extra mothers and cousins and nieces and nephews. These people raised me. These people have tested me. They have seen me fail. They have seen me succeed. They have made me a better person. They have taught me about love and life and hope and happiness, and for them, I am eternally grateful.
Knowing these people is an honor; loving them is a privilege; and being loved by them is a blessing far too immeasurable to put into words.
These people are my sisters and brothers and uncles and extra mothers and cousins and nieces and nephews. These people raised me. These people have tested me. They have seen me fail. They have seen me succeed. They have made me a better person. They have taught me about love and life and hope and happiness, and for them, I am eternally grateful.
Knowing these people is an honor; loving them is a privilege; and being loved by them is a blessing far too immeasurable to put into words.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Thank You Isn't Good Enough
Remember day before yesterday when I said I'd be back tomorrow to talk about my bridal party? It looks like I meant the day after tomorrow which would be today which would mean I'm right on schedule. Right? Right. Okay, here we go.
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| This picture of all of us outside the chapel and the one on the beach are two of my absolute favorites from the wedding. Aren't we all just precious? ;) |
 |
| Here I am with all of the boys. Starting with the upside down one and going clockwise, you have: Jakie, the Prince, Dubbie, Tylando, Will D., Jimmy(the one you can barely see), Ando, and Caber. |
 |
| The bridesmaid's didn't get as crazy, perhaps due to the dresses. I don't want to leave the impression that they're lame or anything because they're pretty awesome. Starting from the left: Kanis, Too, Hub, the Princess, Kitty, Tater, and Charles. UNRELATED TO POST: Perhaps I should add a little note about nicknames. I use many, but not all, of these nicknames in real life. Mostly the girls' are real and useable, the boys' are a little less so. I go with nicknames on my blog because I don't think it's fair to plaster someone's name all about the internet. I just thought you'd like to know that. :) I conceived this whole notion of appreciation for my bridal party to start off the posts about my wedding quite a while ago. The execution of this, however, has been a little tricky. I had a million different ideas, and every, single one of them seemed inadequate. Finally I realized that I can't adequately describe how much these lovely ladies and gentlemen mean to me. Each of them contributed to the fun of the wedding weekend. They weren't just there to take up space. They were there because Hub and I love them all very dearly. These people are more than friends; they're our family. They're my brothers and sisters. Each of them, in their own special way, has taught me what true friendship is and what it means to be able to count on people. I feel so blessed that my bridal party ended with these very special people in it; I feel so blessed that my bridal party ended up containing the people I truly wanted to stand next to Hub and I as we took our vows. I consider it an honor that each of them so enthusiastically agreed to participate in the wedding festivities, but, more than that, I consider it an honor to know each of them. They are beautiful men and women who will change the face of this earth for the better. |
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Joy to the World/Connection has Come
This morning the internet man came. He walked in our office, looked around, and declared, "There is nothing I can do." Hub and I were astonished. Baffled. BUT, we were most certainly NOT speechless.
"Are you sure?"
"The last guys that came said it could be fixed."
After a little more prodding, he visited the office and returned with a lady who is the majority of the maintenance staff here. She was on our side. She fought for us, bullied the internet man around a little bit. I like her. She took the internet man on a trip around the apartment and the hallway, making all sorts of good suggestions. Mostly just rubbing in his face that she knew a little bit about this line running, and she knew enough to know he hadn't done a thorough job. Take that internet man. After all this bullying, he said he didn't have what he needed to fix the problem, but he would come back on another appointment.
I felt defeated. I almost cried. Not because of another day without internet, but because I have my first online class today starting at 4:30, and I really didn't feel like hanging out at Barnes and Noble for two hours. Then, I got angry. This problem was supposed to be fixed THREE appointments ago. Did I really need to make another one? I don't think so. We passed ridiculous a long time ago, and I was fed up.
So, I called the internet people. The person of the internet people I talk to is Kim. I wish I could send Kim cookies. Anyway, I called Kim. I told her the history, the current story, my issues. I used my polite, businessy voice with just a hint or two of tiss. The tiss was to get my point across. Trust me, with the internet (and cable) people around here, you can't get anything done without a hint of tiss.
After I concluded my tale of woe, Kim said, "Well, it looks like someone was already out there today?"
"Yes." I replied, "he came and then left because he didn't have the appropriate drill bit."
"Well, ma'am, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it says that fixing your issue would require drywall damage, and the apartment manager won't allow it."
"That's not right."
"I'm sorry. I know it's frustrating, but we see this a lot in apartment complexes."
"No. Management gave it a go. The tech guy left because he didn't have the right part. He said he would come back. I'm just calling to make sure we get a new appointment because we've had a little trouble with that in the past, and I'd like to make sure the tech that comes for the new appointment understands that it's going to be a difficult job, and I need him to be qualified."
"So, wait. The apartment management said he could do what he needed to do to fix the issue?"
"Yes."
"You know what? This isn't okay. He'll be back as soon as possible and with his supervisor. When is a good time for you? I'm so sorry about all of this."
"It's okay. As soon as possible is good with us."
"Okay, let me check the schedule. I can't believe he falsified his report. I'm so sorry this is happening. Mrs. Hubbard, don't you worry. We will get this problem resolved. How does Friday sound? 11:30-2:30?"
"Sounds great. Thank you so much."
"It's no problem at all. I'll call you back to confirm that I've booked the appointment with your management, and please let me say again that the same tech will be back on Friday WITH his supervisor, so you should NOT run into ANY problems."
We ended the phone call with the usual niceties, and then about ten minutes later, Kim called back.
"Hi, ma'am. This is Kim, with the internet people. Will you be home for the rest of the day?"
"Yes."
"Okay, great. The tech will come back today with his supervisor as soon as possible. It shouldn't be more than an hour."
"Oh, wow. Thank you SO much."
About thirty minutes after my chat with Kim, the tech returned with his supervisor. They scurried around and asked me questions about my laundry room, looked up and down the walls. I could sense a feeling of failure in the air, and I prayed that somehow our troubles could be fixed. After a little more looking around, the two men came upstairs to the office. I think they were arguing over who would have to tell me there was nothing to be done. Then, like magic, a suggestion flowed from my lips, and the supervisor was on the ground, pulling things out of my closet. Once he'd made a fairly large mess, the real magic happened, and a secret outlet was discovered. The levels were checked. They were good. The modem was plugged up to the new outlet, and all was well with the world.
I thanked the tech guys about fifty-five times before they left, and just as they shut the door, I bolted upstairs to watch Safari navigate from one website to the next. I think that's how Hub and I will be spending our free time for a while, enjoying the beauty of a solid internet connection.
"Are you sure?"
"The last guys that came said it could be fixed."
After a little more prodding, he visited the office and returned with a lady who is the majority of the maintenance staff here. She was on our side. She fought for us, bullied the internet man around a little bit. I like her. She took the internet man on a trip around the apartment and the hallway, making all sorts of good suggestions. Mostly just rubbing in his face that she knew a little bit about this line running, and she knew enough to know he hadn't done a thorough job. Take that internet man. After all this bullying, he said he didn't have what he needed to fix the problem, but he would come back on another appointment.
I felt defeated. I almost cried. Not because of another day without internet, but because I have my first online class today starting at 4:30, and I really didn't feel like hanging out at Barnes and Noble for two hours. Then, I got angry. This problem was supposed to be fixed THREE appointments ago. Did I really need to make another one? I don't think so. We passed ridiculous a long time ago, and I was fed up.
So, I called the internet people. The person of the internet people I talk to is Kim. I wish I could send Kim cookies. Anyway, I called Kim. I told her the history, the current story, my issues. I used my polite, businessy voice with just a hint or two of tiss. The tiss was to get my point across. Trust me, with the internet (and cable) people around here, you can't get anything done without a hint of tiss.
After I concluded my tale of woe, Kim said, "Well, it looks like someone was already out there today?"
"Yes." I replied, "he came and then left because he didn't have the appropriate drill bit."
"Well, ma'am, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it says that fixing your issue would require drywall damage, and the apartment manager won't allow it."
"That's not right."
"I'm sorry. I know it's frustrating, but we see this a lot in apartment complexes."
"No. Management gave it a go. The tech guy left because he didn't have the right part. He said he would come back. I'm just calling to make sure we get a new appointment because we've had a little trouble with that in the past, and I'd like to make sure the tech that comes for the new appointment understands that it's going to be a difficult job, and I need him to be qualified."
"So, wait. The apartment management said he could do what he needed to do to fix the issue?"
"Yes."
"You know what? This isn't okay. He'll be back as soon as possible and with his supervisor. When is a good time for you? I'm so sorry about all of this."
"It's okay. As soon as possible is good with us."
"Okay, let me check the schedule. I can't believe he falsified his report. I'm so sorry this is happening. Mrs. Hubbard, don't you worry. We will get this problem resolved. How does Friday sound? 11:30-2:30?"
"Sounds great. Thank you so much."
"It's no problem at all. I'll call you back to confirm that I've booked the appointment with your management, and please let me say again that the same tech will be back on Friday WITH his supervisor, so you should NOT run into ANY problems."
We ended the phone call with the usual niceties, and then about ten minutes later, Kim called back.
"Hi, ma'am. This is Kim, with the internet people. Will you be home for the rest of the day?"
"Yes."
"Okay, great. The tech will come back today with his supervisor as soon as possible. It shouldn't be more than an hour."
"Oh, wow. Thank you SO much."
About thirty minutes after my chat with Kim, the tech returned with his supervisor. They scurried around and asked me questions about my laundry room, looked up and down the walls. I could sense a feeling of failure in the air, and I prayed that somehow our troubles could be fixed. After a little more looking around, the two men came upstairs to the office. I think they were arguing over who would have to tell me there was nothing to be done. Then, like magic, a suggestion flowed from my lips, and the supervisor was on the ground, pulling things out of my closet. Once he'd made a fairly large mess, the real magic happened, and a secret outlet was discovered. The levels were checked. They were good. The modem was plugged up to the new outlet, and all was well with the world.
I thanked the tech guys about fifty-five times before they left, and just as they shut the door, I bolted upstairs to watch Safari navigate from one website to the next. I think that's how Hub and I will be spending our free time for a while, enjoying the beauty of a solid internet connection.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
(some of) The Things I'm Thankful For. (in no particular order) (categorized for convenience)
Books
1. The Holy Bible
2. Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
3. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
People I Don't Know
1. The Presidents of the United States of America. All of them.
2. Nelle Carlile Maris
3. Stephanie Nielson
Movies
1. The Sound of Music
2. The Man Who Knew Too Much
3. The Jungle Book
Songs
1. Que Sera, Sera by Doris Day
2. Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat
3. You are My Sunshine
Experiences
1. Walking down the aisle to get married.
2. Being a teacher of toddlers.
3. Having guests in Tucky. ("Tucky" is how I know refer to our new home state, Kentucky).
Memories
1. When Kitty held my hand just before I walked down the aisle.
2. My 13th birthday.
3. Seaside
Food
1. Avocados
2. Chocolate
3. Macaroni and Cheese
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
See Yesterday's Post for Greater Understanding of Today's
I am competent and intelligent.
I hold a Bachelor's degree.
I am grateful for my education.
I can do this.
I am competent and intelligent.
I hold a Bachelor's degree.
I am grateful for my education.
I can do this.
I am competent and intelligent.
I hold a Bachelor's degree.
I am grateful for my education.
I can do this.
I am competent and intelligent.
I hold a Bachelor's degree.
I am grateful for my education.
I can do this.
I am competent and intelligent.
I hold a Bachelor's degree.
I am grateful for my education.
I can do this.
I am competent and intelligent.
I hold a Bachelor's degree.
I am grateful for my education.
I can do this.
I AM COMPETENT AND INTELLIGENT.
I HOLD A BACHELOR'S DEGREE.
I AM GRATEFUL FOR MY EDUCATION.
I CAN DO THIS.
I AM COMPETENT AND INTELLIGENT!
I HOLD A BACHELOR'S DEGREE!
I AM GRATEFUL FOR MY EDUCATION!
I CAN DO THIS!
I CAN DO THIS!
I CAN DO THIS!!
I CAN DO THIS!!!
My name is Jessica, and I am a graduate student trying not to lose my mind. So far, I'm succeeding.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Goodbye, Life. Hello, Grad School.
My career in graduate school started yesterday.It's day two, and I'm already exhausted.
Want to know what I've done so far?
READ THE SYLLABI.
Yep. That's it. I've read my three syllabi (and a few other important pieces of information) and recorded due dates and reading schedules in my planner (color coded, of course).
The problem is, I feel as though I've just read four textbooks and written one of my own.
To combat the sense of stress and overwhelmedness* I feel, I've started repeating this mantra to myself:
I am competent and intelligent. I hold a Bachelor's degree. I am grateful for my education. I can do this.
I repeat it over and over and over. I start softly, just as a nice hum behind all of the stressful stirrings that buzz around in my brain, and gradually my mantra grows louder and louder until the stressful stirrings cease for a moment, and I calm down. Let's hope this works for the whole semester.
*I know that's not a real word.
Friday, July 9, 2010
247 so far; The Part I Enjoy.
The gifts are rolling in. My gratitude is pouring out. No, seriously.
I am a thank-you note writing machine. I have it down to a fine science. Okay, so maybe I'm not that good, but I get along okay.
Everyone (well, at least a few people) ask if I'm tired of the note writing yet. Has it become tedious? Is it finally getting to be just too much?
Nope. It hasn't. Mostly.
Sure, it's overwhelming to manage all the other facets of my life and try to write genuine thank-you notes in a timely manner that aren't carbon copies of one another; however, I quite enjoy it. That's right; I think writing thank-you notes is fun. (I wasn't an English major for nothin', ya know!)
I mean, this person got me a gift or threw me a party; he or she deserves to be appropriately thanked. Besides that, I am really grateful. People have been so gracious to Hub and me. We have received generous gift cards, beautiful decorative items, gorgeous serving pieces, and all kinds of the perfectly practical things we'll be needing. We've been blessed, and that's an understatement.
So, no, I don't mind taking a minute or two to write a note thanking the giver of the gift.
Don't get me wrong; there have been plenty of times that I've not wanted to lift my pen again for fear that my hand might fall off, but that doesn't diminish the gratitude I so desperately want to express.
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