When you get to the bottom you go back to the top

(Here you go, Linds. With no editing, as promised. Date originally penned, January 19, 2005)

I'm thankful for new beginnings, "bubble bath" OPI nail polish, Yale Avenue and cell phones. I'm thankful for lunches with the girlies, drives to Salt Lake with Katharine and the feeling I get when I walk in my back door. I'm thankful for my Iowa roots, the red water pump at the cabin and memories of picking blackberries in Grandma Fetzer's backyard. For my gray slippers. For forgiveness. I'm thankful for the nights I can fall asleep quickly, that even if the Rhondeaus are out of town I can look through the window on the landing and know they won't ever move away again. That the people who know me better than I know myself are honest with me. I'm thankful for sacrament hymns full of powerful words, for reverence, for fathers' blessings and mothers' intuition. For cherished moments talking late at night with Em, for Anne and Jim's "Mutual Admiration Society." For Subway's veggie sandwiches. That I don't have to do shots anymore. That Libby's hearing loss has slowed. For memories of Bis. For walks around the neighborhood with Chewy. For Kates. I'm thankful for that little space heater we keep in the study that keeps me warm while I email. That my parents haven't moved. For short Cafe Rio lines, for Pentel "rolling writer" pens. I'm thankful for Dad's Groucho Marx lines about elephants in pajamas and for Mom's advice on love and relationships. I'm thankful for Sunday afternoons in Provo, that the temple is so close, and that families are forever. For post-it notes, my blue sweat pants, for my tea cups and for our trip to France. I'm thankful for my talents, for vibrant colors, for polka-dots, for possibility, for understanding, for time that can heal wounds. I'm thankful for Nalgene bottles, the Tonoko kids, (who teach me more than I teach them) for the mountains and for the sound that rain makes on the skylights at home. That Grandma Fetzer and Grandma and Grandpa Haglund are still with us. For snow angels. For pearl earrings. For phone calls from Libby and lunches in the Cougareat with the 10th ward. I'm thankful I live in America. That Fridays always come, that the gospel will always be true, that part of my heart still resides in our little house on 9th South, that there is calm after a storm and for the knowledge that what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. I'm thankful for hope.