My Big Fat Thank You

Thank you, dear friends, for inviting me to live here in the sunny studio apartment at the back of your garden. There are so many things I love about it, that I couldn’t possibly write them all down. As a sample, here are some of the first things I noticed feeling grateful for when I woke up this morning.

Thank you for these huge windows. The view is great, but I like it even better when I can’t see the garden or the trees or the hills. If it’s dark outside I have 3-D night-sky-wallpaper, which is the very prettiest kind, I think.

Thank you for these French doors that swing so wide. I keep them propped open much of the day, and feel like I am living outside, except with all the comforts of living inside.

Thank you for this brick patio with the view of your garden and the hills beyond your house. I’ve spent several happy evenings sitting out there, either alone or chatting with friends. Last night I watched the slivery moon, all blurry through the fog, disappear mysteriously as if someone were erasing it bit by bit from the bottom up. It was too foggy to see the hill that it must have been setting behind, and it looked like a magic trick.

Thank you for the frogs that sing me to sleep at night. I know you didn’t put them there, but I wouldn’t have them if it weren’t for you.

Thank you for the comfortable couch. I thought I might need to bring a bed from my other house, but I’ve slept on the sofa for 6 nights now, and I’ve been very comfortable. It’s nice to have the soft back of it to curl up against. It’s a little bit less like sleeping alone.

Thank you for this wonderful deep tub. I don’t mind at all that there isn’t a shower. I look forward to my surgery-site being completely healed so I can soak in a long hot bath. But, until then, and for everyday water conservation, I just splash around in a few inches of hot water. The empty yogurt tub you left in there is the perfect thing for pouring it over my head. I bet that’s why you left it.

Thank you for the tiny blue tiles that cover the walls and floor of the bathroom. Sometimes I feel like little pieces of the sky have been carved up and glued together. Other times I feel like I am at the bottom of a magic swimming pool.

Thank you for appreciating good design and making this space that is filled with it. These clean lines and simple shapes help me to relax and focus every day.

Thank you for this little blond desk that was easy to move over to the window, even with my not-quite-healed-up-body. I sit at it for hours each day, writing in my journal, and getting closer to knowing what I want to do with my lucky self now that I am cancer-free.

Thank you for the beautiful art on the walls. I especially like the girl jumping rope in the yellow dress, and the man in the black jacket. She looks joyful and free. He looks solid and kind. They are perfect companions for this time of transition and new beginnings.

Thank you for this baby grand piano. I ache to be able to play it, but since I can’t, I’ve enjoyed having other people play it for me. There’s nothing like having live music in your home! Maybe someday soon I will even find someone who will play the songs that I can sing. Then, I will really be in heaven.

Thank you for this roomy closet full of shelves. I have plenty of room for everything.



Thank you for this beautiful floor the color of honey that is so clean and smooth. What is it made of? Bamboo?

Thank you for the two story playhouse and blue slide outside my front door. I haven’t climbed into the playhouse or tried the slide yet (maybe I am too big?) But, just seeing them every morning reminds me to be playful and light while approaching my new challenges.

Thank you for the wheel barrow you left in the garden. I used it yesterday to carry my new mini-fridge up the hill to the shop.

Thank you for the clothesline in such a handy spot. I love hanging my things out to dry in this abundant sunshine, rather than using the dryer. Everything I wear smells SO good.

Thank you for the use of your bicycles. I rode all the way home from Shell Beach yesterday, after dropping of a car I’d borrowed. I took the back way, which was beautiful. The day was perfect. The vineyards were deep green. The traffic was minimal. I re-taught myself how to pedal while sitting up straight and holding my arms straight out to the side. It feels like flying. I stopped at that little antique shop and café in Edna, but it was closed. I’d never really noticed it before. It’s funny how much more you notice when you’re not whizzing by in a car. I’ll have to go back someday when it’s open. Maybe with you?

Thank you for the use of your electric scooter and helmet. I haven’t used it yet. I think I might this Saturday. I am going to a baby shower at Upper Crust. A lot of my friends from work, whom I haven’t seen since I got diagnosed/fired will be there. I hate to think that they might worry about me or feel sorry for me. I love riding the bike and don’t mind that I don’t have a car right now. But, arriving on that super-cute scooter feels like a lot more fun. I think I’ll be adorable on it (I’ve never seen anyone on an electric scooter who wasn’t adorable) and being adorable just shouts to the world, “Look at me! I’m okay! Don’t worry! Everything’s fine!”

Thank you for repeating your gracious offer several times. It was hard for me to accept, knowing that there was nothing I could do to pay you back for such extreme generosity. I think I really know what humility is now, at least for me. Maybe each person has a different version of humility to learn, depending on where their pride lies? I have always been proud of being self-sufficient, competent and generous. For me, humility is has three parts. 1. Admitting I need help. 2. Accepting it graciously. 3. (This is last one is the most important and hardest part) Not feeling bad about myself because I don’t have anything of equal value to offer in return. Actually, I hope I can never repay you. I hope it will be impossible to repay you because you will never be as much in need of assistance as I have been lately. But, if you ever are, you know who to call! I’ll do anything I can; share anything I’ve got.

Thank you for choosing such wonderful young women to sublet your house to while you are gone. I miss you and wish you were here, but I think the fact that you are away helps me out a little too. If you were here, I’d love seeing you everyday, but I’d be anxious about overstaying my welcome. I’d probably be working hard to get independent again. Now, at least until February, I feel I can relax and take my time figuring out what I really want to do next. Some people might think that a place to stay is a gift of money, but really, it’s not. It’s a gift of time. Other than your friendship, which I am so lucky to have already, I can’t think of anything more precious and useful.