I suppose it would be easy enough to curse the cold in Kansas this morning. There’s certainly enough of it, even here in the least east corner. With Mr. Fahrenheit’s red-eyed glass slumping at the minus-four mark, it’s cold. It feels cold. This is the kind of cold where a cup of boiling water bursts into steam as soon as it hits the air and nary a drop hits the ground. The kind of cold where your fingers start tingling by the time you get to the mailbox.
I suppose I could also curse the snow, what with the fresh three or four inches on top of the five or six we already had and a melted, thawed re-frozen base beneath it that makes it slicker than oil on glass.
But instead I’m being grateful this morning. Grateful for my insulated coveralls. Grateful for my insulated boots. Grateful for thick gloves, wool scarf and hat. Grateful for my tractor and a garage in which to park it. Grateful for natural gas. Grateful for electricity. Grateful for the sausage sizzling in the skillet when I come back in from blading the driveway. Grateful for the woman sizzling the sausage. Grateful for jobs, a car with a good heater and good tires.
I think if I keep this up for another minute or two, I just might be ready to start the day! And starting a day with gratitude sure feels better than starting one with grumbling.