Thankful

I wish I had mental email. Just a quick way to reach out and nudge you with my thoughts, to let you know I’m thinking about you. I think about all of you all the time. Friends and family, acquaintances and passerby’s. I think about all of you all the time. But sending you an email would be weird, just to say, “thanks for the toilet… again… for the tenth time…” weird. But I think it. I think “THANK YOU.” All the time. For all you’ve all to us. Here is a woefully incomplete list of things I think about all the time.

I think of my dad every time I sit on the toilet. I do. Sorry if that offends. But here’s the thing – my dad fixed the toilet in my house when I didn’t have a clue. Not only did he fixed it but he figured out a way to clean a twenty year old toilet that always looked, well, a bit shifty. He came in, cleaned it, fixed it, tightened it all up and then, to top it all off he put on a brand new oak seat and lid. Fancy. So every time I go into the bathroom and sit down on my fantastically old toilet that is new again, I think of my dad. About his sacrifice, knowledge and skill. It’s pretty dang cool.

When I sit on my furniture in my living room I think of an old professor I had at the University of Utah. She gave us these fantastic couch and chair. They are big and overstuffed and completely comfortable. You can actually sleep in the chair it’s so cozy. She and her husband could have given to goodwill, but instead she had goodwill and gave them to us. And we didn’t have to pay a thing. She makes sitting and reading and visiting in my front room very comfortable. She didn’t have to do that.

Every time I hear the piano I think of my mom. She knew we couldn’t afford a piano, and she knew the girls wanted to learn how to play. So she bought us one. It’s perfect for our home. She sacrificed whatever she could have bought with that money and she found us a perfect piano for our little living room. And now my daughters can play the piano and learn to love and appreciate music because of her amazing sacrifice.

Every time I turn on music in my room I think of my youngest brother. One day, out of the blue, he gives me a gift of a small, expensive little speaker set that allows me to sit in bed and listen to music with amazing clarity and depth. My room was silent before his gift. And now it’s filled with music. Thank you my brother.

My house that we live in was a gift from a man I had never met. Tambee and I were just barely married, not even two years when we got offered our house. We need thousands of dollars for a down payment. Thousands. No one had it. No one. And those that did have it, wouldn’t give it. We were too young, it was too early in our lives, it wasn’t the right time, we were rushing into it, whatever. No one had the money. Except for Uncle Buck. A guy I had never met. Tambee called him, told him our situation, and he, without a doubt asked how much we needed and where should he send it. He gave us the whole down payment. All of it. Without a question. And never asked for it back. That was the gift that Uncle Buck gave me. And I never met him until years later. Thanks Uncle Buck. Enjoy Heaven.

Every time I look at my tree house I think of my brother. I have a house with a perfect tree for a tree house but no skill in carpentry. One day my brother comes over and stands, hands on hips in my backyard and says, “Why don’t have you a tree house up there?” and I respond, that I wouldn’t know where to even begin. And so he says, “You buy it and I’ll build it. I can’t stand to see that tree without a tree house. It needs one and so do your kids.” So for the next few days he designed and built the most amazing tree house I’ve ever seen, with swinging gate, open sides and clear plastic roof. Amazing. A lot of hours have been spent up there; not just by the kids but by me. it brings me a lot of peace to sit in the tree houses shaded walls and look out on my yard and the park behind like some defunct king of my perfect little kingdom. All because my brother was willing to spend his time and talent on my tree house. Thanks man.

The list goes on and on and on. Peoples generosity and thoughtfulness is endless. The carpet my uncle gave us. The furniture my grandparents gave us. All the repairs my dad and brothers have done. The upgrades my sister made to the bathroom and bedrooms downstairs. The photos taken by friends and hung on our walls. And so forth and so on.

Our lives are made up of what others have done for us. We live in a world created and donated by the skill and generosity of others. And I walk through this world astounded and grateful for everything they’ve done for us. And I would like to send out quick little mental emails – little mental nudges made up of color and emotion – that let you know how much your contribution to my life has meant and how much I appreciate what you’ve done. Sending you an email, or a letter or a phone call just to let you know “Hey, thanks for that tree house you built me ten years ago. I really appreciate it. All the skill you put in to it, the time and patience with me. it means a lot to have you as a brother and a friend.” Well, that would be a bit weird. People would think I was going to commit suicide and was getting ready to end my life, wrapping up old issues and whatever.

But as I walk through my day and noticed stuff you’ve all done and think about times we’ve had and everything you mean to me I would instead like to gently reach out to your mind and nudge you. It would be just a gently nudge like two friends walking down the beach together in silence and I gently bump your shoulder with mine, you look over and I smile, like – yeah, this is a good freakin’ day, right? – and you nod back and smile. And that’s all that’s said. That’s what my mental nudges would be like. Just a gentle bumping on your brain-door you could tell it’s me because of the knock and then there would be a soft hum of music and probably a slow tumble of color – reds and oranges and light blues and greens and then a picture of what you’ve done for me – but it would be through my eyes, so you could know how much it meant to me. just to let you know I was thinking about it again. It would take maybe a second. Maybe two. And then I’d be back to my day and you’d be back to yours and we would have both made that quick connection. Wouldn’t that be great. But for now I’m stuck here, doing nothing, thinking about you and all the thing’s you’ve all done. And you’re all out there disconnected from me, not realizing how much you’ve actually meant to me. and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry you don’t know how you made me who I am, how I think, how I act; your actions have had a direct impact on my life. And I’m sorry you don’t know that. Maybe I’ll send you an email later. Hope that’s not too weird.