::grateful for::

:: walls to paint.

Remember that wall I painted orange for my birthday a year and a half ago?

It's not orange anymore. I covered it with chalkboard paint and it became an integral part of Thanksgiving dinner this year. I envision it holding all kinds of messages and lists and sayings over the years. I think I've got it just right now.

:: family.

Look closely and you'll find a gratitude list in photographs and even in words, high above the window... love that addition. Thank you, Jim.

:: those who pitch in.

Those who eat. Those who clean up. Those who appreciate. Thank you, my baker.

::good work to do.

I know it's almost December and we'll be racing headfirst into the holidays, I know I have one more trip this year, to two elementary schools in East Tennessee next week, but I am still going to try to write every day in December. Okay, maybe not Christmas Day, we'll see how it goes.

For the first time in ten years, I plan to be home more than away next year -- home almost all year long. I've been planning and scheming for this year, and I think finally I can swing it.

I'm grateful for this coming year of writing -- a writing intensive. I want to get a head start on that year in December. So on December 1, I will tiptoe back into my novel. I'll write about that process, here.

I'm also going to use December to set up next year's writing year. I'll chronicle that here, too. I don't exactly know how it will work, but I have ideas. I may never have another year like this one to write and write and write in, and I want to use it wisely. I have lots and lots... and lots... of ideas, and stories I want to write.

I also have lots of living I want to do. Lots of learning to love Atlanta. Lots of exploring with my sweetheart, lots of staying put and venturing forth. Lots of family time. Lots of memories to make. Lots of becoming. Lots of letting go.

I feel rawther pregnant with possibility. ha!

So I'm nesting now. Getting ready. And very grateful. For everything. In advance. Yep, everything. All the messy glory. Come on in, I say... let the year of possibility begin.

let us love one another

It's not possible to tell you all I am thankful for this year. I'm choked up just thinking about it. It has been an amazing year full of ups... and downs.

Thank goodness for ALL of it. As Uncle Edisto says, "Open your arms to life! Let it strut into your heart in all its messy glory!" Yessir. Wise man.

I have learned so much about the messy glory this year. And so, as I prepare for tomorrow's feast -- I am about to start all the cooking prep -- I want to say thank you. I am grateful to the crazymakers and the peacemakers. Grateful to the hapless, the hopeless, the helpless, and the helpers. Grateful to be alive in this time and place. Grateful to be able to do good work in the world. Grateful to those who labor beside me.

I want to be ready for tomorrow's feast, which I'm dedicating to those who will not have a feast but want one; those who will not be surrounded by family and friends but want to be. Those who are fallible. Those who are human. Those who love even when they are not loved back. I want to be ready to honor them.

So I spent some of yesterday bringing the outside in, which I always do when I know those I love will come celebrate with me.

 Into the yard with my clippers. Into Irene with my bounty.

Then I washed the dishes. Hannah and I found these beautiful old dishes at Kudzu last week. They called to me, whispered, cajoled, fairly begged to be taken home, so I adopted them, brought them to my kitchen, and started their new life by giving them a good bath.

Then I set the table.

And organized what I brought in from outside.

I moved the furniture in my office, and created a dining room.

 And I created a gratitude collage on one wall. I'm almost done adding the photographs of those I am grateful to this year. If you look carefully, you can see the Beatles peeking out from behind a photo of me in that top left corner. You can see my mother-in-law's wedding photo, you can see my children, my family, my heart.

2011 is almost gone. I have dreams for the future, even in these troubled times, these sometimes desperate days, these also-amazing days, and I say:

Let us not worry about who is right. Let us not care about who's ahead. Let us always see the best in one another. Let us feed and care for and nurture one another and see who we really are. Let us tend to one another's wounds and adopt one another and bathe one another in the light of our understanding. Let us understand what brotherhood means. And let us love one another. Always.

around atlanta: smack into the city

Downtown and South Downtown (SoDo), into Grant Park.  It was a Sunday afternoon and I had questions. Where are all the people who live here, dine here, shop here, raise their families here?

They aren't here. They have moved to Midtown and other neighborhoods. People may work in downtown Atlanta, but they surely don't live here anymore (for the most part), although there is a large homeless population. We got out and walked, and we drove through, in late afternoon, and watched men and women making ready their beds for the night with pieces of cardboard, with shopping carts, a blanket perhaps, under ramps and in parking lots, on steps.

We also got caught up in the traffic leaving the Georgia Dome after a Falcons game. The population swelled for a moment, but all cars were heading out of the city.

This article, in Creative Loafing, addressed some of my questions.  It's titled "South Downtown Must be Fixed for Atlanta to Thrive" followed by this subhead: "The area south of Five Points was once bustling. What the hell happened?" It's enlightening and opinionated. The comments are... interesting.

What a contrast from our last Sunday drive! I want some books about Atlanta's history. Preferably with lots of photos. Anybody know where I should start?

I'm in D.C. today, working with 4th graders at The Potomac School. We're talking about how to create unforgettable characters. These kids are teaching me a lot. They're fabulous. I'm on my lunch break. Back to it. I'll be home -- home to my new home town -- on Wednesday night.