Mrs. Lindquist- Thankful

                I am thankful for the small stuff.

         Like getting to school each day. For the last forty-five years, I have commuted to Latimer Lane from my home in Wethersfield. The drive is a 40-minute, 19.4-mile obstacle course of four-lane turnpikes, crowded city streets, twisting suburban back roads, major arteries, minor arteries, 42 intersections, 14 stop signs, 21 traffic lights, 9 bus stops, 17 pedestrian crossings, 2 train crossings, a bridge, a valley, and a mountain. 

         Along the way, there are ample opportunities for misadventures. And I’m no stranger to them. In my last house, the challenge began before leaving the garage. We had a 16’ x 7’, 132-pound, steel-back door that was a worthy match for an Olympic deadlifter. If it jumped the track – as it did, regularly – I’d be lucky to make lunchtime recess duty. These days, my car sits in the driveway, uncovered, so if we’re treated to an overnight snowstorm -- well, no need for arm day at the gym. 

         And those storms have added all sorts of other trials to the morning mix. Simsbury Mountain is fine for a snowcat, not so much for my previous car. There were many winters when I got to slide down Simsbury Road like a kid on a well-soaped toboggan. More than once, I had made it to the bottom of that slick hill, quietly exhaled, and  – Wham! –the leadfoot behind me had mashed my rear bumper. (One time, the lead shoe was on the other foot, and I was the one who scuttled the morning of the very forgiving owner of a new Corvette in front of me.)  I’m thankful I now have my Subaru. Then there were the days before cell phones, when I would proudly make the slushy slog to Simsbury on time and unscathed, only to arrive at an empty building:  school had been canceled, but the eleventh-hour message from the superintendent’s office was left on my home answering machine just minutes after I’d left the house. 

          Every day of my commute, I’m thankful when things like these don’t happen. I’m thankful when the car starts and gets out of the driveway each morning. I’m thankful when I make it down the roads and through the intersections with my bumpers – and body – intact. I’m thankful for the timely snow alerts on my cell phone (and even more thankful for the days without snow alerts, period). And I’m thankful when I finally make it through the front door of Latimer Lane to see my students and colleagues each morning.

           When my dad was alive, he would get down on his knees each morning to pray and give thanks. Every day above ground was a blessing, he’d wryly quip. Appreciate the positives in life – big and small – as, Lord knows, there’s no shortage of negatives.   

            I guess the apple has not fallen far from the tree. And I’m thankful for that, too.