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Posts about gratitude (old posts, page 5)

Seven Years

Seven Years, cartoon at XKCD


Randall Munroe posted this yesterday1 methinks, or the day before.

And I immediately cried.2

When Abby was diagnosed with cervical cancer two years ago, the docs said we should be grateful, she had the non life threatening kind.
Even so, the last two years have been full of ups and downs and lots of uncertainty.
(We’ll be at the “How long does it take to read a scan?” stage again soon as we checkup after two years)

I think I understand a little of what Becky & Kate are going through, having gone through some of it ourselves.
And I have no words to express what Becky must be going through or how Kate must be holding up.

All I can do is pray.

If you would, please go help Becky here



And Abby, 2018? It’s a date!


  1. Today is the 15th of December, 2017. 

  2. So did Abby, once she read this 

It’s the Little Things

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The little things you say
To me, and nobody else
Make me feel good
The little things you say
To me, make me laugh out loud
And not when I should

That’s why
I like to hang out with you
I never can guess
The next mad thing you'll do
And I like that we've made, a mistake or two
Together

Mikey McCleary, The Little Things You Do


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Not all superheroes wear capes!



Happy birthday, Mummy!

Love from Daddy …

and the rest of your entire brood!

Almost 40

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They danced for nearly forty long years.

And we loved them every minute.

Happy anniversary, mummy & daddy!

75 Years, In Memoriam

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Dad was what Brett McKay calls, both a good man and good at being a man.

I could write reams about my father, but I wouldn’t know where to start.

He gave me life and then has been my sustenance ever since.
He’s the source of everything that’s good in me.

His deep baritone, echoed in our fledgling church as we sung hymns every Saturday.
When I close my eyes and remember my early years, it’s his voice that sings me rhymes and lullabies.
Our love for music and song flow from that voice.

He was an artiste and master craftsman.
While he plied his trade as a carpenter, he could build a beautifully functional anything.
Our home used to be filled with carvings of little animals he made.
Speakers, he built, filled our home with music and song.
School books used to be adorned with his sketches (as was my homework)

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There’s a Mickey on my bookshelf door that smiles at me, everyday.
I write these words on a table he built 25 years ago (as he did everything else at home.)
Mom never had to worry about knives or dressing tables.

If there was anything that needed doing, he’d do it.
A grassroots worker, he helped build up two little church congregations.
He helped people around in our little chawl.
“Uncle” was always helpful with time and money and chocolates for little ones who always seemed to find him, wherever he was.

He was a giver and a doer.
A Good Samaritan of the highest order, he’d give the shirt off his back if he could.
Be kind to those in need is something he lived and imbued in us.
Folks call me a sentimental fool at times.
And I’m proud! My father taught me that.

The more I live my life, the more I realise I’ve imbued so much of him.
The curiosity to always learn something new.
The strength to endure whatever life throws your way.
Valuing family over everything else.
Being kind.
Amor Fati.

And to paraphrase Brett again, as I think of the life my Dad led, as I think of the shade he sheltered me in, I’ve a painful yearning to return home.
The Greeks called this nostalgia.
And while my heart aches for that time, it’s a good ache.
I’m glad I have those memories and I’m indebted to Dad for giving them to me.


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Happy Anniversary, wife!

I don’t know how to live without you!