Dear Primary Children’s Hospital,
Thank you for having responsive staff and doctors who can handle all the nutty behaviors. When Jack and his entourage enter your doors, we essentially put you through an unwitting, rigorous testing period. Can one’s facility stand up to a nonverbal, frustrated, ear-infected teen with severe developmental delay? Let’s find out!
Dear University Behavioral Health Clinic,
Thank you for existing and for being in our corner these last 13 years. My goodness, we would be up a creek without you. Also, paddle-less.
Thank you for putting your head in my lap today and letting me scratch your scalp and run my fingers through your gingery curls. You’re such a good, brave boy.
For installing the new microwave after the old one died when we lived a dark, sad existence for five long days without one, I salute you. You are super handy and wonderful (and lovable) to have around. Same goes for your work with the fireplace mantel. It is magnificent.
Dear My New Refrigerator,
I realize I am perhaps TOO happy about your presence in my kitchen. But, New Fridge, I’ve never before in my life owned a brand new fridge that I picked out myself. So you see, MNF, I think you are a thing of beauty and I love you. Putting away the groceries on your shelves yesterday was a gratitude exercise, which may make me a pretty weird-sounding, yet completely honest person.
Dear People of Instagram,
Consider yourselves LUCKY and also BLESSED that you were not subjected to photos of a) My New Refrigerator or b) my Costco groceries reposing in loveliness on said fridge’s shelves. The thought of posting them crossed my mind. I squelched it (you’re welcome).
Watching your basketball game was super fun for me this afternoon.
Dear Wasatch Mountains,
Your pink, frosty peaks did a number on me this evening. Sheesh, the shifting light, the smudges of pigment, the ephemeral brilliance of your altered states! This is why people (who aren’t me) write poems.
Dear Thomas S. Monson,
Thank you for inspiring me to be a better person. The best funerals, I believe, leave participants with a feeling of uplift and hope. I only caught a few minutes of your funeral broadcast, President Monson, as I drove from Jack’s appointments to Jack’s other appointments, but I snatched up the sense of goodness which permeated the service and, as it were, your life. Thank you for being you, and for making people feel important and loved.
I’ve never been so neutral and okay with you before. I think it may have something to do with the 50 degree daytime temps and the storms which basically stay in the mountains. Maybe, January, it has something to do with the fact that for the first time in a very long time, this new year feels like a real fresh start. 2017 pummeled me more than once, but I don’t feel desolate. I’m hopeful, plus grateful. Which equals happy.