Thanksgiving is in the air. No, not the spicy fragrance of pumpkin pie. ‘Tis heartier fare I speak of, more refreshing than a double shot of espresso to a caffeine addict marooned on a desert isle. I’m talking about Bright Spots.
My mother, widowed with seven children, taught me to recognize them, from a distance, in passing, and in disguise.
It’s like bird watching. Flashy red cardinals and blue jays naturally draw the eye, and you can’t miss the shiny green pate of a male Mallard. But look among the mottled brown feathers of a female Mallard, and you can see the lucky lady sports a striking patch of iridescent blue feathers on each wing that would make a peacock proud.
Each night when I tucked my kids in, we looked back on the day and counted our blessings. I had proof this lesson ‘took’ when I took my daughter Bea to England. We spent our first day at Anne Boleyn’s childhood home, Hever Castle, and our first night in ‘Heaver Hell.’ Bea got sick all over her bed. When I put her in mine so I could clean up hers, she barfed on my bed too. In the wee hours of the morning, after the 10th upheaval, Bea flashed me a weak smile and said, “At least now I can brag that I’m into the double digits.” That’s what I call looking at the bright side!
Bea at Bodiam Castle, feeling MUCH better!
All words and images ©2016Naomi Baltuck