Sometime ago I learned about NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). Patterned after the intimidating “Novel in a Month,” this site challenges and supports bloggers in posting EVERY day for a month. I know this is a difficult undertaking – not as daunting as penning a novel in 30 days – but it has to be hard because I have problems posting ONE entry a month! If you notice the date of my last posting, it was AUGUST 29th! And yet, I love to reflect, write, revise, reflect some more, revise again, edit, AND and finally push that little “publish” button. Whether or not anyone reads my words of wit and wisdom is not as important as pushing them out of my head and onto the screen.

For the past couple of months hundreds of writing ideas have rumbled through my brain’s maze, but none found the exit that zips thoughts into coherent words, sentences, and paragraphs on their way to RBS: The 7th Season! Granted, a score of creations escaped the confines of gray matter to land in work-related products, but personal meanderings are still wandering around my noggin. At least I hope they are. Good ideas disappear as quickly as a choc-o-holic’s Halloween candy, and yes, I am speaking from experience.

This lengthy introduction is my way of saying that I have committed myself to NaBloPoMo in order to PUBLISH those jumbled up thoughts, ideas, reflections before they are gone forever. There is also another motivating factor, and it’s NOT the fact that PRIZES for bloggers are awarded in November. No, I’m not a winner when it comes to those types of activities unless the prize is so infinitesimal that I’m embarrassed to claim it. The reason I decided to launch into this month’s challenge is because it is the Thanksgiving Season! My favorite holiday! Situated like half-time between two celebrations that tend to encourage avarice, Thanksgiving reminds us to pause and offer up appreciation for blessings, big and small. To demonstrate my love of this occasion, I plan to record my gratitude for something different each day.

There will be NO prioritizing my thanks, so I don’t want Mom or Hubby to think I love coconut cream pie more than I love them, as I will quick-write the first thing that comes to mind each morning. (NoBloPoMo recommend writing first thing in the morning when most people are fresh – that’s not always the case for a “night person” like me. But for a procrastinator, I dare say it’s best that I find “joy in the morning” and type up a posting before the shortened days disappear with the 5:00 P.M. sunset.)

So, what am I thankful for today? I am thankful for DREAMS! Not the dream of being a best-selling author of books about boy wizards or teen vampires, but rather the entertaining dreams that make me laugh in the dark and practice French in my sleep. (NOT the French people ask to be pardoned when they use a four-letter word. I’m talking about the French I learned in college so that I could avoid suffering through and probably failing math classes!)

Some people don’t think they dream, or they say they don’t remember their dreams. I KNOW I dream because I nearly always remember them, and they are dang funny – most of the time. I realize few people like to hear about people’s dreams, but Mom and Hubby are good sports and often listen to my latest escapades in la la land. They usually get a good chuckle out of them, too. But don’t worry, I’m not going to fill the remaining lines with a litany of my favorite bedtime tales. I just want to share what fun and laughter I derive from waking up morning after morning with crazy antics on my mind. It helps me face a Monday with a grin.

Once in a while, however, the dream is sweet – like last night’s. In the early hours of dreamland, I made a trip to Pocatello, Idaho and dropped by my grandparents home on South 13th Avenue. The little white cottage with bright blue shutters looked charming. I didn’t want to barge in on the people who now owned the house, so I walked around the side towards the backyard, hoping to see if hollyhocks, lilac bushes, and pyracantha shrubs still grew there. Suddenly, I bumped into Grandpa wearing his royal blue swim trunks, just as he always did when he mowed the lawn in summer. I spent the rest of the dream chatting with him and worrying about him.

As I tidied up the house, I enjoyed observing a few familiar idiosyncrasies that used to make the family chuckle – sitting in his favorite chair while listening to the radio or watching TV still clad in his swim trunks, for example. But Grandpa’s mood was somber. He and the house were filled with melancholy, and I knew why.

“She’s still here,” he repeated every few minutes. “You can feel her.” I knew he was talking of Grandma. Even in my dream, however, I wondered what was going on because in reality, Grandma passed away 4 years AFTER Grandpa. Maybe I was in a little patch of heaven, and I wasn’t visiting mortal Grandpa, but rather with his spirit. That wasn’t the sweetest part of the experience though. Besides being with Grandpa again, I loved witnessing his longing for Grandma. While the two weren’t exactly the romantic type when they lived here on earth, I like to think they did have a tenderness for each other that carried them into the eternities. If last night’s dream was MORE than a dream, then maybe this hope is more than a wish.