Count Your Blessings

On Monday, I went to my mom’s like I usually do after my stint at radio station True Country 93.5.  I arrived just after nine. It was very cold and had snowed a couple inches overnight so I thought I would shovel the driveway. You never know what might happen and I wanted to make sure the path was clear for any emergencies.

I left my home at four-thirty to travel the icy highway south and, with my mind centered on the conditions of the roads, I had forgotten my mittens. When I arrived I asked my mom if I could borrow hers. She said I could and rolled her wheelchair into her bedroom to fetch them. After donning her heavy sweatshirt over my already warm jacket for extra protection from the bitter wind, she came back and handed me her mittens.

I thought they were going to be the big black mittens with the white fur inside. Apparently, that pair is long gone because she handed me a pair of blue knitted mittens. I was confused and said “These aren’t your black mittens.” She replied “No, these are my mama’s mittens.”

My deceased grandmother, even though blind, had knitted mittens for all of us for many years. Those blue mittens might very well be the last pair in existence. I took them from her and was proud to put them on.

When I did, there was a big hole in one of the thumbs. She said “I’m sorry about the hole.” I told it was no problem and that I didn’t care because they will keep my hands warm while I shovel.

I went outside and it took, maybe, fifteen to twenty minutes to shovel her small and, thankfully, level driveway. I came back in and handed her back the mittens. I held out my hands and showed her “Look, Ma, nice and warm.” She took my hands in hers to confirm I was indeed warm to the touch. She noticed my bracelet and grabbed that hand.

“See that?” she asked me. “Look at mine.” Her hand with her bracelet around her wrist was holding my hand with my bracelet around mine. She had bought hers after watching a Hallmark movie entitled “The Blessing Bracelet”. She pointed to hers which has 4 beads on it and said “I have had a few blessings in my life but you” pointing to mine “have had so many.” She was referring to the number of beads on mine which was an entire bracelet full.

I disagreed. I told her she had had many blessings in her life including her many children that love her…and a mom that made mittens. That made her smile.

I started thinking about what she had said. This week has been a very trying week for me and my family. Lots of things have been going on and they have been difficult to get through. I wouldn’t be getting through them without people in my life that care about me and my family.

And God put them there.

He has put people in my life in so many situations and most of the time I didn’t even know I was going to need them. Family, friends, coworkers, spouses of friends, children of friends, and friends of my child…they have all come forward this week to offer support. I am so thankful for them all.

The 1954 film “White Christmas” has a scene between Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney where she explains she is having trouble sleeping. He sings to her the lyrics of the song 'Count Your Blessings' written by Irving Berlin:

“When I’m worried and I can’t sleep.

I count my blessings instead of sheep

And I fall asleep counting my blessings.

When my bankroll is gettin’ small

I think of when I had none at all

And I fall asleep counting my blessings.”

Throughout all that’s gone on in the last seven days, one thing that hasn’t changed is saying my prayers before I go to sleep. And I do fall asleep counting my blessings. And I do feel better. And I do feel peace. And I have been blessed. And I am thankful for all God has blessed me with.

So whether it takes a movie, a bracelet or a trial that nudges you to not forget you ARE blessed, remember you blessings. One of my favorite hymns is “Count Your Blessings” written by Johnson Oatman Jr in 1897 and set to music by Edwin O. Excell:

                        "When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed,

                        When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,

                        Count your many blessings, name them one by one

                        And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.

                        Count you blessings, name them one by one;

                        Count your blessings, see what God hath done;

                        Count your blessings, name them one by one,

                        And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done."

Count them. Every day. Give thanks for them. Make a habit of it. You WILL feel better. You WILL feel peace. I can testify that it is true. 

True Tales of a Talker #5: The Connecticut Fisherman

 

Maine in summer is my favorite time of year. I love the amount of daylight, the rain and the hot, sunny days spent outside. 

Chad and I love to fish! At the beginning of this year he taught me how. It is something he has done since he was child and now he has passed it along to me. And as far as I know I'm not half bad.

We fish in a few different spots. We have gone to Lovejoy Pond in Albion, Douglas Pond in Pittsfield and frequent the Sebasticook River.

That's where we met him.

We were on our way back to the boat launch near the bridge off Peltoma Avenue when Chad had almost hooked a big bass. Our luck had not been very good that morning. Neither of us had caught anything in about 4 hours of fishing. When the bass had unexpectedly come off the hook, a frustrated Chad shouted a very colorful word. VERY colorful. So loud and so colorful it made me cringe. He was extremely mad. He then looked over to his left and said to me sheepishly "Great. And there was someone here to hear that." I looked to my left and saw him.

The Connecticut Fisherman.

He was an older gentleman in a blue single person kayak decked out with rod holder and a few other thingamabobs that Chad had probably seen in an ad from Karl's Bait and Tackle. He was a bit portly and having the life jacket around his neck made him look more so. A hat protected his head from the sun beating down on it and sunglasses protected his eyes from the reflection of it on the water. 

The thing I noticed was his smile. He was probably thinking he had been in Chad's situation a time or two before. 

As we traveled past him I waved my arm to say hi because I can't resist greeting another person. He said hello and asked how the fishing was. I answered that it wasn't so good. I had a few bass hooked but nothing I could pull into the boat and my husband's day was even worse than mine if that was possible. He said:

"That's the fun of it, isn't it? At least you're outside enjoying this beautiful day!"

How right he was. 

After two straight weeks of temperatures in the upper eighties and terrible hair-wrecking humidity (am I right, girls?), it WAS a beautiful day! It had started out overcast with nine mile an hour winds. After three hours the clouds had disappeared to leave us with sun and warmth...and no humidity. It truly had turned into a beautiful day.

When I heard his voice I knew the accent. It was definitely southern.

How could he be a Connecticut Fisherman with a southern accent?

That's where the talking comes in.

I told him "With that accent you can't be from Maine."

He laughed. He said he was from Connecticut. I told him I was too! When he asked what part I told him Milford. He said he knew where that was and asked if I had ever heard of Wauregan. I had but I couldn't tell where it was. Wauregan was close to the border of Rhode Island. He mentioned Bridgeport where my mom is from and Hartford. I told him I had relatives in those areas. The Fisherman had moved to Wauregan in 1966 from South Carolina. Wait. What?

"You have lived there for that long and still haven't lost your southern accent?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's something I've always had and will never lose. Have a great day and I hope you catch something!" He tipped his boonie hat and paddled away. I would bet my Gary Carter baseball card collection that if he hadn't had sunglasses on, we would have seen him wink at us.

Not more than five minutes later, Chad hooked a pickerel. It wasn't the bass he had wanted but it was something! When we fish we always go out hoping to catch "The Big Bass'. Instead, that day we learned a big lesson from a southern Yankee: 

There is always something to be thankful for each and every day.