GRATITUDE TUESDAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I hope that GRATITUDE TUESDAY will become a regular feature on my blog. The Random Acts of Kindness blogfest last week was so great that I want to continue it in some form (Thank you, Middle Child). Besides, someone who means a great deal to me, someone I consider to be very wise, suggested I make gratitude a regular part of my blog. It makes sense to me. Back when I didn't have many followers, darling Rita at The Adventures of Cinderita allowed me to write a guest post for her blog. Many of you who have been with me through thick and thin and thicker started following me after you read the guest post. And what did I write about?

Gratitude!

So here's my story about gratitude; these events occurred yesterday.

I don't have a very big yard, so I try to take care of it myself. And when it gets so hot and humid that I can't deal with lovely Florida, I whine a bit and Favorite Young Man takes over the yard for a while. In spite of being a decrepit old woman, I enjoy it; it provides me with some exercise.

Me, on a good day

So yesterday morning found me scooping poop in the backyard (I wish Favorite Young Man would use a bathroom like the Z-Boys, but when nature calls, FYM takes it literally). Then I retrieved my trusty weed whipper from the garage and wreaked havoc on some grass and weeds.

Here I am, weed whipping away.
I think I might be doing something wrong.

Then I did something pretty dumb. I lifted the weed whipper to get some weeds sticking out from the trellis that surrounds the bottom of my deck. As I lowered the weed whipper, somehow I managed to swing it toward myself just enough so that I weed whipped my left leg.

OW, I said, and dropped the weed whipper. I lifted my pants leg. No blood. Just scratches. The weed whipper likes me, he really likes me, and he apologized immediately. My bad, I said. Not your fault, I said. Weed whipper hopped up and whipped back into the garage.

Being the handy dandy first-aid person that I am, I knew I didn't need to go to the emergency room (however, for those of you who are worriers, I promise that if I have any concerns about this injury I will see a doctor). So I took a shower, put antibiotic ointment on my leg (just in case), put a bandage over the injury to provide some protective padding for the boo boo, and then wrapped it in gauze.

I have to admit that the boo boo smarted. As the day went on, it hurt. Being on my leg too much wasn't a good idea, and it's still sore today. I've been icing it, but I'm sure I'll have a sonuvabitch of a bruise.

So here's my first point of gratitude. I did something not so smart. I wasn't seriously injured.

Then late in the afternoon, I was the recipient of a "random" act of kindness that was so cute.

I went to the grocery store to get a few things, and then went in the Panera on Roosevelt in Jacksonville to have a salad. And maybe a cookie. Because a boo boo gets better with a cookie.

I asked for a flower cookie. They're lemon flavored, and I love them. They were out, but no problem because I also happen to love shortbread. I told the cashier I would take shortbread instead. A man who walked past the cashier confirmed that at least one shortbread remained.

Then that shortbread had better have my name on it, I said. Meaning: Don't sell it to someone else or the decrepit old lady with a boo boo will have a fit.

I saw the corners of the man's mouth turn up. A minute later the folks working behind the counter were giggling. The man, who turned out to be the manager, had gone to get icing to put my name on the cookie.

Everyone told me to go ahead and sit down and someone would bring my cookie out to me. So there I was with my delicious salad.

nom, nom, nom

Kandice, the adorable cashier, delivered my cookie to me personally. Written in icing, it said: For Ms. Janie Junebug, Queen of Grammar And Everything Else In The Whole World. 

Now, how can I not be grateful for that? Those people didn't even know I'd gotten hurt, and they were so incredibly nice to me.

As I was leaving, I went to the counter to thank the manager. His name is Michael. He was so sweet, and suggested that the thanks should go to Kandice, who actually did the writing. So, of course, I thanked Kandice.

I'm sorry I didn't take photos of Michael and Kandice and my cookie, but even though I know how to take a photo with my phone, I don't know what to do to transfer the photos to another location when I need them.

This is what I looked like when I went in Panera:

I left, looking like this:

Thank you, Michael and Kandice and everyone who works at Panera at 4403 Roosevelt Blvd. in Jacksonville, Florida.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug