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Being grateful at the farmette

It's a gloomy day at the farmette. Chilly, not cold, with a wisp of snow on the ground. Lately, I've noticed a lot of buzz about how being grateful and counting your blessings is good for your attitude and even your physical health. There's also the fact the U.S. just celebrated their Thanksgiving - although the Black Friday 'greeding frenzy' seems to overshadow the meaning of the holiday. Anyway, I'm in a mood. So today I thought I'd do a gratitude column. Here goes:

My hubby. Rob's a gem. He feeds me, gets me coffee, lifts me up when I'm down and regularly tells me that he's proud of me. It means a LOT. We're both getting older and creakier, but we're still in pretty good nick. It'll be 25 years together come February, and, while we've had our ups and downs like everyone else, I wouldn't trade my life with him for anything.

My business. This year has been especially good for me. I've nearly doubled my income and still going strong. Who knew four years ago, when I made the big leap from a steady secure job to a no-guarantees independent business that I'd be chugging along on all cylinders like I am now? Okay, Rob, my sister, my close friends, the cats - no they just want to be cuddled and fed, really. I'm just so chuffed and thankful that things have worked out the way they have.

My family. I feel really lucky that I have sisters and brothers who are supportive. Some are close by and some far, far away, and while I talk to my sisters more than the brothers, I carry them all around in my heart all the time. Right now, brother Dan's partner Arlene is going through a rough patch with cancer, so I've been sending positive vibes every day to help them both. Hope they're receiving.

My friends are also crucial to my sanity and spirits. Being in touch with like-minded people who celebrate the wins, bitch about the bad days and commiserate over the losses is a gift I never take for granted. I don't have many close ones, but you know who you are.

My cats. We're down two, and having Nick and Nora gone makes me sad. But the three that are left are pretty entertaining furballs. Hobbes, the five-year-old orange giant, who still carries around the teddy that we gave him when he was barely breathing as a kitten. Bea, who has decided that laying on my chest and murping (meow-purring) first thing in the morning is the best way to get me to start the day. Lily - the ice queen - has taken to actually asking for attention by fixing me with the Puss 'n Boots stare and emitting her signature Lauren Bacall growl.

So there you have it. Feeling better, brighter, strong and faster by just writing all this stuff down. Maybe there's something to this gratefulness thing after all. Until next week.

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