With the Halloween hullabaloo put to rest now, the nation will try on another way of being as it moves into our official and utterly noncontroversial season of thanksgiving.

This year, that preparation for me begins with reflections on the decorative little notebooks I have kept since I was a teenager to jot down quotes the words all around that spoke to me once and deserved rereading.

I compare this quote book collection to boxes of hand-dipped assorted chocolates. Some quotes taste as fanciful as strawberry buttercream filling and others as intense as dark chocolate truffles.

As in: A party without cake is just a meeting, according to Julia Child, American chef, author, and television cooking show pioneer.

On the next page, a thought from German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche: Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.

Some quotes might as well be chocolate-covered dried apricots for their practical nourishment.

Founding Father Benjamin Franklin likely folded his spectacles and took leave of his desk after writing: Well done is better than well said.

Other quotes in these notebooks remind me of my favorite candy. That would be the old-fashioned, chocolate covered fairy candy also known as sponge candy, seafoam and angel food for its near weightlessness.

The body is a sacred garment, said Martha Graham, avant garde American modern dancer and choreographer.Finally, my quote collection includes mystery candy, such as the enigmatic question in the bible in John 1:38 where Jesus stops and turns to look at two guys trailing him.

What do you want? he asks.

But this handwritten collection lacks the quote I need now to capture my gratitude in time for Thanksgiving later this month.

A kitschy, Hallmarkesque version of what I have in mind appears on some wedding and birthday invitations when hosts request no gifts: Your presence is the present.

These words put clogs on the ballerina.

Still, it captures the gist of my gratitude. I am most thankful this year for the gift of presence Gods and everyones. But I am especially thankful for the returning presence of my youngest son, Ray, now 9.

Thirteen months ago our family, his teachers, our neighbors and church family watched him tumble into a stupor.

Some of you may remember when I wrote about this crisis a year ago during Rays overnight hospitalization to rule out meningitis, a brain tumor, and seizures as causal.

These tests failed to explain his catatonic demeanor, flat affect and deteriorating skills.

The low point came late one night as I shopped alone at Target for diapers more than five years after this boy with Down syndrome finally learned the last toilet training step locking the door behind him to take care of his business privately.

At his nadir over the holidays, Ray forgot how to zip his coat, failed to recognize my mom, and stopped playing with his toys.

No one in our extended family knew what to give him for Christmas.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist at the Sie Center for Down Syndrome at Childrens Hospital Colorado in Aurora treated him with anti-anxiety medication and continued to speculate along with the psychologist that the essential Ray was still in there just on retreat for some reason.

May be the world got too big for this boy?

Then, in mid January, Ray just as inexplicably turned a corner. He became more present again just as photos developed in a dark room do from fuzzy to sharp, ever so gradually.

And as snow swirled outside that month I began picturing Rays recovery as a snow shoveling operation. With just a glimmer of his presence again, I began to hope that one day he could put his hand on a shovel and clear paths the blizzard in his mind closed.

This hope helped me appreciate the sacred side of snow shoveling as I watched Ray for the first time in a long time help my husband shovel after snowstorms this week.

Without the return of his presence, this boy would shiver in the cold.

For this reason, the simple scene the shovel scraping on concrete, the powder flying and landing in puffs confirmed the power of presence. Confirmed for me how it changes the landscape from the heavens to the earth.

Meanwhile, fresh thanksgiving over this big deal disguised as a small one led me to the quote I would like to hold longer: The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks, American playwright Tennessee Williams wrote.

Pam Mellskog can be reached at p.mellskog@gmail.com or at 303-746-0942. For more posts and photos, please visit timescall.com/mommy-musings-blog.

Originally posted here:
Mommy musings: The sacred side of snow shoveling - Longmont Times-Call