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Hello, I'm back. I'm exhausted, but putting together this post. Great What has my gratitude today. 1. Great relationships. I love relating with others where we have genuine, heartfelt communication. 2. For my ongoing growing relationship with God. a. It is encouraging knowing his gentle love. b. I'm grateful for the patience and endouragement I receive fro him daily. 3. I love the positive, strong direction my business is taking. I'll get back to you. Righ now sleep is calling me.

      It feels good, writing here, once again.  

      It meets my need for connecting, expressing, celebrating life, and enjoying community. 

     There has been a prolonged absence of the innkeeper, me. I've had a tumble physically.  I'm not who I once was, mentally, physically. 

       Due to medications, I'm taking for blood pressure issues, my memory, reactions, and vision have been damaged.   I'm trusting with time my body will adapt.  On occasion, I "forget" to take my meds, and I am the old, Pablo, mentally vigorous, with an encyclopedic memory.  

      But only sometimes do I find myself there.  

      Writing at this moment is like pulling up the piano bench and playing away on a sturdy instrument that provided hours of musical reverie while growing up in a less-than-ideal home, my experience as a child and youth

      Then, delightful, calm, relaxing music soothed my mind, that did not know better, a mind that relied upon thinking, not feeling, to comfort me. 

      Thank you, for being faithful and connecting with me.  

      I miss you who live sin the Netherlands, with whom I once knew well.  In the halls of my mind, I remember past energetic and wide-ranging conversations. I value the poetry we created for one another, the moments shared are cherished and especially valued. 

       I am aware each time you drop by. 

             "God gave us memories so that we can 

               remember roses in December." 

                           James Barrie

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       I am not who I was a year ago.  I wasn't much reactive then.  Now, even less so.  But I continue to enjoy life richly. 

       I remain grateful.  

       I am leaving my thanks and will come back to this later.  My bed is calling me.  I'm bushed. 

   1.  I continue to value poetry.   Last week, I celebrated a good friend's birthday. I treated him at a nearby restaurant.    

        From my slender, black carrying bag I pulled out a large book of poetry, reading an entry about old friends, of which he was. 

     How often do we do that, nowadays? 

2. I wrote in the birthday card I had for him, using a fountain pen,  scribing in the Italic script. Each letter I wrote gave my mind and eyes 2-3 second vacations.  

      When I was done, I was more relaxed than before I started.  

I am thankful for calligraphy, flat-edged fountain pens that create thick and thin lines and making time to connect with someone dear. 

3.  I am thankful for sharing this time with you.  Please pray I will resume my old practice of tending to this inn of praise and thankfulness more frequently.

     Glad you dropped by.  I just started on this. Check back in an hour to get 

the complete post.

    I'm relating with an unpleasant person.  Taking steps to take care of myself.  What am I learning? 

    I will not accept his unacceptable behavior. He feels entitled, wanting me to do favors for him. The interesting thing is he is unkind, critical, self-absorbed, judgmental, and insensitive.  

    Other than that, he is a nice guy.  Just joking. 

    My mantra when he tries to get me to do something for him is saying, "That's not my responsibility." Like a person touched by a cattle prod, he is stunned each time I do not cooperate with his bidding. 

   I have more to say. But I'm exhausted.  I'll come back and work on this later. 

A Lifechanging Month ............... 4/27/23

    I have no idea what I'll write, a common theme when contrib-uting a new post in this inn of thanks.  I'd love to hear from you.  Many of you are Silent Readers. 

    You drop by, taking in the of-ferings of this inn of gratitude. I imagine your attendance informs me you enjoy this positive place in cyberspace. This posting is the 1,470th 

    That number surprises me,

A Special and Grateful Month 3/31/23

   I am happy to post some-thing in March be-fore it end-ed. 

   Please celebrate with me. This month marks 12 years since this posi-tive place in cyber-space opened its doors. I like we are connecting today.  

Great Time With a Friend: Balance Required........... 2/28/23

Part of the view as we traveled
along the Marshall Petaluma Road

    I'm back after a two-month ab-sence from this inn of gratitude.  I am not who I was the last time I left something here. Although my soul then was happy

Expressing Our Feelings, Not Judgment............ 12/31/22

        We feel fulfilled, satisfied and experi-ence emotional ma-turity when expres-sing our feelings and the needs beneath them.

        Constructive communicating takes place when we do.  Supportive and affirming dialog makes it likely others will listen. Ongoing practice develops our fluency with Nonviolent Communication, a language that does a world of good. 

My Second Favorite Christmas Story

    Innkeeper's Note:

   How are things going for you? I leave a Christmas story. Tomorrow, I'll leave my favorite while we are still in the holiday season. 

                  **************

    Gather around the fireplace warming the inn.  We may be frazzled by the call of Madison Avenue.  QVC and the Home Shopping Network may be as-saulting us with gift options for loved ones.  Commercials from Kohls, Best Buy, Macy's, and other department stores bombard our sanity.  The craziness endured during the whirly bur-ly of frenzied shopping may overwhelm. 

       Please slow down. 

      This post shares a story of the noncommercial kind.  My favorite Christmas Story continues to be, well, the Christmas Story.  What follows counts as my second favorite.  I heard this story when I was fourteen.  My rendering of it lies before you.

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        A pleasant, reasonable man named James Olivus didn't care for Christmas.  

        His personality did not reflect that of a Grinch nor a Scrooge. He didn't want to have anything to do with Christ. A hard heart, he did not have. 

        Jim's reputation stood as being kind, and well-liked by neighbors and co-workers.   James always had something thoughtful to say.  He didn't care what the morning journal had to say of him. 

        The concept that an "all-mighty" God sent His Son to earth as a man, he didn't buy.  

         If God existed, James reasoned, the Almighty could open up the heavens.  He could speak directly to mankind, as a celestial star, if He liked.  The whole “Jesus thing” appeared ridiculous.  

         A well-meant fantasy, he thought.  For this educated man of the 21^st century, this story made zero sense. 

       Christmas Eve approached.  James followed his holiday routine.  He partied at a friend’s house, enjoying good company along with holiday cheer of the liquid kind. 

      At 11:15 p.m., he arrived home.  Before walking in, he brushed off the snow from his coat.  Gently, it began to blanket his lawn, home, and neighborhood.

      Once inside, James created a blaze in the living room fireplace.  He looked forward to a midnight read.  The hearth would remove the chill from his home before he called it a night.  

      Thirty minutes into his reading, he heard a strong, "Thump!"  His curiosity peaked when he heard it again: "Thump!"

:

      His eyes widened.  Like an attentive dog, his ears were attuned to the source of this irreg-ular percussive noise.  It pounded louder than the crackling fire before him.  

      Mr. Olivus heard it a third time: "Thump!"  Routinely, something regularly struck the twelve-foot-wide living room window facing the front yard.  "Teenagers throwing snowballs at my home!" he thought.  

      He rushed outside.  No children in sight.  He encircled his house, looking for the cause of the mysterious noise.  

      The snow poured like a ticker-tape parade.  The wind bit his face.  He longed for the fire awaiting when he returned to his suburban home.  

      Approaching the front yard, James saw them.  A flock of birds.  At that mo-ment, James witnessed two birds dart away from the group.  

     They slammed into the plate-glass living room window.  "Thump, thump!"  

       These feathered cre-atures smashed into the window like the planes flying into the World Trade Center Twin Towers on that fateful day.  Their bodies did not penetrate the home but fell to the ground.

      The birds were confused.  They were frightened by the swirling snow.  The flock huddled under the extended branches of an ash tree. 

       They could still peer inside James' house.  Shelter from the bitter cold of this Christmas Eve evening they sought.  No success.

      "Thump! Thump! Thump!"  Three more birds dove into the glass, crumpling to the white-covered ground.  A good heart, James had.  A frown contorted his face as he observed the plight of the birds. 

       He raced into his home.  Inside, all of the lights in his living room he shut off.  

      He thought, "If they can't see inside, they will stop their attempts."  The birds no longer saw inside his house.  The darkened window created a cave-like appearance.  

      The birds continued flying headlong into the glass. Tiny, winged bodies piled below.

       The man ran to the garage 30 feet away.  He threw open the seven-teen-foot wide door to provide the birds shelter.  They continued slam-ming against the window.  

       The feathered creatures were desperate for a haven from the sub-freezing weather.  James rushed inside the garage, turning on the lights.  Now, he thought, they’ll see the refuge needed is here.  

       The birds’ focus on the window prevented that possi-bility. "Thump! Thump!" More birds dashed into the window. 

       James called out to the birds. “Hey! Over here! Over here!” The birds could not be beckoned to the garage.

       Finally, he rushed into the flock.  He yelled, waving his arms.  If the birds had been confused, their hearts now raced with fear. 

       A wild man ran among them, bewildering them.   

       James realized the futility of his efforts.  No way could he herd the birds to the shelter of his garage.  They had no clue about the sanctuary he offered.  

       The sickening sound of  "Thump! thump! thump!" echoed their efforts at finding comfort.  Frustrated, he stood in the darkness of the yard. Snow poured upon him as the birds died, diving into the window.  

       James thought, “If only I could be a bird for a few minutes. . . I could talk to them in their language – they wouldn't be afraid of me; they would understand how to save themselves.”

       As he thought, the church bells from the town began pealing.   The clock struck midnight.  The rings ushered in Christmas morning, the day celebrating Christ's birth.  

       The snow continued falling. 

       It drifted upon the fences.  It alighted upon the rooftops of the homes in the community.  It lay upon the nearby hills, frosting the landscape.  

       As it did, James crumpled to his knees. 

      “Now I understand why you became a man,” he whispered. His head drooped. James' chin lay on his chest.

      Tears warmed his icy cheeks.  “I now understand the Gift celebrated on this day.”

         May you have a great and grateful Christmas!

My Third Favorite Christmas Story 12/25/22

   Hi there, everyone. Merry Christmas, wishing every guest to this inn a sensational New Year!

  I hope you enjoy a delightful time with your family and dear ones as we celebrate this Christmas season. That's been my situa-tion as the year 2022 comes to a close.  I have deep gratitude