Why I don't hate sweaters anymore

There's this thing going around on Facebook. Maybe you've heard or seen. It's 30 posts of thankfulness for the month of November, or something like that. Not that you asked, but I don't have a problem with this. In fact, I think thankful people are some of the happiest on the planet, so why not exercise our ability to do it as often as we breathe. The real challenge, in my opinion, to being a thankful person, is that you have to pay attention, because if you're lazy-minded like me sometimes you can end up grumbling about the things you should be thankful for.

For example: sweaters. Or rather: Laundering sweaters. Sweaters have it out for me, the Head Laundress.

They make me a little grumbly (new word alert!). At the beginning of the season, I find this big pile of them cluttering up the laundry room floor, hoping for a pre-season cleanse. The problem with sweaters (preaching to the choir here I know) is that you can't just wash a whole load of them and then dry a whole load of them like every other knows-their-rightful-place pile of dirties.  You have to gentle-cycle two or three at a time and then find a place to let them all. air. dry! What snobbery. Seeing a big pile of them on the floor the other day had me in a little sweat conspiring with the junk on the dining room table to clear a place for them all to air. dry. Where you gonna put 12 snobby sweaters?

Anyway, I had set myself to grumbling about them. Who needs 12 sweaters anyway? And for heaven's sake, how many shades of brown are there?

So one day last week I was folding one of these sweaters, one of the humble ones that can be dried, a browwwnnnnn one. I held it up and looked it eye to collar, held it spread wide in front of me like somebody was wearing it, kind of picturing my husband in it--it was his after all--this garment I grumble over--and stared at it a longish time.

Minutes earlier, I had been standing in the laundry room, folding, mind-numb as usual, but my thoughts had drifted to my dear friend whose dad is really sick. Then my thoughts drifted from her to her mom, whose husband it is who is really sick. And what she's facing.

Staring at that pecan brown sweater, the mental  numbness dissipated and sobering thankfulness welled up from my heels to my head for the husband who would fill this brown sweater, alive and warm, smelling good from the good laundering by the not-so-grumbly-anymore laundress. Here and well...and always in a different sweater. What two things could I take more for granted--that someone is here and that they are well?  My grumbling over snobby clothing turned to gratefulness, and I was happy to let every sweater air dry if it meant my husband would dirty them up again. For reals.

They say it takes 30 days to break a habit. Maybe after 30 days of November, some of my Facebook friends will habitually be thankful for the rest of their lives. I don't know, but it's a worth a shot. For me, I might just start watching where I'm grumbling. Maybe there's a warning flag there, marking the places in my heart where I'm not paying attention to something worthy of my thanksgiving.

So go on out and buy yourself another sweater, honey pie. Just make it navy okay?