Belated Thanks

If we lived properly, we would spend much of each day on our knees thanking all who make our lives possible.  I mean the plants who do the work of photosynthesis and offer themselves to make our daily bread, the animals who also give food and comfort and birdsong in the morning, the folks who deliver our mail or transport goods in trucks or play violins and saxophones to soothe our soul. We would be steeped in gratitude and not have time to make money and wars and such.

Today I would like to thank the inventor of the hot water heater. I apologize for being remiss in my appreciation, of taking for granted the warmth of the daily shower, the heat of the daily shave. San Francisco’s winter has arrived and in my house without central heating, it’s an effort to throw aside the down comforter and meet the cold air. But it makes the splash of hot water yet more of a blessing. I’m sorry I never thanked my hot water heater properly, but it’s not too late. Thank you.

Likewise the inventor of the sweater and the knitter of the same, the hot air fan in the car, the chugging heater in my hall. You all make it possible for me to stay in San Francisco and avoid the lemming plunge to Florida, where three times now, that population has helped usher in national disaster. Whereas my beloved city has declared independence from Trumpnation in a beautiful resolution approved by the Board of Supervisors. I don’t want to take any of this for granted.

Hot oatmeal awaits. Thanks to the kettle, the oats, the raisins, the bowl, the spoon. And yet again, hot water to wash them clean. Tomorrow will be the ode to indoor plumbing.