I have such mixed feelings about officially feeling thankful, particularly on a holiday associated with nationalism. However, gratitude is a practice of mine. And I’ve been feeling grateful for something very specific–the younger generations of women in my life.
I recently wrote a blog post about needing to feel more grounded. I wanted to get an African violet and bake biscuits. As if on cue, I got a note from a former student and early contributor to this blog, Bibi Deitz. With a photo of her grandmother’s African violet.

Then, my daughter taught me how to bake some gluten free biscuits. We ate them hot while watching the classic, if somewhat surreal film about an Armenian poet–The Color of Pomegranates. (If you are interested–This avant-garde film by Russian director Sergei Parajanov depicts the life of revered 18th-century Armenian poet and musician Sayat-Nova.)
Younger women can go where I haven’t been able to. Their freedom of thought and self expression inspires me. I also feel taken care of, often a nervous spot for me, but not in this case.
Which leads me to my granddaughter. Who at nine months crawls, stands, clings, hoots, shouts, smiles, eats, grabs with a zest for experience. Yes, I’m taking care of her. But with any luck some day she’ll tell me what is hip, what looks good on me, what I should read. Her mere existence as a woman of the future helps me keep going.

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About Miriam Sagan

I'm blogging about poetry, land art, haiku, women artists, road trips, and Baba Yaga at Miriam's Well ( The well is ALWAYS looking to publish poetry on our themes, sudden fiction, and guest bloggers and musers.

2 thoughts on “Thanksgiving

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