Gratitude.

The word gratitude:

gratitude (n.) 

mid-15c., "good will," from Middle French gratitude (15c.) or directly from Medieval Latin gratitudinem (nominative gratitudo) "thankfulness," from Latin gratus "thankful, pleasing" (see grace). Meaning "thankfulness" is from 1560s.

The word grace, with which it is intimately linked:

grace (n.) 

late 12c., "God's favor or help," from Old French grace "pardon, divine grace, mercy; favor, thanks; elegance, virtue" (12c.), from Latin gratia "favor, esteem, regard; pleasing quality, good will, gratitude" (source of Italian grazia, Spanish gracia), from gratus "pleasing, agreeable," from PIE root *gwere- "to favor" (cf. Sanskrit grnati "sings, praises, announces," Lithuanian giriu "to praise, celebrate," Avestan gar- "to praise").

Sense of "virtue" is early 14c., that of "beauty of form or movement, pleasing quality" is mid-14c. In classical sense, "one of the three sister goddesses (Latin Gratiæ, Greek Kharites), bestowers of beauty and charm," it is first recorded in English 1579 in Spenser. The short prayer that is said before or after a meal (early 13c.; until 16c. usually graces) has a sense of "gratitude."

Over the past few days, my heart has been flooded with gratitude. Because our friend David, who just last week was in a coma and for whom we all greatly feared, spoke with us about the oeuvre of Tarkovsky and how we should watch all of it--"all of it!"--because it was so beautiful. Because of the intelligence and sensitivity, the loving hearts and great energies, of my sons and my daughters. Because I am lucky enough to have smiles and happy greetings from grandchildren. For my wonderful, thoughtful friends. Because I have a friend who has known me for more than half my life. Because of a husband, the words for whose goodness will always be radically insufficient. For many comforts and great pleasures. For an education and a job. For enough, more than enough.

To see the etymological roots of gratitude is to acknowledge that the idea of blessedness, a favor bestowed upon the thing praised, is a part of its conceptual frame. To praise something is to articulate its pleasingness, how it is touched by favor--by God, by one's regard.

We live in a world where one's praise of almost anything must acknowledge how the thing praised is only part of that world, where the act of thanksgiving must acknowledge the radical insufficiency of one's own comprehension of that world; where so much of that world seems to be wrought of pain. Where is the praiseworthiness of this? The blessedness?

Do you know how to think about this? What is the frame in which any of it makes sense?

I am flooded with gratitude. From my window looking into a dark street, I am grateful for, and suffused with, more than enough. Still, I hope to find a way to do something more, give more, to seek a better understanding.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

aka, the day I consider the first of my sabbatical. To celebrate it, I

• responded to an e-mail from a student I finally gave an E because, after e-mails begging for the final portfolio, I never got one. But now, of course, the student didn't realize how much the final portfolio was worth.
• published the zine from my creative writing class.
• submitted the very last of my late grades. Kids, I ain't a-waitin' any more.
• began a new poem, the genesis of which is that trailer for the super scary scary movie.
• talked to singing son and his lovely wife.
• updated all movie reviews.
  
• chatted online with my brother.
• texted college daughter.
• made a date for tea with one friend and lunch with another.
  
• cried intermittently (residue from long conversation last night with running son in Malaysia).
  
• talked to the historian midday.
• went out and touched some merchandise at a couple of stores, but bought nothing.
• came back and worked on my poem some more.
• learned a new word: eidolon, which simultaneously means "ideal," "ghost," and "idol."
• took Bruiser out to run and sniff around.
• went to hear Regina Carter, whose sextet put on a sublime concert (I might overuse that word, but I am not exaggerating in this case).
• while listening to Regina Carter's final piece, a gorgeous meditative arrangement of "I'll Be Seeing You," got an idea for a new poem (titled, at least tentatively, "Eidolon").

Perfect day, in other words. I don't want to be greedy, but I'd be glad for every day henceforth to be this good.