Seems no matter what, there are reasons to give thanks

I’ve been feeling sorry for myself the past couple weeks. With good reason, my gentler, kinder friends might say. Fortunately, most of my friends are neither gentle nor kind and know me well enough to suggest—during times such as these (my girlfriend dumped me, again)—that I stop being such a big baby and just get on with life.

For this, I thank them. It’s good advice. But advice I generally ignore.

Why? Well, in part because some part of me actually enjoys being a little miserable from time to time. I’m not sure why; it’s probably some psychological defect I can’t afford to have corrected by a professional.

I don’t mind, though; a little melancholy is good for the soul. Good for my soul, anyway.

Especially this time of year, when the trees quiver cold and naked, the last of their October glory raked into piles for hauling and burning, when the first breath of winter shivers every breeze and new rose bushes receive their plastic shrouds.

Sigh.

Losing the love of your life is something one should do at the start of summer, when the world is full of possibilities and hope; not now, not during this funeral procession of a season. But sometimes fate has other ideas.

And so I was feeling sorry for myself. I was, that is, until last Wednesday.

I’ve been walking a lot lately; five, sometimes ten miles every day. My feet are killing me, but like melancholy, a little exercise is good for the soul.

I’m currently living just north of Royal Oak, so walking is not the bucolic, nature-rich excursion I’ve grown accustomed to over the past 20 years. The best one can do around here is to ignore the noise of traffic and try real hard not to get hit by any of it.

The scenery consists of shops that sell lottery tickets, shops that sell ice cream, shops that sell tacos, shops that sell shoes, shops that sell…well, basically, shops. Shops and factories. And shopping centers, most open, a few closed up, boarded over and abandoned, mute tribute to our thriving economy.

It was while walking past one of these that I noticed the bench. It was one of those heavy, plastic jobs, made from recycled milk bottles, and though the shopping center was obviously long closed, the bench remained. I walked toward it with the idea of sitting there and resting my poor, tired feet for a moment.

As I crossed the parking lot, I could see something sitting on the bench. Closer inspection revealed the “something” to be a neatly folded stack of blankets and a pillow. Beneath the bench was a small, filthy cooler, open and empty. A wallet-sized photo of two children, cheaply framed, leaned against the stack of blankets.

This was somebody’s home.

Someone who, unlike me, would not be sleeping in a warm bed tonight. Someone who didn’t have a warm dinner waiting at home. Someone whose closest contact with family was a faded photograph.

The five bucks I had in my wallet remained between two of the blankets when I left. If I’d had more with me, I would have left it.

Not out of pity, but gratitude. Sometimes we need to be reminded of just how good we have it.

More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.