Leana Delle

Have I always been grateful? I can’t say as I have, but I have never been ungrateful either, if that makes any sense. I’m learning that genuine gratitude is something that comes from a place of conscious effort. Not being ungrateful is something that – in and of itself – can be taken for granted. It’s a state of being, so to speak, like being healthy or even employed. Actually acknowledging, “Hey, I’m healthy,” or “Look at me. I’m employed,” shifts the state of not being ungrateful into one of active gratitude.

I recently attended one of Oprah’s “Live The Life You Want” weekends in Houston, TX, and I literally left feeling changed – as did many of the other men and women who filled the Toyota Center. I’d heard the gratitude message before – even from Oprah herself – but this time it hit home, and I’ve been consciously shifting my perspective since, and with amazing results.

Something magical happens when you stop striving to have and simply strive to be. When it becomes blatantly clear that all you need is right here, right now, your heart overflows, and you begin to feel more fulfilled. Great word, that one: full – filled.

I’m thankful for so much this Thanksgiving: My family, my friends, my health, my work, my apartment, my fridge full of food, my tank full of gas, my plants, my stories, my laugh lines, my toothbrush, my socks, my pillows, my nail file . . . well, you get the picture. Everything. Every little thing. Genuinely.

Take your “not being ungrateful” to another level. See not only the loss of, or the absence of, but – instead – the joy of having had and the presence of abundance that exists now.

I wish each one of you – who I am also grateful for – a joyous and happy Thanksgiving.

Another great word, by the way: Thanks – giving.

I write this blog from the perspective of a Canadian American. Yes, I’m considered to be both, having immigrated to the US in 1997 and obtaining US citizenship. Throw in a brief return to Ottawa in recent years, and I can tell you that I feel equally as much one as the other. I’m truly blessed to call each of these fine nations “home.” It’s today, however, that I feel closest to my birth country.

Those of you who know me know that I spend as little time watching the news as possible. I see it as nothing more than a fear generating machine manned by variations of Barbie and Ken, spouting off their latest “RUN FOR THE HILLS!” version of propaganda. ‘If something important arises,’ I tell myself, ‘I’ll hear about it.’ And hear about it, I did.

On Wednesday of this week, Cpl. Nathan Cirillo was gunned down while standing guard – unarmed – at the tomb of the unknown soldier in Ottawa. The gunman, who does not deserve to be mentioned, then proceeded to enter Parliament where gunfire erupted. For those who have never visited Canada, know that this is far beyond shocking.

I’ve become accustomed to living in the US. I’ve learned to accept the fact that we are loathed by some, which makes us the constant target of radical extremists. That became a harsh reality on September 11, 2001, while I was living in Portland, OR. Prior to that, for me anyway, it felt like we lived in a kind of “Never on our soil,“ blissful numbness. That’s now long gone.

I have found myself in tears several times over the last few days. No, I didn’t know Cpl. Cirillo personally, or his family, but the Canadian people are my family, and I ache for the harsh reality that they now face.

I knew it was only a matter of time, given the current state of the world, but – still – I literally wouldn’t wish the end of “Never on our soil,” on my worst enemy. It has been said that the demise of a belief system is the most difficult personal challenge of all. One would have to assume that this also applies to a culture.

Canada has always been an open, generous, loving, peaceful and accepting culture – all reasons to be proud of the country from whence I came. I cried this week, because they will literally – now – have to “stand on guard” and make efforts to partially close their ever open arms. I cried, because I lived the shift after 9/11, and – sure – one guy compared to thousands may not seem comparative, but the aftermath of disillusion has potential to be. Nothing will ever be the same.

Cpl. Cirillo did stand on guard for us, and he did it unarmed and open to embracing people from all over the globe. Isn’t that the reputation of Canada, itself? Could it be that the gunman who performed this horrific act was determined to hit us at our very core?

I dreaded the day that Canada would have to face the harsh reality of extreme hatred, but I pray that all are aware that their neighbo(u)rs to the south feel their pain, and, if something good is to come of this, which I’m already seeing evidence of, it’s an undeniable sense of unity, brotherhood and determination.

“We will not be intimidated,” chimed Prime Minister Stephen Harper. No – you won’t – and I’m proud to be part of the true north. Shall we forever remain strong and FREE!

I moved to San Antonio from Canada in 1997, and I can distinctly remember my initial awe at witnessing a sky full of monarch butterflies. I was confused by the site initially, having seen monarchs all my life in southern Ontario, but I’d been naive regarding their life cycle and migration patterns. Not only did I not expect to see them in Texas, but the vast number of them astounded me. Hundreds, more like thousands, working their way across six and eight lanes of aggressive Texas traffic. It was a jaw dropping.

‘But all the way from Canada to Mexico?’ I asked myself. Yep – all that way. A trip that few would make by car.

I had occasion this week to take a road trip through central and eastern Texas, and I got a glorious reminder of my first autumn in San Antonio. There they were again. Pockets of monarchs struggling their way through 75 mph traffic. Not even close to the number I remember seeing seventeen years ago, which saddens me, but enough that every few minutes I’d cringe at the thought of hitting one. I hit two, and I mourned. The rest, which seemed to fly right about windshield level, got caught up in the air current and whipped over the top of the car into safety. I suppose this phenomenon occurs, because they weigh – ah – nothing whatsoever.

All I know is that few things inspire me as much as these little creatures on their annual mission. At a stop light yesterday, I watched one maneuver his/her way through the intersection. Flap, flap, flap, flap, glide. Flap, flap, flap, flap, glide. Repeated motion, and for thousands of miles! Fragile and vulnerable little bodies accomplishing the seemingly impossible.

I admire, respect and truly love these blossoms of nature – and I’m grateful for them. Grateful for the reminder to appreciate beauty and to keep repeating our own version of flap, flap, flap, flap, glide. Sure, some of us will hit obstacles on the way to our destinations, but most will arrive simply by staying the course.

How can we help these little treasures replenish their numbers and continue their inspiration? It’s simple, really. I urge you all, especially those in the north, to watch this video and provide our butterflies with a much needed place to rest – and reign: VIDEO

Bubba. Does that name conjure up any images for you? Any words that come to mind? I have one: joy.

I met Joyful Bubba at a roadside venue in Bulverde, Texas in 1999 where I was performing with my guitar, Lydia. Just over six feet tall, and pushing 300 lbs, Bubba filled his faded overalls like an overstuffed cushion. He wore a camouflage tractor cap and leather work boots that had worn at the toes exposing the protective steel beneath. Despite his attempt to speak to me, he was quite obviously a shy man. He stared at the toes of those boots while introducing himself.

“Sure did like your singin’, ma’am.”

He barely looked at me, and when he did, his small blue eyes expressed less than his lips. Until I asked him this question: “What is it that you do?”

Bubba’s stature altered. His shoulders, which had been bent forward as though to shield himself from potential enemies, moved back, pushing his chest out and exaggerating his already massive frame. His hands, which had been stuffed into the pockets of his overalls, reached for his suspenders. The corners of his mouth curled up in an obvious smile, and those blue eyes twinkled like Santa himself.

“I work with wood,” he said, as though he’d been responsible for its creation.

“Wood?” I replied. “In what way?”

“I make things. Cabinets, tables, chairs. Why, pretty much anything you can make out of wood, I make it.”

And, even though it was obvious to me what the answer to my next question would be, I asked anyway. “Do you like what you do?”

“Like it? I love it! There’s nothing I hate worse than Fridays.”

I stood and stared at this man with a slacked jaw and a tilted head. I’d never met anyone in my life who hated Fridays. I was raised to believe that you worked to fund the things you loved to do – not that the two could actually go hand-in-hand. And if they did, that only the fortunate and famous types in our culture were lucky enough to have both. Not average Joes like me or Bubba.

Up until that encounter, I’d envied only those fortunate and famous among us. That night I drove home envying a gentle messenger wrapped in denim and camouflage.

Bubba had it all figured out. He’d mastered what great minds have been trying to teach us for an eternity. Joseph Campbell would have loved this guy.

Admittedly, I still struggle with wishing my week away. Monday mornings continue to be my least favorite part of the week and Friday afternoons my favorite, but I’m working at it. I try and do something every day that moves me in the direction my ultimate goal, and even in that practice, I’ve found a bit of the joy that Bubba shared with me that day.

There are three key things that I learned from the man I’ve since aspired to be more like:

1) Look past the stereotype to the soul of a person (this one was more of a reminder)

2) You don’t have to associate success with grandiose accomplishments

3) Strive – above all else – to make your weekends less appealing

THANK-YOU, BUBBA!

Admittedly, I’m a Kindle girl when I’m not reading an honest-to-goodness, hold it in your hands, page flipping version of a story, but iBooks started carrying my novel recently, and I see that as cause to celebrate.

Wanna win a free eBook from moi? Click “Like” on my Facebook page over the next week (you can find me here) for a chance to win.

I’ll announce the recipient on Wednesday, September 17th.

Good luck, and happy reading!