We are not talking here about a band-aid for a serious internal injury. But we’re not talking about open heart surgery, either. Just balance, that’s all. Just seeing what is already there, around you, in front of you. Hearing the music. Seeing the light. Appreciating the color, green. Or yellow. Or purple. Remembering who you are and where you came from. Because without that ability to stand, to see, to hear, to know, to remember, then you have no chance to keep your balance, to keep going, to fight for what you believe in, or to remember why to keep going or what you are fighting for in the first place.

For me, personally, it’s little stuff, a lot of it from my childhood. Just having a decent childhood in the first place. Not perfect, but with enough love that I was able to learn what love is—how to give it, how to show it, accept it, return it. I’m grateful for my grandmother sitting on the floor and playing Chinese Checkers with me. For hours. And making homemade applesauce—my favorite—from the apple trees in the backyard. I’m still grateful to my grandad for teaching me how to catch sunfish with a cane pole, and how to throw a curve-ball. I’m grateful for summer afternoons with the two of them in a rowboat, under arching walnut trees. And for a game of catch every weekday afternoon when Grandad returned, exhausted, from work.

I’m grateful for a mother with a smile like the sunrise, who played the piano beautifully and made me practice my lessons—even though I hated it. I’m grateful for a dad who was stern and strict and serious, but who always provided a safe and secure home, and who unfailingly taught the importance of honesty, decency, and moral courage. I’m eternally grateful for my Great Aunt Mary, who held the Wood family together through the depression and WW2, giving us a chance to make it through the decades to come, and get all the way to today.

I’m grateful to my Uncle Wilbur and his wit and sense of humor, still somehow intact after the horrors of North Africa and Anzio and Monte Cassino. I’m grateful to Sigurd Olson, my writing and North Woods mentor, who opened a door into the life I was supposed to live and helped guide me through it. I’m forever grateful to my wife Kathy, who finally noticed a shy boy who couldn’t live without her, and decided I wouldn’t have to. I’m grateful for our sons and grandchildren and the ongoing family we have made together, a living extension of all those loved ones who came before. I’m even grateful for difficulties and the times that weren’t so good, and for learning that it’s possible to get through them, together, with gumption and perseverance.

And that’s just a small sampling. You see, I have so very many things to be thankful for, so many reasons for gratitude, such firm soil into which my roots have been planted and nurtured, and such eternal beauty around me, that it is impossible for anyone to take it all away. Not an evil man-child in the White House, not his ‘movement’ of fascists, sycophants, and nincompoops, not the ‘important’ people who have thus far failed in their jobs and their roles to keep our country safe.

So, it’s a hard time now. Much harder for some than for me. All the more reason to honor the advantages and strengths I have, that have been given and passed on to me. And to do so—to hold that honor and try to fight the good fight in my own small way—I have to keep my balance. And that requires a regular dose of gratitude.

Maybe you feel somewhat the same. Maybe you have had mentors, teachers, friends, family members, ancestors, loved ones, that have helped to make you who you are. Have helped you to come this far in your own journey, your own humble but vitally significant life, imbued with an inextinguishable dignity. I’d bet on it. If so, just remember. And remember that in the long run, the evil idiots of the world, with the big holes in their hearts, are no match for all of that. They cannot take what they can’t reach. What never goes away. What helps us keep our balance. And what truly makes us strong.

(This is my latest Substack post. You can subscribe to me there, paid or free, at Notes From The Campfire@douglaswoodauthor. substack.com/@douglaswoodauthor