24 hours in late November.

This morning I walked to my office.  I wish I remembered a jacket.  The wind and rain chilled me to the bone. 

This afternoon I shifted to the shortest checkout line at the store.  In front of me stood a 70 year old lady, bluish silver hair, with lipstick about 1/4” beyond her lips.  You know the one.  She was writing a check… in slow, deliberate cursive, just like she learned in 3rd grade. Sheesh.   

Driving home, 3 different cars made quick right hand turns in front of me, only to slow down to 5 mph below the speed limit.  It was “pull-in-front-of-David” day.

I am blessed.

At the end of my walk, I went inside and enjoyed my work.  

Waiting to checkout, I was able to grab a warm loaf of French bread as a treat.

Slowing down gave me time to appreciate arriving home, like every night.  

And, with my extra delays, I got to reflect on life and put it to words.

I guess we can wait for a 24-hour holiday to give thanks.  Or, we can realize that every 24 hours is pretty awesome all by itself.