Thank You Notes

Photo by Aaron Burden


This past week was a collision of both writer's block and exhaustion. As Thanksgiving approaches, I at least try to be more aware of the little blessings that surround me, and I truly spend every Thursday and Friday saying over and over to myself, "It is so nice to be home" as those are the days I can re-charge my introvert battery. At the same time that I was straining my brain in what to write last week, I read a chapter in Anne Lamott's book Bird by Bird specifically about writer's block that recommends writing a letter to jog your true feelings on a subject. While she suggested writing to a person, in true but less humorous homage to Jimmy Fallon's segment "Thank You Notes," this is what emerged:

Dear Rocky (My Doberman/Labrador Pup),
No one gives a welcome like you, bud. Thank you for searching every room for me every fifteen minutes when I leave the front door open. I’ve never met a dog so insistent on being loved, but you deserve every hug you demand. No one else thanks me for a meal like you do. I promise to continue to pretend that I don’t care when you track in mud EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I mop. I know you just want to hang out with me. Thanks for being an introvert’s dream guard dog. Try not to bite people we know; I know your night vision isn’t the best. Also, our elderly neighbor doesn’t appreciate your forceful nuzzling, so maybe save that for me.

Dear Baby Wipes,
Let’s be honest, I don’t have a baby. But, that’s no reason not to buy you and use you for everything from cleaning my whiteboards for English class to wiping down the bathroom sink. You are the lazy person’s sponge and scrub brush, and I am unashamed.



Dear Andy and April (my house plants),
Since you entered my world just a couple months ago, you’ve brought me more joy than I can express. I am sorry that I can’t seem to find a balance in your watering schedule. But, like a baby, you readily spit up the extra all over my floor. Thank you for providing oxygen to my home as my neighbors perpetually burn garbage. Watching you grow brings a smile to my face. I will try to demonstrate my love for you by dusting you more often.

Dear Crockpot,
You and I go way back—from the time my mom was working full time. I was indoctrinated in your usefulness from a young age. While living in a country where the electricity isn’t always dependable has resulted in a strain on our relationship at times, I must confess that I cannot quit you. I love dumping ingredients into your vessel and letting you fill my house with delicious smells. Anything beats standing over a hot stove for an hour. Thank you for being a faithful friend; please don’t ever wear out.

Dear Voice Messaging Apps,
Thank you for facilitating my ability to verbally process in unfiltered ways that not everyone appreciates. You allow people thousands of miles away to hear my voice as if I were in the same room, and you let me feel like I have someone keeping me company while I clean my house. Is there anything better than carrying on deep conversations while the other person has no idea you aren’t wearing pants?




Dear Cozy Corner and Reclining Couch Seat (that has conformed to my every curve…sorry not sorry, visitors),
Thank you for being my best friend in the mornings. With your shelf for my hot tea and your close proximity to the wall outlet, hours of work have flown by in comfort. From your vantage point, I can see my plants and my husband as he walks through the door. With my books on one side and my notebooks and planners and purse on the other seat beside me, who actually needs an office? (Thank you also to the fitness tracker on my wrist that reminds me that I’ve been enjoying your presence too long and need to peel myself from your inviting embrace lest my hind end reflect my stationary lifestyle more than my liking.)

Dear Bath and Body Works Candle,
I am sorry to say that I wrestled with bringing you back from the US because, well, let’s face it, you’re kind of heavy. But, now, months later, I am so glad you made the cut. You fill my house with the smell of baked goods without all of the clean-up. You’re just one candle, but lighting you up makes my house feel like a cozy home.

Dear Fuzzy Hunting Socks That Were My Dad’s,
There are some nights I simply couldn’t sleep without you. No other socks will do. While I do tend to kick you off and out of the bed every night, don’t take it personally. You forever hold your place in my sock drawer because no one warms my tootsies like you.

Dear Pilot Gel Ink Pens,
You made me a pen snob ages ago, and I’m not even mad about it. I love the way you glide across a page and let my thoughts escape with minimal scratching and hand cramps. I’ll overlook how my hand gets covered in ink smears. Worth it.




What would be worthy of a thank you note from you?