I've said it before, and I don't have any other way to say it:  Life is absolutely the most wonderful gift we could have possibly been given.
I'm even writing this from inside a pressure cooker, in which I always find myself in this last week before the Gazette gets printed, when everything falls in my lap at the same time and I'm overwhelmed at the task, when there seem to be not enough hours in a day, yet there are always enough, when "endure" becomes my greatest challenge and having done so gives me great reward.
Wow!  That's a very long sentence and sorta long paragraph.
As I think about other wonderful gifts in this Thanksgiving season, I'm reminded, strangely enough, of a diametric moment, of a season past and a season coming, when I wish there were only inhaling and no exhaling.  I'm speaking of lilac time.  It's the same sentiment and same fragrance every spring for me, and I never tire of it.  I've never asked for this gift; it simply arrives unwrapped and in full bloom.  It's totally appropriate that I live on Lilac Lane.
And I'm reminded of a couple weeks ago when the color of fall foliage was again more vibrant than any splash of fresh paint on canvas, more captivating than any hue on film or screen, more vivid than dreams in living technicolor.  Fall always gives me the greatest art exhibit on earth.  I never ask for it.  The gift just arrives and there is never an admission charge.
Only a few short days ago I was overcome by a similar exhilaration as I watched a sunset with Allan and the kids.  We were on our way to the farm in southwestern Minnesota -- for pre-Thanksgiving/Christmas/Going Away Dinner for Mom and Dad, who are snowbirds -- and we watched together every single moment of the glorious descent, which is not a descent at all, of course, but it's the way we humans see and define things.  We watched shimmering gold turn into brilliant orange turn into passionate peach and hang in a state of suspension, until the horizon grabbed it away from us.  The greatest poet could not do justice to the gift we received that evening.  It was a gift freely given.  And it arrived with no strings attached.
Oops!  That was another very long paragraph.  Long paragraphs and news-papers do not go well together in my opinion.  When the eye gets mixed up part way, before it gets to the end of a paragraph, it may never go back to the spot where it got lost.
And I know, as sure as there is a God in heaven, that I'll fall in love again with a new season when the first snow falls in our yard this winter.  As always, I'll stop everything I'm doing and gaze in renewed wonder at this great gift that arrives without overtures on my part.  Unlike lilacs and leaves, the snowflakes arrive unexpectedly.  They catch me off guard every year, and always take my breath away, whether they're glistening in the morning sun or softly fading away on a fading day.
I guess great gifts take great para-gaphs, or at least long ones. 
The stars in heaven, more numerous than the grains of sand, speak to me every night since I was a little girl.  How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways, but who wants to count that far?  And the North Star is always in the northern sky, which is a practical gift since direction is a practical thing to have as we journey upon this orbiting planet.  One day we will all have a celestial address of sorts, just like the stars.
Life is an incredible blessing, and those things which affect my senses -- and my heart and my soul and my funny bone -- are wonderfully all over the place.  I am thankful for the taste of a good steak, the twang of old country music, the touch of your skin, the smell of firewood, the sight of mountains and rolling ocean waves.  I am thankful for the gifts of love and kindness, forgiveness and funny stories, good bed and good books, good laughs and good tears.
Do I speak of these gifts as if they are mine alone?  Are not the leaves and lilacs and heavenly stars given to all of us?  Is not each sunset yours as well as mine?  When we point north, aren't we all pointing in the same direction?  Does not the smell of burning firewood permeate the night air that we all breathe?  When someone speaks a kind word, does it not put kind words into the mouths of others?
Yes, life is the most wonderful gift we could have possibly been given, and it includes some things we get to keep forever.  I like to think that my soul contains a giant memory book, like a precious album of favorite photos, that will be opened one day in a new life, and all these earthly gifts will pour out in an endless stream of living memories and give me great happiness.
Maybe you think about these gifts, too, sometimes.  I'm also thinking about turkey and smashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing and cranberries and second helpings -- none of it prepared in a pressure cooker, but in a spacious temperate oven -- that is self-cleaning, of course!  --Sue

Deadline
The deadline for the next issue of the Gazette is Monday, November 20th.  You can send your news to Box 387 in Victoria, MN 55386, or e-mail
Sue@VictoriaGazette.com.  You can also call me at 952-443-2010.  Thank you, always, for your