Day 59, February 28

I've written before about my father's early years, growing up in the small Mormon settlement of Pima, Arizona.  Times were hard when he was a boy (during the Great Depression years), yet Dad never dwelled on what his family lacked.  Instead, he rejoiced in what they had.  The following is taken from his personal history:

"As I  have said, much of our food was bread and milk. My mother would make jams, preserves, jellies, etc. from the fruit of the orchard. Often, we did not have enough money to make jelly from the fruit, so my mother would put up in jars the juice from the fruit. Then if we later got a little money, she would make jelly out of the juice. Jelly required a lot of sugar to make it, and often we would not have the money for sugar.

"I remember well the delicious and beautiful lovaes of brown light bread my mother made, which we would break into pieces into big bowls filled with milk, take some jam, preserves or jelly in a spoon, dip it into the bread and milk, and this became a fine evening meal in the summer, especially. Also, we would eat the bread and milk, taking bites of onions or radishes, which we grew, and found this fare to be delightful to eat. We grew a garden, although this project was not always successful. In the winter, we had pork from the hogs and beef from one or more of the steers which we would kill (steers, being castrated male animals, which otherwise, would have been bulls.) "

His attitude of abundance shames me when I complain about what I don't have, about what is wrong in my life.  My father and his brothers and sisters looked at life with gratitude in their hearts.

So, for today, I am grateful for warm milk, homemade bread, and jam.