I was raised to say grace at the beginning of every meal. I no longer do that. Maybe I should.

I am learning to be grateful. It hasn’t come easy, but it is starting to feel more natural. Tonight I decided to make a salad. Sounds so easy, right? A simple decision to make a salad. Maybe for you. Maybe you never thought about it, that it is a decision. But, in that decision, my sense of gratitude is already aroused. In fact, this one salad, while filling my physical need for healthy sustenance, also makes me aware of a multitude of things I am grateful for.

Grateful for having grown up in Africa where most of the food we ate was still local and organic. Grateful for having been spared a childhood of Twinkies and Oreos.

Grateful for my mother who could find enjoyment in cooking and to this day enjoys a table full of good food and surrounded by family.

Grateful to Willeke and her natural talents in the kitchen, a star at turning the mundane into ‘haute cuisine’.

Grateful to my depression for pushing me to look further than my medication towards a more natural solution.

Grateful to Anne who got me hooked on salads.

Grateful to Sylvie who gave me the space to experiment with my cooking skills without fear of judgment.

Even while washing the dishes, I am grateful to my Father and his consistent insistence that he enjoyed doing the dishes.

Now you might say, Krister you are just philosophising, making much ado about nothing…and again, I am grateful. Grateful for the ability to use language as a way to share my humanness. Grateful that I have a father who, in his own way, masters a love of words, and who saw fit to share that.

There is much to be grateful for.

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