Being inside on a cold and rainy day…

Walking in the door today after getting the oil changed in my pick-up truck, I immediately thought, as I always do, “You are so lucky to have this warm and dry place to be on this cold and rainy day.”

Why would I think that? Does everyone?

I wonder sometimes if I was overly influenced as a kid by people who lived through the Great Depression. Why exactly do I seem to appreciate this so much, being indoors and warm on a cold and rainy day? Why, when getting into bed on a winter’s night, with the wind blowing the snow outside my window, do I thank God for a warm and cozy place to rest my old head. And why after food shopping do I feel contented to have a full larder? Does anyone say, full larder, anymore?

I can remember my grandmother telling me as a very young child that I was lucky I wasn’t out on such a terrible night making my way in the cruel world. Selling matches or waiting for a drunken father outside the pub. I was constantly being reminded that I was lucky to have spinach, and anything else that I might have turned my nose up at, on my plate. Think of all the starving Armenians! Think of all the children who didn’t have kind parents, warm clothes, gifts at Christmas, bikes to ride and yards to play in.

Some of the children I know today, who seem to have everything imaginable, think of themselves as having less than they should. On the other hand, as a child I always thought of my family as having all that one could possibly want even though I now know we were fairly poor in real terms. What’s the difference?

I suspect it’s superstitious and insecure grandmothers of the Great Depression to love them and want them to appreciate every little thing they had.