Thanks a Million!

Vocal+ Little Black Book Contest

February 28, 2021

Thanks a Million!

By Lisa Q. Steinberg

(1,335 words)

If life is a hamster wheel, I had it made – an ordinary person, with an ordinary family, an ordinary income, and living in what everyone thought was an ordinary house… except for the woodpeckers. And trust me, there’s no trouble, like pecker trouble.

For 30 years we raised our kids and dealt with the incessant birds who found our house irresistible twice a year – pecking giant holes in the siding every fall to create safe and cozy roosts for the winter, and then (obviously now discontented with their autumn digs) pecking new and improved holes again each spring, to build fresh nests to raise their young. It’s not that we tolerated it exactly. We’d complain bitterly twice a year, while watching the growing number of perfect three-inch holes effectively customizing our home. We were no match. Nature wins.

Our kids got good grades, practiced ordinary baseball all summer and slightly better-than-ordinary music all winter (in Minnesota, more winter=more practice time). Almost nothing out of the ordinary happened in our lives until the day I watched myself wash my hands in the bathroom sink, and I experienced an epiphany that would change my life forever.

“Where does all this water come from?” I thought (actually puzzled by my own ignorance). I get warm, clean water from this faucet, plenty more when I turn on my shower, gallons to quench my lawn, a flawless fresh flush from the toilet and enough more to handle dishes, laundry and a daily cup of tea. Who – tell me – who is in charge of this? Who is the responsible party?! And, I decided, whoever it was, I desperately needed to thank them.

And so, in a quirky diversion from my otherwise ordinary path, I wrote to my City’s Water Department. I admitted in the note that I didn’t know who they were, nor what they actually did on a daily basis… I only knew that the result of their work was a never-ending supply of clean, accessible water for me. And I signed, ‘Thanks a Million!” That was the first note…

I began taking stock of the other ordinary things I enjoyed, courtesy of the hard work and labor of strangers. I flipped on the light switch the next day, turned my computer on, plugged in my cell phone charger… and realized it was time to send a “Thanks a Million!” note to the electric company. Exactly where those notes went didn’t matter. Anyone at the electric company, opening the envelope, would deserve the message. And the simple gratitude I felt while writing it, gave just the right boost to my otherwise ordinary day. I kept track of each note in a little black book – a sweet compendium of deserving companies, addresses and strangers. And each time I grabbed for the book, the texture of the cover felt like a smooth handshake – the illusion of a physical connection to the recipient of the day’s gratitude.

My mother used to say, “Cast your bread upon the waters…” and never really trusting karma, she would finish the quote with, “…and someday, soggy sandwiches!” She was clever and sassy, and never understood how I ended up living my life with rose-colored glasses. But I kept thanking people – the lunch ladies at my kid’s school, the company that built the playground equipment, the checkout clerk at the grocery store, my mother’s physical therapist – and helping out where I could.

I stopped by our City Hall one day, after volunteering at the high school, helping members of the senior class register as voters. With a stack of new registrations to turn in, the woman behind the desk asked my name. “Oh, these aren’t from me,” I shied. “I’m just helping out Mr. Finley who teaches U.S. Government at the High School.” The woman insisted, so I said, “Sarah Graham,” and handed her the forms.

“Sarah Graham?” a guy yelled from the far side of the counter. I startled, not recognizing him at all. “The letter!” he said, pointing at me. “Did you write a letter? A letter to the Water Department?” “Yes,” I admitted, and he excitedly said, “Come with me!” The woman behind the desk shrugged impishly, so I followed the smiling man to the building next door. He punched in a security code, opening the door to a small entryway of the Water Department and there, framed on the wall, was my letter – a testimonial of gratitude, for every worker to see, every day they came to work, contributing to the health and welfare of our little community. I was shocked… and touched.

As my gratitude for my ordinary life expanded, I wrote note after note, diligently recording them in the little black book. I’d occasionally hear back from a customer service department that they were pleased I liked their product. There are form letters aplenty to respond to dissatisfied customers, but apparently a compliment is a wild card – unexpected, and corporately confusing. I never expected a response. I only hoped companies figured out how to share my words of gratitude with the frontline workers who were making all the difference! When I wrote to my local Post Office, the Postmaster General called everyone into the office, and they thought they were all in trouble! Imagine their relief – to learn that someone noticed their efforts, and decided it was time to tell them they were doing a great job!

Well, the kids grew up, moved out, found love, and now live ordinary, happy, hamster wheel lives of their own. The woodpeckers still return twice a year on their predictable schedule, and I keep writing notes of thanks. Occasionally, my mother’s friends would ask for the latest woodpecker story, and about my latest letters – to shoe repair shopkeepers or band teachers. Sometimes they would share gratitude letters of their own they’d been inspired to write. I adored that. Older people (I have found) seem to have more time for contemplation, and seem to experience more gratitude on a daily basis. They are grateful for the childhoods they had, the friendships they made, the lives they lived. And they are grateful for the gracious angels who now assist them in ways they never anticipated needing help.

One of them decided to write a note to one of her seven children, thanking him for a lifetime of understanding and patience as the second-youngest in their large family. Although he struggled to find a modicum of the success of his siblings (and they were indifferent to him), her note thanked him and praised him for 50 years of unfailing kindness, resilience and perseverance. She expressed her heartfelt appreciation for what a loving son and a good soul he had become. That note ultimately saved his life.

A lifelong introvert, underestimating his quiet personal import on the world (and especially his family), Patrick had retreated inside himself of late, embracing his place as “a nothing.” His sister would often tease, “You’re not the oldest. You’re not the youngest. You’re not the only boy. You’re not the smartest. You’re a nothing.” After too much distance, too many disappointments, and a bout of depression that felt nearly insurmountable, Patrick was done. Then the note arrived.

A year and a half later, my mom’s friend died, and Patrick recounted his mother’s life of gratitude during a beautiful memorial. A year after that, he wrote to me and recounted the story of how lifechanging her single note – her loving words – had been that decisive day. I sobbed. He also enclosed a note she had written to me before she died – a lovely, funny, supportive and encouraging message to keep going on my gratitude trail. Inside the note was a check for $20,000. On the memo line, she wrote, “Woodpecker-proof siding.” I laughed and choked and cried my own tears of appreciation for who she was and who she and Patrick will always be in my heart.

And in her loving memory, we re-sided the house, and gratefully returned to our ordinary… extraordinary lives.