Some people are good at saying thank you. My daughter and daughter-in-law and my husband's niece, for example.
They're the kind of people who make you feel bad about giving them a gift because you know they'll insist on taking time out of their very full lives to write you a lovely note of thanks.
Not that saying thank you isn't important. Of course it is. That's why it's one of the first things we teach our children, long before they learn to write.
Wiley is 2, the youngest of our four grandchildren. His parents have drilled him on manners.
"What do you say, Wiley?" they ask, when his big brother shares a cookie. (Wiley and I like cookies a lot.) His eyes will light up as he smiles and says something that sounds a lot like "Thank you." Then he'll hold out his hand and say, "More."
I wish you could see him. Is anything finer than the smile of a child with a grateful heart?
I'd like to think I'm a "thank you note" kind of person. Truth is, I'm not. I write notes in my head but they rarely make it to print, let alone, to the mail.
I thought of that this morning as I read the notes from those three young women. Their mothers raised them well.
My mother raised me right, too. But she wasn't one to write notes. To her, it was enough to speak her thanks or show it with a gesture (often a peach cobbler) and mean it with all her heart.
That said, I believe absolutely in the power of putting words into writing. It's what I do for a living. So I decided to make this, my first column of a new year, a thank you note. Where to start?
First, thanks for inspiration. It's that tingly thing that makes a writer want to write, a singer want to sing or most anybody want to scratch a creative itch.
In my case, it's an odd and unpredictable urge that comes from, say, birds at my window, snow on the mountains or three "thank you" notes in one day.
I can't define inspiration or tell you where to find it. I only know it when I see it. Often, it's just a deadline and the sound of a ticking clock. But I'm always grateful for any way it shows up.
Second, thanks for the help, for all the people who take the words I write and, with hard work and a little magic, deliver them to your door or your computer. Having been involved for years in various steps of that process, I'm always thankful and amazed to see it work.
Third, thanks for all the great material. Here the list grows long: To my family in the South, living or long departed; to my children and grandchildren in California; to people I meet in airports or public restrooms or checkout lines in a strange new home my mother would've called "Las Vegas of All Places."
Also, a special thanks for my husband. He puts up with a lot.
To write about life and whatever comes along, if you stay alive and pay attention, you'll never run out of material. All sorts of things, good and bad, will keep coming along.
That's what I try to do: stay alive, pay attention and write about what I see. But writing isn't complete until it's read.
Whether you're new to this column or have read it for 20 years, you make it possible for me to keep doing what I do.
Sometimes you send notes or emails to say that you've read something I wrote and it meant something to you and you hope I'll keep writing.
Words like that are better than a cookie. I read every one of them, and I wish you could see how they make me smile. I may not always have time to reply. Or even to comb my hair. But I want you to know I am truly grateful for your readership, your encouragement and, most of all, your friendship.
Please accept this as a "thank you" note written, yes, just for you. Like Wiley, I'll say a simple "Thank you." Then I'll hold out my hand and say, "More."
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Randall is a columnist for Tribune News Service in Washington, D.C., and may be contacted at P.O. Box 777394, Henderson, NV 89077, or on her website, www.sharonrandall.com.
TNS
