On Gonzo's Pond — El Día de Dar Gracias a Dios

[Luis Gonzalez]

On Gonzo's Pond — El Día de Dar Gracias a Dios
By Luis Gonzalez
For Boiling Frogs

Thanksgiving morning arrives at Gonzo’s Pond not with the clatter of kitchens or the clink of dishes, but with a soft, reverent hush — a kind of quiet that feels older than the holiday itself. In Spanish, I prefer to call it El Día de Dar Gracias a Dios, The Day To Give Thanks to God, and something about that phrasing changes the texture of the day. It isn’t just gratitude; it’s gratitude directed, intentional, and offered. Giving thanks to someone, even if the offering is mostly silence.

Down by the pond, the air still holds the faint warmth of late fall in Central Florida. A thin silver mist lifts off the water, rising slowly like incense from a small chapel. The cypress knees stand like old parishioners at sunrise, their reflections trembling in the slightest breeze. Somewhere across the water, a heron clears its throat — that rough, prehistoric croak — breaking the morning open.

I walk the familiar path with the mind already turning inward. Holidays do that. Age does that too. There’s something about reaching this stage of life — my own Indian summer still lingering, still warm — that makes gratitude feel less like a practice and more like a presence. It hangs in the air here as naturally as the scent of damp earth.

Continue reading at Boiling Frogs

[Smokin Joe]

Wonderful!

We lost Mrs. Joe to a heart attack in '21, just when another health problem was resolving. It has been a long road back from that loss, which I will ever feel. Returning to work provided structure, a set of motions to go through that occupied most waking minutes and tired me enough to sleep. When I got home to the house that she filled with her presence, there was also the warm cloak of her there, the paintings and other artworks, the feelings she engraved spiritually on those walls that made it a place of comfort and solace. It remains thus.
My daughter, who was going through other trials of her own at the time, moved in, with my blessings, and she, too, has healed through that mantle of her mother's presence. Our father-daughter relationship has bloomed and that helps us both, because much of her mother's nature is reflected in us both.
It is a place of peace. No drugs, no alcohol allowed. A sanctuary.

Gonzo's pond reminds me of the places I spent much of my youth, on the shores, in the runs and creeks of the Maryland tidewater. The shrill cries of Osprey, the croak of the Blue Heron, are familiar tunes, played now mainly in the jukebox of my memories, but a comfort when mentioned, an auditory trip back to a simpler day.

Thank you for the trip back in time, and the peace that brings.