Nancy's Notes

“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” John F. Kennedy

Many years ago, I wrote those words at the top of a Thanksgiving post that still lives somewhere deep in my blog archives. I told a simple story about standing in a Walmart checkout line, oversized roasting pan in hand, oversized turkey in cart, and overhearing a man behind me say, “Thank you for the work you do for our community.”

I didn’t know him, and he didn’t have to say it, but he did. And in that moment, I remember how deeply it landed. I had been through a few rough weeks with what felt like more criticism than kindness in the air. That man’s words stopped me short and reminded me why gratitude matters most when things are messy, not perfect.

That was eleven years ago. Gratitude was something I was learning then. Today, it’s something I live. It’s no longer a theory or a virtue on a poster, it’s the quiet awareness that shapes my mornings and softens my nights. It’s what steadies me when life comes apart at the seams and humbles me when it doesn’t.

At this stage of life, gratitude looks different. It’s smaller, simpler, and yet somehow deeper. I’m grateful that I wake up most mornings feeling healthy. I’m grateful that not a single ambulance has pulled into our driveway in many months, and that sentence, in our house, carries more weight than anyone might guess.

I’m grateful for my husband’s strength, for two sons who have found their paths and their purpose, for a daughter-in-law who fits seamlessly into our family, and for a little granddaughter whose laughter can erase any bad day I’ve ever had.

And I am even grateful, in a way I never expected, for the care and compassion being shown to my sister as she faces one of life’s most difficult roads. It’s not easy to witness, but I find comfort in knowing she’s being treated with dignity and love, something that reminds me, again, how fortunate we are to live in a country that still believes healthcare is a human right.

That’s the kind of gratitude that sneaks up on you. The kind that isn’t tied to success or celebration, but to survival and grace.

When I wrote that first post, I was living in a small town in Alberta juggling meetings, community events, and political debates. I thought I understood gratitude because I had a full plate. What I didn’t realize then was that fullness isn’t the same as fulfillment. Gratitude isn’t measured by what you achieve or acquire; it’s in what you notice.

It’s the small mercies that hold the big moments together.

And as Canadians, we mark that differently than our southern neighbours. Our Thanksgiving is earlier, quieter, simpler. We gather around tables that might not have every trimmings-laden dish, but they’re rich with conversation, with shared stories, with the comfort of being together. It’s not about travel or shopping or consumption, it’s about connection.

Even with the cost of food these days, families still find a way to make the table feel full. And I think that says something about us, that gratitude in Canada has never been about abundance. It’s about belonging.

This year, I’m also grateful to be part of something I couldn’t have imagined back then: a citizen-led effort called Forever Canadian. It’s about unity, about holding this country together, and about the quiet pride that comes from giving back to the place that has given so much to me.

And I’m grateful that I live in a country where we can do this, where ordinary citizens can organize, speak, gather signatures, and work toward something we believe in without fear. We may not agree on every issue, but we still have the freedom to engage, to participate, and to care out loud. That’s no small thing in today’s world.

Gratitude doesn’t mean everything is easy. Far from it. It just means we don’t lose sight of what’s still good, what’s still worth fighting for, what still makes this life beautiful.

So today and each day I’ll give thanks for the obvious things, health, family, laughter, the smell of good food cooking but also for the harder things: the lessons disguised as challenges, the moments of patience I didn’t think I had, the quiet resilience that comes with age and experience.

And I’ll give thanks for all the people who keep showing up, in my life, in my work, and in my country. For those who choose hope over cynicism, kindness over cruelty, unity over division.

Eleven years later, I still believe what I wrote back then: gratitude isn’t about pretending life is perfect. It’s about knowing that even in the imperfection, there is still light, still meaning, still joy.

And if I’ve learned anything since that Walmart checkout line, it’s that gratitude is less about the words we say, and more about how we choose to live them.

Still grateful. Still Canadian.