Some people shorten my name and refer to me as Thank you, Thanks, others Thx, or I have even seen during text messaging, TU, which I believe if switched around is also the abbreviation for a university in Texas. But either way, whenever and whichever way people refer to me, it makes me happy when they do so.

I exist between the clouds and sky, watching gleefully, observing random acts of kindness, unexpected and even anticipated little surprises given, and the human race at its finest. Though recently as I flurry here and there across the atmosphere of the earth, a faint and distant alarm, profound and uncomfortable rises in my typically untroubled and carefree soul . . . more and more I am being referred to less and less.

In some parts of the world there is a day when groups of people gather and use my name more than usual. They do so along with feasting on a grand amount of turkey and other, what they refer to as “fixings,” wherein they unbuckle and loosen their trousers and lounge on a sofa watching a sport called, football. In parts of Asia families refer to me during a visit to the graveyard of their ancestors and celebrate by indulging, once again in a “bountiful banquet of food,” and then dance about in a circle.

But just recently I have noted a string of opportunities for people to use my name; a random act of kindness, a favor for a friend, a gift of hospitality, and the receiver(s) said nothing. For example, two men were installing an air conditioning unit for a family when the lunch hour approached. One of the family members offered to run to a nearby sandwich shop and purchase food for all. He even offered the workers their choice of sandwich and drink. They placed an order and handed a few bills to the family member. He refused the money and said, “No, please, it’s on me.” The worker put his money back in his pocket and replied, “Okay.” The other worker did not volunteer any money at all. When the food was delivered a few minutes later the workers took the food and did not even peep my name, not even a whisper of it. I was diffused.

Not long ago, a father and son asked another parent and their child to spend an afternoon at a carnival and cornmaze. The father was excited to show hospitality to the other parent by purchasing their carnival and cornmaze tickets. Though, the other parent and child, after enjoying a pleasant afternoon together, walked away and never said my name. And sadly, I believe they did not even think it.

There are more, many more stories to be told in this regard, but I hope that people won’t forget about me all together. Because if they do I will eventually become nonexistent, and in time . . . fade away and disappear forever.

I like Tuesday.

It’s not Monday with its beginning of the work week blues.

It’s not Wednesday, or “hump day.” Never really liked the sound of that.

Thursday my husband doesn’t eat. It’s his way of controlling his weight.

Friday is nice. But there is always the expectation TO DO something nice.

Saturday is good, but always busy, like a “catch up” day.

Sunday is sweet, filled with grace and goodness.

But alas, Tuesday is a day to enjoy the sunshine. To be grateful for whatever we have to be grateful for. It’s a day to not think about the fact that your little guy is home from school with strep throat, or that the bills need to be paid, or that the lawn has weeds.

It’s a day to be thankful we had a doctor to see when the little one was sick, or there was some money to pay the bills, or that a nice gentleman came by to spray the weeds.

It’s a day to celebrate the little things.

I’m happy that my new book is in it’s final edits. It’s really close. So close. In fact, an editor is putting her magic touches on it right now and will send me notes by the end of the week. Once the words are all shiny and pretty and new, I will send the book to my agent. I hope she likes it.

Today is Tuesday and I am thankful that I can write here, in my blog. Maybe one day, in the future, it could be a Friday or a Sunday or even a “hump day,” oh my! I could be writing about what my agent thought about my new book. Or maybe I’ll write how I actually, finally, sold my first book. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

This is why I like wistful Tuesdays.

Tuesday is a day to wish and hope and dream.