One Thousand Gratitudes, Part VI: 875-851

I'm on pace to crank out a few of these in February, so thanks again to those of you that have joined me in this series. As I work my way through the 700s and into page 100, I'm trying to keep in mind how monotonous some of these might sound, and in doing so I find myself trying to figure out for whom I should feel sorry for the most: me the person for having such an apparent lack of diversity in my life or you the reader who keeps coming back to read about my lameness.

It's a tossup, I tell ya'.

Anyway: six down; 34 to go.

Seriously, though: Thank you for reading.

Eight Hundred Seventy-Five: Miami

            South Florida may have many mysteries. It may. I’ll include Miami in that mix.

            I suppose things always feel that way away from home, though. Navigating streets, participating in public transportation, clutching maps, punching in GPS locations, arrivals and departures. I also suppose that the size of a city either magnifies or shrinks the sensation, and Miami -- the Shaquille O’Neal of cities -- looms over Kansas City, more of a Steven Nash or a Chris Paul.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part V: 900-876

As we crack the second set of hundreds it occurs to me that I'm not going to love each of these installments. This is one of those. Don't get me wrong: I love every one of them on an individual level; I just don't dig the chunk as a collective. Either that or this project has begun to loom overhead with intimidation.

I've realized the difficulty in laying all of this out and that's to sound (and be) genuine about each and every entry and carry some of the feeling behind each one into daily life.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and here's to the things in your life for which you might be grateful.

Nine Hundred: John D. Fitzgerald’s The Great Brain series

            If any collection struck me in the profound way that the adventures of John, Tom, and Sweyn did, then it must not have been that profound after all because I do not remember it. I don’t recall how I came across my first Fitzgerald read. Perhaps a stroke of coincidence led to me having one of those books in my hands. Maybe the cover struck me at the library. It’s possible that a recommendation steered me. Whatever the case, these installments whetted my appetite for series reading, priming my future novel interests. I’ve managed to get my hands on six of the eight titles, and the next time I come across a copy of the other two, my collection will be complete. The fond memories of devouring these unique treasures leave me thankful Fitzgerald wrote them, grateful that my mom was a library mom.