The road to a good attitude is paved with gratitude," somebody once said. Of course, people who make glib little comments like that should be smacked, but I was forced to admit the truth of this one over the holidays.

Everyone knows that gratitude is the whole reason Thanksgiving was invented. We all made construction paper hats and headdresses in kindergarten to help us remember when the pilgrims and Native Americans sat down together to give thanks for the recent harvest, the abundance of turkey, good health (at least for the 50 or so pilgrims still alive), the invention of popcorn, and that sort of thing. It wasn't called Thanksgiving for nothing.

But I wasn't feeling too grateful for much of anything over the holidays. It all started the day before Thanksgiving when Martha Butts called me to tell me she couldn't make it to the Friday night bridge party because she had to stay home and take care of her dog, Cricket. That sounded pretty lame to me.

"Why can't Fred do it?" I asked her bluntly.

"He's going Christmas shopping with the boys," she said.

"What?" I asked her, incredulous. "Are you telling me a bunch of men are going Christmas shopping together?"

"Oh yes - this is their third year to do it," said Martha. "They love it. Actually it's cyber shopping. They go over and hang out in Tim Jackson's basement and buy stuff over the internet."

I laughed out loud, squawking into the phone. "Are you kidding me? Surely that's an excuse for getting together to drink beer while 'accidentally' looking at lingerie on the internet!"

"Definitely," Martha said without missing a beat. This made me laugh so hard I dropped the phone, stepped back in an effort to catch it, stomped on the cat's tail, went sprawling over a kitchen chair, and landed on the kitchen floor with my ankle in a disturbing position.

"Um, Martha," I murmured toward the phone, which had landed a couple of feet away. "Do you think you could come over and give me a hand?"

Twenty-four hours later I was at home on Thanksgiving Day, my ankle bundled up in a big blue boot and propped on a pile of pillows on the coffee table. I was supposed to be overindulging with my family at my nephew's house in Nicholsville, but the injury had made that impossible. Martha and Fred had sweetly taken care of me in the emergency room, but they had to leave early that morning for Michigan, and most of my other friends were traveling as well. My ankle hurt, I was bored, and there was not a smidgen of pumpkin pie in the place. I was feeling right sorry for myself.

I tried to watch football on TV but it only reminded me of Frank, my husband gone now for many years. I clicked it off. I thought about fixing something to eat, but I had planned to be out of town, and boxed macaroni and cheese just didn't do it for me. I couldn't go for a walk, and the thought of playing solitaire on the computer was truly depressing.

As a last resort I hobbled over to the bookcase. There was nothing new to read, so I flipped through the old things until I stumbled across a book of poetry that had belonged to my mother. It was an anthology by many authors, and it contained her underlines, circles, stars, and occasional margin comments in her younger-self script - comments like "Lovely," "Lost me here," "Reminds me of the conversation with Linda," and "?!?!?!" Those scribbles made me feel a little like she was there with me.

I was about to put it back when I saw a sentimental poem about thankfulness that usually I would dismiss, but at the bottom of the page were my mother's words: "Try counting your blessings."

I sighed. Maybe she's right, I thought, sitting back on the couch. I looked out the window and noticed for the first time a big yellow moon. I felt grateful for that harvest moon. Succotash the cat sauntered in and purred into my lap. I felt grateful for her. I began to think about all the things I had in my life: good friends who play bridge with me and take me to the emergency room, a family to gather with occasionally, a house and food and clothing, health insurance when my feet go flying out from under me. The more I listed, the more I thought of, and the more I thought of, the lighter I felt.

About an hour later there was a knock on the door. My neighbor Lou Ann had heard about my condition and brought me a plate full of steaming turkey and dressing, green bean casserole, rolls, cranberry jelly, and even pumpkin pie. By then, I was about the most grateful being on the planet. I guess a lot of those corny old clichÈs stick around because they still ring true - for instance, "Listen to your mother."

Thanks, Mom.

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