A walk in the woods, verdant after a long-needed (but not really enough) rain, and hearing the water running in the streambed; flowers blooming along the trail; the pure joy of full mobility, which is so easily taken for granted -- a long-time friend recently broke her upper femur and is recovering from surgery, facing a long rehab, while living in a house with steep and narrow stairs.
For the life I've lived thus far, struggles and stupidity alike, pains and pleasures, hopes misplaced and wishes granted, serendipitous good fortune and occasional bad luck (or is it karma?). In my mother's effects I found a leather pouch and in it, inter alia, there's a folded packet of paper. On the outside is written, in elegant cursive, "My Darling Ethel's Hair." Unfolding the packet I find a lock of auburn hair, carefully cut more than 130 years ago. Ethel --who died at age 8 -- was (would have been?) my great-aunt; the handwriting that of my great-grandmother, who had lost her mother three years earlier and would lose her husband the following spring. Not long after her husband died she moved from southern Kansas to Omaha NE, because, she told someone, there were too many painful memories down there. I'm grateful I've been thus far been spared any unendurable burdens.
"all sanity depends on this: that it should be a delight to feel heat strike the skin, a delight to stand upright, knowing the bones moving easily under the flesh." Doris Lessing.
It's a beautiful day (pending the approach of a relatively mild heat wave), I'm mobile and feeling secure, and although I tried to dump out the banana bread without first using a toothpick to be sure it was done, and having it come out in pieces, it turns out to be a tasty "banana crumble." Sort of like making lemonade out of lemons, I guess.
Put your crumbles in a 9 x 11 x 2 inch pan, make REAL (not from mix) vanilla pudding, pour the pudding over the crumbles, let it set, and voila! Disaster Cake. I invented Disaster Cake by accidentally destroying a two layer chocolate cake a few hours before a potluck for which I was asked to bring dessert. Disaster Cake was requested for each following potluck until I retired several years later.
Another early morning walk in the woods, 3+ miles, soft sunshine, birds, flowers and general verdance, the sort of moment one wants to capture forever, but one knows it's ephemeral. But it was wonderful. And the breakfast after ("senior special" of pancakes, eggs over easy, and link sausage, plus link sausage). Life can get better, I guess, but not by much. A gift.
I feel like a broken record: I'm grateful for the gentle breeze of pre-dawn as I meditate on the screened back porch; for the ephemeral ability to be able to decide for myself what I'd like to do today and for the having the power to do it; for a safe place to sleep and ample food to eat. The simple things, at bottom, are everything.
Buddhists talk about three types of feelings: positive, negative, and neutral. The neutral ones tend to get lost because they are boring. But when something like a gout attack flares up, it becomes clear how strong and welcome the neutral feeling was when the gout was dormant. Sometimes one is feeling good simply because one is not feeling bad, and that can be good.
A positive bank balance, a car that runs, legs that work, food in the fridge. Living the sort of life most people in the world only dream of. What else could there be to be grateful for?
The gentle breeze arising after a soft morning rain; the gift of being able to have a backyard with flowers and a small vegetable garden; the sound of birds and the sight of a scampering squirrel. How many people in this world are denied the luxury (if it is it a luxury or simply a basic human right) of sitting on a screened porch shortly after sunrise?
A doe and her twin fawns watching from the woods as we walk by; the temporary stream filled with rushing water tumbling over rocks; the bright morning sun and its gentle warmth on my arm. Literally, another day in paradise. Oh yeah and the transient gift of mobility and generally good health.
After reading a blistering, self-righteous, ill-natured Mean Girl crit of an emerging writer's work on another forum, I am extremely grateful for the good manners and good will exhibited by the vast majority of writers on this forum.
Soft gray morning with a gentle breeze, nice walk in the woods. Homemade (not by me) waffles and bacon, good coffee. Another day stretching out before me. Another day it's good to be alive. Thank you.
I walked to the end of the lane. (Mobility has become more problematic. Every day is a bonus.) It rained and temperatures dropped from high thirties to mid twenty degrees centigrade) My daughter gave me lots of nice clothes and a beautiful bright pink leather shoulder bag. I adore pink!
I spent the last couple days up in Wisconsin's North Woods, helping a neighbor when he drove up to pick apples from a tree outside a rarely-used family house (called, in the Wisconsin manner, a "cabin" but hardly rustic, simply a farmhouse surrounded by forest and fields). Absolute silence, clean air, sunshine. A great taste of a part of life I knew nothing about (not being a Wisconsin native). Slept well, ate well, even visited a supper club. So glad to be alive. My contentedness was tempered by the fact that my neighbor, a bit younger than I and once far more athletic than I could ever be -- a hunter, skier, robust farm kid -- has worsening Parkinson's disease, with tremors and balance issues and more, and it was moving to be around him as he coped, still driving the tractor around, etc., but needing frequent breaks. Made me count my blessings regarding my as-yet-still-good health.
Began the day with an early-morning meditation sit on the screened back porch, heard the birds awaken, felt the first stirring breezes of the day; went to the Y after a nice lunch, and worked out for about an hour; went for a moderately long after-dinner walk in a wonderfully forested greenway; had a nice conversation with a couple we met as they walked their two dogs and 4-month-old little girl. Is there anything more idyllic? I am truly blessed, and aim to savor it while I can, knowing (and ideally accepting) that nothing is permanent.
^exactly this^ and why we must live every day as if it were our last. Be kind in mind and spirit. Learn to find inner peace and help those who are less fortunate.
All my gratitudinous tranquility, such as it is/was, is gone at the moment. Poof. Car needs more work and I have to decide whether to fix it again, or stop throwing good money after bad and let it go. We have another car, but I like having one of my own, and I was proud of my old junker, in a sort of contrarian way. But as a local mechanic ad says, "never love something that can't love you back." Ah well. Then this morning the home router began having issues, dropping the internet intermittently. AT&T will swap out the router for a new one, for free, to arrive tomorrow. Right now the router is working again, no doubt still temporarily. I'm grateful for that. Not so much for me being able to post drivel such as this, but for my autistic son who loves to surf the internet and tends to melt down when things like this happen. "Patience," he says in more tranquil times, "is a virtue, but not for me." Life sure has a way of rising up and slapping one in the face. But I need to remember the gratitude part, to re-read some of my own posts about all I am grateful for. Because there is much more good than bad; this is primarily my anxiety rising up. I must remember to breathe freely, and not hold my breath in anticipation of things going wrong. Easier said than done, of course. Namaste
Sitting here, warm dry and safe, at my desk, with my lovebird on my forearm, his head tucked under his wing, the bird swaying gently as my fingers move across the keyboard. It's an honor to have earned his trust, and I am grateful to have made such a strong cross-species connection. I'm also grateful for my continued good health, and for easy access to food and other necessities. Autumn is slipping gently into place. I have so many blessings I take for granted. I must have been pretty good in my last life to be reborn into this one.
Reminiscing with my siblings this evening. We'd pile in my Dad's 1952 Ford Custom, and go to places like Buffalo Zoo and Crystal Beach. One fond memory we have is riding the all-wooden roller coaster. Man, how that coaster rattled! Good memories.
I remember riding the wooden coaster at Six Flags, the one called the Mine Train I think. It was the really mellow roller coaster, meant to be not so scary, so adults and little kids could ride it. I enjoyed that one, but the Screaming Eagle and the Ninja used to freak me out pretty bad. I have a fear of heights. And after my friends and I rode on the Ninja they decided to do it again, but I sat on a bench and just watched. The train got stuck way up at the top, and it took like 15 minutes before workers walked out on the catwalks and escorted people down one by one along the catwalks and I think stairs that got them all the way to the ground. After that they were terrified of all roller coasters, and I don't think they ever rode one again.
Grateful for living in a society in which losing weight is an option, not a function of famine; for the wondrous sunrise this morning, the breezes and birds, including cranes flying overhead and turkeys wandering about; for having all (or at least most) of my mental functions intact, at least as far as I know. For having come of age at a time when global climate change was a scientific theory and not a developing fact.
