This post wrote itself during the course of yesterday, beginning with a small drop of water mysteriously hanging from the tip of a leaf on the early morning dog-marsh- walk. Such is the drought here that signs in one town announce hand watering only from 5pm-9am, another has banned all outside watering, and all this is mild compared to some stricken parts of the nation and world. When I examined this drop closely, I wondered not so much at how it formed, but how it managed to not roll down the leaf surface. Answer: the wisp of a spider’s web crafted carefully to curl the leaf back just so, and thus trap either bugs or water for its sustenance.
From that moment of peace came a day of foment, as I raced through, in this order: the furnace man; roadworks en route to the colonoscopy consultation; more road works en route to the needed referral for said consultation; a funeral procession; leftover salad en route to… “work”?; picking up child at school; dinner; email; a final few innings of the Red Sox last home game of a dismal season. I found myself mindful of friends who’ve lost parents this week and their present and coming grief, this tempered in small part by whizzing past the largest sky blue morning glories I’ve ever seen, the bright red maple at the end of my driveway now in scarlet dress, and the glimpse of a fat kingfisher who sat squarely on the marsh bridge as I raced past in the car oh, so long ago that morning.
I am mindful of the fullness of such days. Laundry gets tossed in and the dog let out amidst a myriad of small tasks and heavy thoughts, all jumbled together in what some days seems to be the ever decreasing capacity of my small mind. But often a grace note will appear. Yesterday’s was the interpretation the GI doctor gave to my rate of breathless speech (running in from the parking lot late, the thesis I was delivering orally about the previous failed tests and preparations.) When asked if I drank coffee, I must have looked horrified, then realized my behavior could indicate I’d had 4 cups before this 10 am visit. “No,” I replied, “I don’t drink coffee, never learned to like the stuff, although that may be hard to believe this morning.” The kind doctor replied, “Ah, well, you are a high energy person, I see.”
And I’m going with that. High energy, cramming in the necessary and trying to fit in the beautiful, this is how I would like to live rather than as the lost, forgetful, or slightly deranged person my lower self sometimes accuses me of becoming. Yesterday was a day of trying to fit it all in and stay aware of the gift of the day: not to forget the pain or the problems, but among them, and with each other, finding and working for peace.
(Note to self: Hand water new hostas after 9pm)