A Day in a Life. Journal entry 5.14.17
“Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans."
~Allen Saunders (but often inaccurately attributed to John Lennon)
Sunday.
I
wake before the alarm goes off,
and
I lay there for a few minutes.
Thinking.
When
I go downstairs I turn on the coffee maker.
The
dogs scurry about.
They
act as if they haven't seen me in 8 years instead of 8 hours.
I
feed them.
Franklin,
the finicky one, just looks at me.
I
have to feed him a couple pieces of food by hand to get him started.
Coffee
ready and dogs in the backyard,
I
check emails, the NY Times, and scroll Facebook.
Looking
at the clock I realize I'm running late for church,
and
I'm scheduled as head usher.
Showered,
I wheel one of the bikes down the plank on the porch,
and
when I do I notice a tulip in a neighbor's yard.
It's
withered.
Just
yesterday it was in full bloom.
Nothing
is permanent, I think to myself.
I
snap it's photo.
As
I pedal to church the air feels good.
It's
chilly but the sun is out.
It's
Mother's Day, and during worship the pastor speaks of mothers.
I
think of my mother, who left us too soon.
I
think of a specific time and tears well in my eyes.
I
hold back tears as I ready myself for collection.
So
many years later and I still feel.
I
am grateful.
On
my way home I stop at a coffee shop,
to
read and write.
But
it's crowded and I can't focus,
so
I leave.
I
have an egg sandwich for lunch and feed the dogs pieces of the crust.
I
lay down and am surprised that I fall asleep for just a few minutes.
After
a few stretches I sit on a cushion in front of the small altar,
which
is off to the side of the room.
I
pray,
asking mostly for guidance.
asking mostly for guidance.
Then
I meditate for a few minutes.
I
have to pick up photos from a show that came down last week.
But
it's raining, so I make coffee and scroll Facebook,
and
wait.
I
use my large bike, and a trailer, to retrieve the photos.
The
gallery is about two miles away, and I push hard into a strong
headwind.
I
huff and puff but know that the wind will be at my back on return.
The
reward.
Pushing
the bike up the plank I notice the tulip again.
Now
is all we have.
I
switch bikes,
to
a shorter one,
then
head to the JCC for a steam and swim.
I
love riding this particular bike,
but
there is an incessant click in the crank,
and
it's gotten louder.
The
street is slow and crowded,
I
keep pace with traffic,
but
I pull over to the side to inspect the sound.
When
I do the person behind me beeps
and
yells an obscenity out their window.
I
make eye contact as they pass and say nothing.
I
feel sorry for them.
Angry
and saddled to their car.
When
I swim it feels good.
In
the buoyancy of the water nothing aches.
The
steam room feels even better.
I
have leftovers for dinner.
Rice-and-beans
with roast vegetables.
My
dogs stare at me while I eat.
I
don't give them any; they've had their meal.
It's
still early so I decide to stop out for a couple beers.
As
I pass my neighbor's I notice the tulip again.
It's
beautiful, even in its weathered and wilted state.
A
snapshot of life, I suppose.
Real
life.
I
walk to the tavern.
It's
still light outside but dark inside.
The
first sip of beer tastes good.
If
fizzes across my tongue.
When
I return home my dogs greet me as if I've been gone for two days.
I
sit on the floor and let them crawl all over me.
This
is now, I think.
Now.
Tomorrow
is tomorrow.
Another
day in a life.
But
now is now.
And
it's beautiful.
But
sometimes I need reminders.
To
remember.
To
return to now.
And
that's okay.
“Every moment and every event of every person's life on earth plants something in their soul."
~Fr. Thomas Merton
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