It’s a day to feel grateful … and to ponder gratitude. One thing I’ve noticed is how mercurial it can be, how it can lie leaden in the heart until something happens — a friend calls, a baby laughs, the dough rises — and suddenly it flies up, a bird with fluttering wings.
You try to catch it as it soars, but soon it’s gone again. Was it really there, or were you just imagining it?
I choose to believe the former. Its sightings may be sporadic, but its presence is real.
Yesterday there was a drive and some errands that reminded me how many worlds exist inside this one world we call home.
There was a body shop with country music blaring and an American flag flying and a mechanic named JJ who pronounced the bill — “that will be nine thousand dollars” — before grinning and saying he was just kidding.
There was a hole-in-the-wall eatery with goat meat and fou-fou and a woman wearing a colorful West African print in bright yellow.
And in between these places were parkways of green, the home of our first president, and the Potomac River flashing bright outside the car window, its bridges arching gracefully over the waves.
It’s a big world out there. How good it is to be reminded of it.
For years I rose early and left the house, then drove 20 minutes to the Metro station, where I boarded the train that took me to an office in the city.
A couple days ago, I made my first Metro trip of the year… of the year! And this, of course, in the eleventh of twelve months. What to say, other than once again how much the pandemic has upended our lives.
This week I rode in during evening rush hour but the train was only half full, and I felt myself strangely longing for the bustle of evening at the Vienna station.
There were hopeful signs, though, new stations that will open next week as part of the Silver Line, and the crazy fact that even though my return train was emptier than the one heading into town … I ran into two people I knew.
As I wrap presents for my grandson’s special day, I recall that a few weeks ago, at the birthday of another grandson, my daughter confided that my present was the only one not in a gift bag, the only one, that is wrapped in paper.
Am I the only one who still does this, who cuts, creases and tapes the paper, who unspools and measures the ribbon, then curls it with scissors?
There are a few of us out there who honor the old ways, who wrap rather than insert, who tie rather than stuff. But not many.
Since we live less than a mile from the border of Camp Reston (my name for this suburb during the summer) and kayaks are available to rent on Lake Anne, a few miles beyond that, taking a random paddle some weekend has been on my list of summer things to do since May.
Yesterday we were finally able to make good on it, with temps not yet 90 and rain not yet falling.
What a revelation to kayak among vistas that I usually stroll through. There were the rose mallow, from the other side of the shoreline, the watery one. And there were the backyards and porches of houses I usually only see from the front.
It was an exercise in perspective-shifting. And it was exercise, period. Both are necessary. Both are good.
So far, today is looking cloudier than most in these parts, so I may be able to make it through without wearing my sunglasses. If so, it will be a rarity — and a welcome one.
The world is greener and more luxurious when I don’t view it through tinted plastic. But my eyes appreciate the barrier when faced with a searing sun.
Best of all is glimpsing pools of light from inside the green cocoon of the rose arbor. It’s filtered light that spares the naked eye. And it’s beautiful, to boot.
It was almost 10 last night when the editor’s email arrived. I found it on my last check of the day. Could I read over my essay, which he had recently accepted and edited, and send him fixes as soon as possible?
Receiving a work-related email so late in the evening reminded me of the old days, when I’d get similar requests that didn’t feel as warm and fuzzy as last night’s did. Last night I felt plugged in and stimulated rather than tired and overworked.
And no wonder. This time, the words in question are ones I’ve written for myself, not for others. I write them to share, as I do the words in this blog, but they are not words for hire.
The difference gives me pause, and makes me grateful.
Yesterday, a trip to Virginia Beach for a wedding. On the way, a bridge and tunnel, with views across the Chesapeake Bay all the way to the Atlantic.
It looked gray and cold, this ocean, although it was the same one I saw only a few weeks ago from the other side.
There, I could look down on it from above, could see the shades of turquoise, navy and cerulean. I could walk a trail up and down cliffs that hugged the coves. I could see the flowering cactus up close. Here, I could sense the vast expanse, waves lapping all the way to the Old World.
The same sea, different shores.
As the world economy continues to slump, the dollar and euro have nearly reached parity. Although this may be good news for American travelers in Europe, it’s hardly a happy situation. It does make me think about the euro, though, and how I felt about it when I was over there.
The smallest paper currency is, of course, the €5 note, which means that denominations smaller than that, including €1, are coins.
I felt the weighty difference when I was traveling. Does it cause one to spend more or less? The former, I think, since one might be tempted to treat the €1 as a quarter. But it is more honest. The dollar buys so little these days it may as well be a coin.
So it gave me pause, these differences in currency. Think how much heavier our pockets and purses would be if we were to adapt a similar model. But would it make more sense in the long run? I think so.
Being under the weather, as I have been this week, helps me appreciate the details. I woke up thirsty this morning and have been enjoying sips of cold, clear water as I answer emails and read the paper.
Having a comfy couch or chair on which to recline as I do these things … that’s another detail to enjoy. As are the rhododendrons that bloomed while I wasn’t looking.
It’s no secret that being restricted narrows the lens, helps us focus on what we still have. I’m trying to let this flu bug do that for me.
