Gratitude * Sunday
Sunday’s heartfelt tradition.
A time to slow down, to reflect, to be grateful.
A list of gratitudes, our gratefulness feeds one another.
Quoted from Taryn Wilson
Joining the Gratitude Sunday Tradition at Wooly Moss Roots.
Coral pink clouds streaked
across a cold blue winter
sky: Parrish painting.
“Has anybody seen my glasses? I can’t see to see them.”
“They are on top of your head.”
“I thought I already felt up there.”
Isn’t it interesting how minds and brains and bodies work? I can know something one minute and have forgotten it the next. I don’t want to hear any Alzheimer’s jokes, Alzheimer’s is way too real an issue to joke about.
Another interesting example: in my mind I see my body as it was in my twenties, toned, tan, and flexible, and often I am startled when I see myself in the mirror. I attempt to do physical things that I’m really no longer capable of because I’ve forgotten the body doesn’t work that way any more.
It’s not that I’m in denial about aging (though I am, I am); it’s that once you’ve been used to using the body in certain ways when a change happens the mind doesn’t necessary keep up with the body. I still think I can until the body says I can’t. Which doesn’t stop me from trying.
I was never very physically coordinated in the first place. I couldn’t run, catch a ball, or climb a tree. I could sorta pitch a ball, though I rarely hit what I was aiming at, and though I loved to swim I could never figure out how to coordinate arms, legs, and breathing at the same time. I couldn’t walk and chew gum without biting myself.
I was the kid who couldn’t jump over the horse in gymnastics class, who couldn’t climb that damn rope to the ceiling, who was last chosen to be on any team in gym class and first struck in dodge ball, who was laughed at by peers when attempting any kind of physical movement including dance. Mom let me have a modern dance class when I was in Junior High and the dance teacher told her it wasn’t worth Mom’s money for me to continue classes. Imagine if the teacher had taken the time to teach me. I might have learned. I spent my late teen and early twenties dancing to all the Friday night rock concerts I could find. And yes, I fell off my high heels many times.
I’ve learned over the years how much value there is in keeping the body moving. It doesn’t matter what other people think or my uncoordination and traditional size, this is my body and I’ll move if I want to. Note bene: I don’t call movement “exercise”. The body moves. The body can do exercises but it requires movement to do so.
I like to walk around my house without my glasses to exercise what natural eyesight I have. I know my house well enough I can’t get lost or run into walls or doors, but I might not see some small thing. Like my glasses.
I used to walk every day in my neighborhood, which satisfied a nosy curiousness I possess. I love looking into the neighbor’s yards, seeing what’s abloom or afruit, and who is tending the blossoms and the harvest. Right now those adventures are not in my repertoire so I walk barefoot in the lush grass of my small yard. I enjoy the soft thickness before it’s cut and the subtle pointedness of it after it’s been cut. I prefer sun warmed grass to shaded cold grass. My feet gather traces of whatever the slender green spears hold: dew, damp leaves, pine needles, tiny slugs, bits of soil.
Water is my other friend, kinder to my sore back than walking right now. I still can’t swim, you know that coordinated thing of arms, legs, and breathing, but in the water I can move all the bones and muscles and nerves that do not want to move on land.
I don’t appreciate movement because it aids in weight loss; it may or may not. I’m not convinced weight loss or conforming to a certain standard of female beauty is healthful for the average female especially if it involves social stigmatization because of body shape or size. I advocate movement for movement’s sake.
I believe in movement because it is what the body requires. It’s what the body is built for; coordinated or not, the mere bones and muscle structure implies movement. Movement helps me find my glasses, helps me walk barefoot in my yard, and gets me into the pool. The more you move the better your brain works and movement just feels good.
Color Watch – blooming attractions in my neighborhoods this week – my scrabby ugly pines that are always full of happy chirping birds; wind finally spilled December’s dry bronzed noble fir onto its side; the green lilac leaves are budding up; wild and unruly sungold grasses so soft to walk on; a neighbor’s magnolia sharing itself with my roof.
Currently Reading – Anna Karenina (1878, fiction) by Leo Tolstoy; Making Yourself Indispensable: The Power of Personal Accountability (2012, psychology) by Mark Samuel; Mr Strangelove: A Biography of Peter Sellers (2002, biography) by Ed Sikov; Managing Your Manager: Getting Ahead With Any Kind of Boss (2011, interpersonal relationships) by Gonzague Dufour. Yes, concurrently.
Have you joined me in reading this year’s Sassy Kas Winter Classic choice, Anna Karenina? Winter is a good time to enjoy a different time and place in literature. Spring is coming hard and fast here and the end is in sight for my Winter Classic Read. Fluffy spring reads already on the waiting list.
This week I have been grateful for:
- Moderate temperatures whether wet or dry.
- Soft damp grass to walk in.
- Sun and wind on my skin.
- Being able to work.
- Being able to move.
- The yearly return of the light and the results the earth produces: spring blossoms, new lambs, fresh eggs.
- Emery boards, tweezers, hair brushes.
- Brooms and mops.
- Keeping the dining table clear for more than a week.
- How much pure joy I get from listening to birds. Though I don’t know one from another.
- The cool tease of February sun. Looks warm from inside the house, really not warm outside.
Hoping you have a lovely week.
Namaste. Peace. Blessings.
Floral ribbon border by Laurel Burch