I remember so many days in my life when I wished them to be ordinary, simply because they were not. I have committed many of them to memory.

One such day was a Fourth of July. At our community picnic, my son was escorting me down the hill to get a beer. I slid on some ice cubes someone had carelessly thrown on the ground. I careened and took flight. I can’t blame the fall on the beer, I hadn’t had any yet.

Unfortunately, ignoring the pain, I continued to party. The x-rays later showed that my femur bone had split because my ankle was broken. Many months and a total of four casts later, I wished for an ordinary day.

I found myself eating cereal off the floor because my bowl had dropped and the crutches had slid away. I prayed for just ordinary day. I had always taken for granted things like getting up and dressing or going to the bathroom. Don’t we all?

Now I try to I just live with sensitivity and gratefulness… I pray in the morning…just an ordinary day. A normal day! It is a jewel!

In time of war, in peril of death, people have dug their hands into the earth and remembered their ordinary days. In time of sickness and pain, people have buried their faces in pillows and wept for this. In time of loneliness and separation, people have become tense and taut and waited for this. In time of hunger, homelessness, and want, people have raised their hands to the skies and stayed alive just for this.

Ordinary day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Or even moment. Let me be grateful to you, for it will not always be so. One day, I may suffer and plead for you because as the Buddha reminds us… “Life is suffering.” May I notice and appreciate your beautiful moments of non-suffering.

“Old age is the most unexpected of all things that can happen to us.”

–Leon Trotsky

No matter how old we are in this moment, we are ALL growing older.

When the very first gray hair appears on our head, it is an uncertain juncture in life. We go to the mirror with a sinking feeling of dread and try to pluck out the evidence – one here, two there. But the more we pull out, more seem to come in. The purpose of this blog is not to prevent the inescapable, but to find out how we might achieve agelessness in body, mind, emotions, and spirit as a four-part process.

I tease my friends by asking which of them would like to relive their teen years. It often brings a groan. Youth has a lot to offer, but so does the experience of age.

In India there is a joke:

It’s about a man going to a barber and asking, “Do you have anything for gray hair?” “Yes,” the barber says, “respect.”

Just because we don’t have wrinkles or a gray hair, we are not necessarily alive in the fullest sense of the word. Does that mean we are necessarily young or ageless?

This is the paradox of life: No matter how we cling to youth through our body, sooner or later it begins to let go of you.

But when we do not cling to the body – and beauty — there might be a different result. We see that not just in the lives of many great saints and mystics. We see it also in the neighbor next door, as well as in the famous and the not-so famous.

“Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art.”

– Eleanor Roosevelt

I lived in the Windings, a subdivision that was once an old estate
that had never been farmed. The result manifested itself in ancient trees that the prudent developers left intact as well as nature trails and a delightful little creek that meandered alongside the bike path.

My memories of my children growing up will always remain wrapped
around all of those scenes of nature and the great outdoors. I always
appreciated the gift of living in such a pretty place. My reminiscences are now like pretty hankies saved in a drawer, to be taken out and admired now and then and put back until missed again. So it was with gratitude that I just recently discovered a short cut to the Fox River. I am 1.9 miles away. It was just like looking for my glasses when all along they have just been perched on the edge of my nose. Like looking for my pen when it’s tucked behind my ear. I have new things to marvel at and listen to on my daily walk now. There are different vistas to explore.

Today I walked with my new friend, Shooz. She’s a Virgo and very petite, but despite her short legs she keeps the pace with grim determination, and we mostly communicate telepathically. She also has a very expressive face and one look of pure disdain from her is enough to make you mumble any excuse yourself for your behavior.

Shooz is a black-and-white Shih Tzu that belongs to my pal Mary Carol, who lives right on the Fox. She generously lent me my new companion for the adventure.

The river, like all rivers, tells its story if you are patient enough to pay attention. Shooz had an innate sense of when to listen, and when to stop and when to watch for the gifts from the regal Fox. It will tell you in advance of the weather by the way it is moving. The carp leap in the air this time of year and I have been told they are proclaiming the joy of mating. The fishermen who sit so quietly beside her teach you the value of being still.

Shooz can hear things I can’t so when she slows down I pay attention. Today she stopped and scanned the sky so I followed suit and we both observed a large splendid heron swoop low across the water and land gracefully on the other side. Nearer to the ground there was a nod and a gentle yank and she
confidently moved me quickly on with an I-mean-business demeanor.

When we came to the dam at the bridge on Route 25, we both stood
reverently and listened to the power of the water.

Men in high rubber boots cast their lines contentedly and bikers whooshed by and we both drank in the beauty of the shimmering sun on the water.

A lone rower glided through the
water, his paddles noiselessly slicing through more or less effortlessly.

Shooz made the decision that it was time to turn around now, but I wanted to go on so we had a little contest of wills. I did a little coaxing by flattering her ego with words of praise for her beauty and strength. Like most girls, she is vulnerable to flattery and it worked. We continued on for a long time and on the way back she blamed me for taking her too far, I could tell because she kept rolling in the dirt to pay me back.

When we returned to her owner’s house Shooz immediately collapsed under the kitchen table, turning her cute little self away from me to show her displeasure at my making the walk too long. She’ll forget because it’s impossible for her not to, and I hope we’ll do it again.

It’s a new gift.

Ok… I have invented many reasons NOT to write in my blog. Most of them are self-deprecating. It’s just time.  Besides, since I have gotten laid off from my column, I am having what might be called withdrawal. It’s rather like a kink in my hose of creativity. So whether anyone reads this or not… I will be spewing some sort of residue that I hope contains something worth a glance or two. Meet me here again.

Joani