Gratitude

From the Archives, because I feel the need to comfort my spirit and set it on a different course than the one where it has been imprisoned by the rather desolate weather this January.

From October 11th, 2008

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

How very basic, and simple.

The dear ones on the Meadow sent this today, in celebration of Thanksgiving.

We had a discussion about things we are thankful for, and Charles, when asked,  said that he was

 thankful just for LIFE, and as he told me after all the rest of the blessings are wrapped up in this one gift granted to him, - especially precious to those who survived the sharp point of the Second World War.

For each new morning with its light!

This is the ultimate gift.

The rest is gravy....

Thanksgiving is somewhat like Christmas - it is the season to be 'thankful' as Christmas is the season of 'good cheer to men of good will'. They each carry their transitory messages which, if we could but hang on to them all through the year, would make this world a much more pleasant place.

They are, alas, but a nine day wonder in the media (well, Christmas maybe a 90 day wonder with its commercialism). However, in a couple of places I have read of a Gratitude Journal being presented as an antidote to depression and a way of lifting one's spirits. Sadness and thankfulness are just not compatible....

I think that keeping a Gratitude Journal is a great idea! So often we get mired down in misery because of things that go wrong, small hurts, sometimes large hurts, - the effects of aging, frustrations and failings, misunderstandings and sometimes just general gloom.

How can you maintain this misery if somewhere you are taking the time to write down the pleasant things. A smile from someone passing, the fragrance of a garden, a child's first wonder at the world around, unburnt toast and fresh coffee, a conversation with a friend, music that stirs memories, - the list of things to be thankful for is endless.

I have a little red leather covered book that will be just perfect for this - expect to see me smiling most all the time!

I have to tell you that the entries in the Gratitude Journal petered out after six months or so.  I would like to think I was too busy in the garden and too contented to feel the need to remind myself of blessings.  

However, now that I am gathering myself together to greet February with a big smile and great enthusiasm, perhaps I will resume recording all the small and wonderful things that make me happy, - or not!  Sometimes we need to be grateful for the things that make us sad, but also teach us something of value.

We have come to the end of January, and her is my 

River Stone #31

Aware, always

with the eyes of a child,

of the great potential

for wonder and awe

and curiosity.

(Kierkegaard said this much more elegantly across in my sidebar)!

At odd moments during the last week I have been knitting a pretty blue hat and listening to an Audio Book (which recreation I still think is the latest in Bee's Knees ). The book I have been absorbing, muttering over and sometimes agreeing with is Gordon Livingston's "And never stop Dancing".
At times I frowned at some of the Liberalism he expressed, as being careless of morality, and lacking in responsibility.

However, I found myself listening intently to the Chapters dealing with aging and was particularly struck by his quote from Kahlil Gibran when introducing the purpose of these "waiting years" that have been tacked on to the end of life with the reduced mortality that science and good living have brought us.

"We exist only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting"

Which leaves us with the question - where do we find the beauty in aging? In "the Golden years"(probably from 65 to 70) which are over in the twinkling of an eye? In the long, lonely wait of powerlessness, and increasing awareness that the old go largely unnoticed?

In my own life I have found that as my senses of hearing and seeing diminish, and I become less supple and mobile, I am more often overcome with the sheer loveliness that surrounds us.

As I let go of busyness, the need for importance, and that old devil "Ego" the room that is left is filled with a rush of exquisite awareness of small beauties that surround us. And large beauties too, of course.

I wait for the moon to rise tonight, knowing that it is closer to the earth than at any other time of the year and as a consequence will be brighter and more beautiful. This morning it was just setting as the small dog and I went for our pre-breakfast walk and it lit up the morning clouds, but yesterday morning darkness prevailed and the stars were amazingly brilliant. Thousands and thousands of them with various degrees of brightness. Venus, that lovely goddess who shone in the West the spring I met Husband, shines now in the East like a spotlight with a halo around it.

This afternoon, while putting the garden to bed, I noted the smallest and daintiest of flowers,- the delicacy of the grasses, the richness of the Scarlet Maples, and the small birds, feasting at the sunflower bar lining the fence.

I wonder if I even noticed these details in the busy years, when life was a constant rush. and the days and the hours and the minutes were crowded with duties and responsibilities (being a First Born I seemed destined to be an Ant, while the Grasshoppers of the World sang and played tunes on their legs...)

Gordon Livingston presented one other occupation for the ultra-mature years, - one that I feel would do much to banish the despair that overtakes so many of the aged.

Besides being conscious and appreciating the wonders around us, he suggested that communication is of utmost importance. He is of the opinion that time would be well spent reflecting on the past, putting it into perspective, recognizing the concepts that have guided our lives, and in the end communicating this life history so that the wisdom that has been garnered shines through.

In order to do this the dear man recognizes that the person who is reflecting on life must do so with satisfaction, and not regret. The wistful nostalgia that lies in wait for those who sift through old photos make the most resolute communicator turn aside in sorrow. One must be strong, - one must be brave, and one must be mindful of (and thankful for) those times that brought us such joy and satisfaction during our lifetime. Letting go is so important.

Well, I thought that was very good advice and there are others who have such wonderful stories to tell whom I wish I could impress with this suggestion.........

"Most people die with their music still inside them" Gordon Linvingston

What is this life if full of care

We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep, or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this, if full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

William Henry Davies 1871 - 1940

One of the most delightful advantages of aging is an awakening awareness that probably hasn't been felt so strongly since childhood.

Do you remember the intense kinship you felt with all of nature when you were a child? The awe that little things inspired? A wiggling worm, a tadpole, the green grass growing, and the passion for four leaf clovers? What a precious affinity we had with GRASS, embracing time in guiltless idleness as we lay on the lawn, imagining shapes in the white clouds of summer.

And the little girls who romanced with the flowers in their mothers' gardens, making Princesses out of hollyhocks and sweet heads of clover, - all dressed for the ball and Prince Charming.

Now, as age steals busy activity, it leaves in its place the time to recapture some of the awe of childhood.

The "trailing clouds of glory" that Wordsworth saw surrounding the very young child seem to return to us, and surround us, as we reach the final years.

Some are lucky (or wise) enough to carry the sense of wonder throughout their whole lives, but for others it is a surprise gift bestowed by a sense of infinity and appreciation.







Here are the small birds that gather outside my kitchen window,










- and the magnificent eagles that soar upwards with the currents that are born in this valley.















Here are the simple, endearing daisies,













- and the complex roses with their tightly curled petals, slowly enfolding themselves into splendid maturity.














Here are the flowers of our childhood, the descendant seeds of the perennial sweet peas that Husband's mother planted around the orchard in the early days of the last century



















- and the more exotic lilies, that never grew wild in anyone's field.

If we consider them all, and enjoy the beauty they lend to the days we spend aging - they add to the bonus time that enriches all of living. If we are wise enough (when we are younger) to make time to stop and stare and wonder as time sweeps us along in our busy lives, - how much richer we are for that!!