Musings from my 84th Year by Phyllis
Yesterday I watched a leaf unfold.
Instead of emptying the dishwasher, I sat down and followed the small changes my plant made as it grew in front of my eyes.
The radio was silent, the cat asleep somewhere, the dust lay quietly where it had been gathering for a couple of days. As the small green movement caught my eye, I simply sat down and watched life unfold in front of me.
My shoulder didn’t hurt. My arthritic wrists loosened and my hands reddened as the blood flow increased. I breathed. Yes, I purposefully breathed in and out, quietly and comfortably. My attention was caught by an inexpensive potted plant, brought home in a reused plastic bag, not intended to be a permanent part of my life. Just another brief encounter intended for several days of added colour to a room corner, this small miracle was destined to be discarded.
As I write this note, I can’t help but wonder what other small miracles I have failed to notice. What ones did I miss completely? They must number in the hundreds; weekly, unshared growth experiences I have neglected.
People I didn’t phone. Distant family I didn’t write to. Smiles I neglected to offer passersby as I walked.
All is not lost! Earlier this week I did notice one tree, a tree on my street beneath which I must have walked a thousand times. Its brilliant golden hue stopped me in my tracks the other day, and I paused without apology and let people walk around me as I looked my fill. I drank in its fluffy brilliant yellow waving mass, pointed up by the adjacent copper beech. How many amazed head shakes had I missed, failing to notice this natural artwork?
I seek out art. I attend our local gallery, try to catch temporary installations along our downtown streets, and volunteer with some local endeavours. Movies about artists and their work draw me like a moth to a cashmere cardigan. I nibble and chew on them then return for more. Yumm… I look for reaction, not just stomach pleasing but mind, eye and that encompassing gut-level reaction is what I experience.
After a gallery walk or a hike to a film showing, the next day my legs will ache, and my back might feel tight. Sometimes I soak in a hot bath for many minutes, but I remember what I saw, and relive the experience. The energy expended was my choice; my decision to brighten my day was expanded by seeking out something novel.
But yesterday, I watched a leaf unfold.