An Ordinary Day

Today was an ordinary day.

I woke, dressed in a t-shirt and comfortable, flannel pants. I made coffee with cream in my favourite red mug. I took it outside, walked along the boardwalk to the pond in the front yard. I sat in my chair and drank my coffee, savouring every sip while I watched the goldfish nibble at the food I had sprinkled on the surface of the water. Every now and then, one gave a great splash at the surface. I smiled and took another sip.

I cleaned my house. Finally getting around to the vacuuming I had needed to do all week. I smiled as I listened to the vacuum suck up sand from the floor in the porch. I had forgotten the ability of small boys to disperse a small amount of sand over a large area. But I am not as irritated by it as I was when my own boys were small, I am completely gratified because I know my little grandsons had such fun digging, scooping, and piling up the sand. Why didn’t I feel that way as often with my boys? Does it really matter that some of it made its way into the house?

I baked bread. I made a pie. I washed mounds of laundry and hung the clothes to dry on the line in the yard.

I pumped up the tire that keeps going flat on the lawnmower, filled it with fuel, and then cut the lawn. I had to stop when I noticed something in the grass – the recently shed skin of a garter snake. I put it in the house to show J and Little B when they are here again.

It was a good time to mow the paths out back as well. My Sweet and I worked hard last weekend reclaiming them. I stopped because a big mule deer doe suddenly appeared ahead of me, bounding along the path. I smiled and carried on. It is only moments later when I see a small, spotted fawn darting down the path after the doe.

When I was finished with the mowing, I walked the newly mown paths. I stopped and watched a solitary carpenter bee crawl into the entrance to his home in a fallen log. Above the log I noticed the gooseberries have begun to ripen and ate a few of the deep, purple berries, marveling at their sweetness.

A little, brown wren scolded me as I walked past, she clearly didn’t want me there.

And now? Now I am safely ensconced in my screened gazebo in the backyard, enjoying the breeze and the warmth of the afternoon. I can hear my neighbour mowing his lawn. The breeze is just enough that it is ringing the wind chimes hanging near the back door. A bird I cannot see is whistling, a single, long, sweet, high note and a Red-Winged Blackbird is trilling out by the lagoon.

It is an ordinary day.

But it doesn’t feel ordinary. It feels…more.

I wish you could hear the birdsong, smell the freshly mown grass and the sweet scent of the spruce trees around me. I wish you could see the snow-white yarrow and sunny yellow goldenrod. I wish you could feel the cool grass on your bare toes.

I love these gentle summer days. It is harder for me to love this place In the dead of winter when the snow is piled up against the house and the air is frigidly cold.

But not today, an ordinary summer day. Today I feel incredibly blessed to live in the north, in the quiet countryside.

It’s not a special day, but it isn’t ordinary either.

What makes the difference between ordinary and extraordinary? The things that are so commonplace to me – the birdsong, the animals, the peacefulness – are not so common to so many people. How many people in the world would gladly trade their ordinary day for my ordinary day? I’ll bet it’s a lot.

For whatever reason, today I can hear and appreciate what is going on around me. For the first time in weeks I feel relaxed and I am grateful.

The news has been awful lately, so much misery in the world. Maybe there would be less if more people could step to the side of life for a moment and see and feel the beauty and wonder of the ordinary. If, for the first time in days or months or years, they could hear their own thoughts, feel the life and joy and hope of the natural world.

It took me a lot of years to learn to appreciate nature. You can ask my mother – I lived indoors with a book constantly in my hand, like a permanent extension of my arm. If I went outside, it was because she made me and even then, the book went with me.

I give most of the credit for this change to My Sweet, who loves to be outside. Because I love to be with him, I have learned to appreciate the outdoors. More than that, I have learned to love it and how it fills a need in me that I didn’t know I had.

Wherever you live, do yourself a kindness today and find a green space, a park, a garden, and sit there quietly until the sound of your mind no longer drowns out the sound of the birds or the breeze in the trees. Then, do it again tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. Do it until you feel some measure of peace.

Find the extraordinary in the ordinary.