A slave to routine

Fields of tulips

Two days ago, my friends Lily, Cindy, and Maria and I all gathered together early on a sunny morning to travel down the highway to the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival. As we drove, we noticed low clouds moving in, but I assured everyone they would burn off before long. Not that I'm much of a prognosticator, but given that this happens often on our Thursday hikes, I was pretty sure I was right. Well, guess what? The clouds stayed around; we had a few sun breaks early on, but otherwise we had a brisk wind and low clouds, making me wish I had my down jacket.

Nevertheless, it was a wonderful day spent with great friends, and between us we snapped hundreds of photos. Cindy's phone ran out of battery power and shut off. We kept going until most of our phones were very low. And then we went off to the town of La Conner for lunch. It was a simply lovely day.

My usual Friday routine was completely off the rails. I didn't go to the Y to work out, and I missed my Friday yoga class. Considering that I was having a good time doing other things, I didn't think I would feel so unsettled about the change in my routine, but yes, I did. It makes me realize how much I have become a slave to my routine. Is that a good or a bad thing? I really don't know.

However, I was reading last week in a book by BKS Iyengar, the founder of the style of yoga that I practice, and he reminds me that most of us want to turn negative habits into positive ones. But he says that from there, you turn them into no habits. In learning to act in freedom, you act appropriately, unconditioned by the past. Just considering living every day without my daily habits gives me a sense of unease. As I sit here with my laptop on this early Sunday, I am typing away writing this post, a habit I can hardly imagine going without. Getting up, brushing my teeth and dressing, going to the front porch to do my early morning exercises before heading off to the coffee shop—I can't imagine doing something different.

We will be more successful in all our endeavors if we can let go of the habit of running all the time, and take little pauses to relax and re-center ourselves. And we'll also have a lot more joy in living. —Thich Nhat Hanh

Now that I can probably manage: taking a break from my routine and paying attention to my surroundings. It amazes me how many times every day I see people with their total focus on their phones, whether they are on the bus (which now has free wifi), strolling on the sidewalk, or enjoying a meal. The art of conversation seems to have taken a big hit with the advent of smartphones. When I sit at the coffee shop with my friends, we have our iPads or phones open, too, but when one friend shows up, he insists that we all close our devices and visit with one another. At first I resisted, but now it's become a—you guessed it—a habit to close them when he walks in.

It's a worthwhile endeavor to examine my routine, I suppose, and perhaps even change a little of it now and then, like taking a Friday off and spending it with my friends. It certainly does make me aware of how much of a slave to routine I have become. I started doing the Five Tibetan Rites in early 2014, five years ago now, and I have not missed a day. They only take about ten minutes to perform, and I cannot imagine not doing them before heading out for the day. When I am traveling, it means getting up a little earlier, but as you must realize about me by now, I am definitely a creature of habit.

Sometimes, like when I was reading Iyengar's book, I think about trying to find a way out of my routine. When I do the same things day after day, as one gets older, sometimes I wonder if I am actually forgetting to do them, thinking that I have, when it was really the day before. When a habit is so ingrained that you are no longer even conscious of what you are doing, I can see how that would end up being a detriment to living a full life.

Of course, all habits and routines are subject to change, as we grow older and become unable to continue in our daily life as we have for so long. Illness and infirmity are also in my future, which will force me to adapt to another reality, but for now, I really don't know whether it's worthwhile to stir things up too much. I suppose that it would be much better to be conscious of my daily habits and not get too far into autopilot. That seems much more doable: bringing awareness into my routine.

This conversation has been going on inside me for awhile now. I have been thinking about my actions as being the ground under my feet, the only possessions I can keep. And apparently this conversation has been going on among humans for a long, long time:

All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsions, habit, reason, passion, desire. —Aristotle

Aristotle was born in 384 B.C., so yeah, it's been awhile. As I continue to enjoy my daily routine, I am taking it upon myself to become more conscious of every act, so that I can exercise my mental processes and have a fuller life. My tea is now long gone, my beloved sleeps next to me, and the sunlight is streaming in the windows. It must be time for me to get going, as my post is now finished for the day.

I do so hope that the coming week will bring you plenty of happiness and that love will surround you as you move through your days. Be well until we meet again next week.

Easter Sunday

Our Easter finery

My father took this picture of Norma Jean and me almost seventy years ago, in front of what must have been his pride and joy, our family car. I pulled this picture up at the coffee shop last week, and we discussed what kind of car that was. I heard names of automobiles that brought back old memories: Studebaker, DeSoto, Packard. We were never able to agree on what this car might be, but it's got two cuties standing in front of it, Easter baskets in hand.

I think Mama might have made our dresses. Mine is pale yellow, and Norma Jean's is pale pink, and hers has more of a ruffle on the bottom, but otherwise they are identical. I have used this picture before on this blog, but I never thought much about the car before. At the coffee shop, we perused many different makes of 1950s cars online but never saw any that look quite like this one. You can also see our home in the background, believe it or not. We lived on Travis Air Force Base in a duplex tar-paper shack, which housed enlisted servicemen and their families.

I am hopeful that the military no longer uses tar paper to make these buildings, because it contained a high quantity of asbestos in those days. We didn't live there too awfully long, but I wonder about our exposure to it at the time. These buildings were constructed as temporary housing, I'm sure. It's interesting to see such a fine automobile in front of such a home, don't you think?

For many years, I have wondered just what we did after this picture was taken. We never went to church when I was growing up, so did we just get all dressed up for the occasion and then play with our Easter baskets? It's a mystery to me, and unfortunately there is nobody still alive to ask. Neither of us remember all these years later.

The reason for Easter was never discussed, either. I'm sure that the religious aspect of the holiday never occurred to me. It was a time for a new dress and a basket filled with hard-boiled eggs and jelly beans, with maybe a bit of chocolate. There was never any mention of Jesus or any of that. Being raised in a home without any religious instruction seemed normal, because I didn't know any different, but now I wonder if it was really a blessing in disguise. I know many people who have rebelled against their family religion, but since I was free to learn all about it myself, I was able to choose what fit me best.

When I was a teenager living in Georgia, I started attending the nearby Episcopal Church, and before long my sister had also joined. We went to weekly services, and Norma Jean even began singing in the choir. I don't think I did, but I do remember going to Midnight Mass at Christmastime and truly enjoying all the pageantry. I was hungry for religious instruction and read the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer all the time, alarming my parents. At one point as a young teenager, I considered entering a religious community. The important thing for me at the time was how attractive the religious habit was; Episcopal convents weren't all that numerous, but I did study which one I'd like to join.

Obviously, that phase didn't last. But what has remained with me all these years later is the realization that I need some kind of faith to be happy and fulfilled. I don't attend church any more, but I did join several more denominations in my quest to find my own place. I was a Unitarian Universalist for many years, and then I moved on to study Buddhism and Hinduism. Now, in my later years, I realize that much of these religions are now part of me, without differentiating how much comes from each. They all live in my heart and soul.

Easter is filled with new beginnings and comes at a time of year when the environment is coming alive again after the winter period of dormancy. The birds sing, flowers bloom, and green shoots sprout up in every corner. When I walk to the bus early in the morning, I see changes from day to day, with tiny buds becoming flowers overnight and raindrops glistening on the leaves. A smile comes unbidden, my steps become lighter, and the beauty all around me fills me with gratitude.

We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won't need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don't fire cannons to call attention to their shining - they just shine. —Dwight L. Moody

Today I feel like letting my light shine, all day long, while at the coffee shop, digging in the garden, or writing this post on Easter Sunday. My partner still sleeps quietly next to me, my tea had turned cold before I finished it, but it's gone too, and the day beckons. I hope this day will be a wondrous one for you, my dear reader, and that whatever you decide to do with this day, you will also let your light shine. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things.

Enjoying the season

Everywhere I look, flowers in bloom

It's the middle of April already, and everywhere the flowers are bursting forth with fragrance and beauty. It's enough to make anybody smile, and it doesn't take much for me to enjoy the season. Even with all the rain we've had lately, it only makes me feel happy to be in the Pacific Northwest. A couple more weeks and I'll be able to finish planting my vegetable garden. What's out there right now is able to withstand the cold rain, anyway I hope so.

We've had almost two inches of rain in the past three days, which is considerable for a place that often gets precipitation at this time of year, but only a drizzle or mist, not a downpour. However, when I set out to walk yesterday morning, it was raining. Not a sprinkle or two, but real rain. I wore my rain pants, my newest rain jacket, a rain hat, and my waterproof shoes, so I was pretty dry, considering, but it's still not my favorite weather. I went to the movies with my friend Judy yesterday, and when I walked out of the theater, the clouds were gone and brilliant sunshine greeted me.

Lately I've been wondering how much of my disposition is innate, and how much of it is a choice I make. I am usually happy when I wake up in the morning, with only a few aches and pains that dissipate as I move around, and I look forward to the day. It's Sunday and this post is the only obligation on my schedule for the day. Of course, I'll get up and do my morning exercises, dress and make my way to the coffee shop, and I look forward to that, but that's it. The whole rest of the day stretches out in front of me without a plan. That's not usual for me, but I'll enjoy being able to make it up as I go along.

My sister and I were discussing our family the other day, and it came as a bit of a shock to realize that she and I are the only ones left who remember our grandparents. My maternal grandmother lived with us for awhile, as well as our paternal grandmother long ago. We were both quite young; Norma Jean was a preteen and I was lost in the drama of being a teenager when Mommy (that's what we called our dad's mom) lived with us. She had suffered a stroke and was unable to live alone and somehow she stayed with us until she was either moved to an institution or died, I don't remember which. She is the only relative that I ever remember having gone into a nursing home, if indeed she did.

I was involved with my own life and didn't spend any time that I remember talking with Mommy when she lived with us, but Norma Jean did. My sister was much more empathetic, while I fear I wasn't interested in spending time with old people. There's a bit of regret involved in my memories of those years, because I see how self-centered I was, unwilling to consider that she might have been an interesting person. Mommy told Norma Jean that she wasn't afraid to die, and that she had lived a good long life and was content with that. To a young girl with her whole life ahead of her, that was unfathomable.

Daddy, Mommy, Norma Jean, PJ, and me

As I sit here thinking about the past, I realize I have only a few pictures of Mommy. Our mother must have been behind the camera in this picture from long ago. This was before Mommy had moved in with us, but she visited often during these years. I don't know why she insisted that we call her by that name, but it's the only one I have ever associated with her. Her actual first name is the same one I share with her: Dorothy. She is the reason I was saddled with such an old-fashioned name, but I have always been called by my middle name, Jan. It wasn't until I grew much older that I decided to incorporate the first initial into my name, and now as I settle into old age, I'm simply becoming "Jan" again, and I don't mind. I still get an internal smile when someone calls me "Dee-Jan" instead of the much less distinctive "Jan," but these conceits are falling away as the years pass.

Now that I am old myself, I understand somewhat the idea of having lived a good long life and being unafraid of dying. However, it's not something I look forward to. I am so enjoying being in relatively good health and being able to plow through the days and months with a look forward towards the future. At some point that will change, but for the moment it's springtime in the Pacific Northwest. I've got friends and family, and a partner who is much more of a sweetheart than I deserve. Although I'm no longer that self-centered teenager, she still lives inside me. Fortunately for me, life has given me enough fodder to grow into an interesting person myself.

A person with a blog, too. Something that I have enjoyed for more than a decade now, and it certainly helps me discipline my errant and active mind into a single direction once a week. Writing all this down does help me to consider who I am today and who I once was.

By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest. – Confucius

And with that, I conclude this foray into my Sunday deliberations. It is now time for me to take a look around and start moving into the day's activities. Tea is gone, partner still sleeps next to me, and the sun is actually going to shine for at least a portion of my day. Rain is still in the forecast, but it's much less and I might actually be able to get into my garden today.

Until we meet again next week, I wish you, my dear reader, the best of weeks ahead, with lots of love and blue skies in your forecast. Be well until then.

Change is inevitable

Rain gear being well used

We are in a period of rain right now, and although this picture was taken last year, it could be us this coming Thursday. After weeks and weeks of sunshine and blue skies, we're in a rainy patch. I really don't mind, and yesterday I got some of my veggie starts into the ground, and they will be very happy to have the moisture. I feel gratitude every day when I get up and once again realize how lucky I am to live here, rain and all.

I've been thinking about the Five Buddhist Remembrances, which I've written about before, not long ago in fact. But they keep coming up to me, reminding me once again about how change is inevitable in life. The first Remembrance:

I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.

There's something about having passed my seventy-fifth year that reminds me of this fact. If I were to die today, nobody would remark that it was premature. A few years ago, I found this lovely article in the Atlantic, about the author hoping to die at 75. Having just re-read it, I realize I have lived a full life, and I'm grateful for every day of relative health and activity I enjoy. Yesterday I walked five miles and listened to bird calls and took pleasure in the burgeoning spring. The second Remembrance:

I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape ill health.

Aches and pains come with the territory of age, and I have my share of them. Although I do what I can to mitigate them, they will not ever leave me permanently. Sometimes I wonder if this ache or that pain is something worse, something that will eventually kill me, but there is nothing to be done about it, since we all know where we are headed. Sorry if I have to remind you, but that is what remembrances are for. The third Remembrance:

I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death. 

This is true of everything and everyone who has ever been born. Now that I am in my twilight years, one thing that has become more important to me is gratitude for the life I have now, with the realization that at any time it might change, just as the weather has changed from sunshine to rain. We need it all. The fourth Remembrance:

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.

No way to escape being separated from my beloved? How can that be? Oh, right: he's mortal just like me. Those beautiful, noisy birds in the trees are mortal, as well as the trees themselves. Every living thing is "of the nature to change." There is only one way I know to deal with this pesky fact: enjoy every moment, and be grateful for all that comes my way. And of course, the fifth Remembrance:

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.

 After pondering the first four Remembrances, this one gives me comfort. It makes me realize that, although everyone and everything else in our lives is ephemeral, our actions are our only true belongings. That what I choose to do with my life, my day, my blog post, can make a difference. I like the part that reminds me that "my actions are the ground upon which I stand." That is what remembrances are for: to remind us once again about what is real and important.

During my long life, I have had many tragedies and disappointments. I could focus on those if I wished, or I could instead think of the inevitability of these events in everyone's life, and think about the good, beautiful moments I enjoy every single day. I have a body and brain that function moderately well, you might even say magnificently if you consider my age and relative ordinariness. My beloved partner and I share a life that I find fulfilling, my friends enrich my days with their presence, and I live in a modest but functional apartment that keeps me warm and dry. Why wouldn't I choose to focus on all that?

Yesterday I watched this YouTube video that also reminded me that all creatures know about suffering and loss, even if they are puppies watching the Lion King:

I was amazed that this puppy realized what was on the screen and reacted to it, with empathy and an obvious realization of loss. It is a reminder to me that we humans share our lives with wonderful creatures who know all about love.
And with that little gift, I'll move on to the rest of my day. I'll get up and go to the coffee shop to join my friends there, and then to the movies with my friend Judy later on. Plus a bit of time in the garden to see how my plants fared after last night's rain. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all the very best week ever. Be well, dear friends.

A picture from my distant past

Flint, Michigan

I received this picture last week in a text from my son's widow, who lives in Germany. She must have been going through his pictures and decided to send me this one, since she didn't know who it was. Well, that pregnant lady is me, all right. That's Chris climbing into the back seat next to a laundry basket.

At first I was puzzled by the date on the picture, because (1) that is not what it looks like in Michigan in November, and (2) Stephen was born in August of that year. Considering our clothing, I figure it must have been July, and the pictures languished in the camera for several months before being developed. You remember those days, don't you? When you had to wait for prints that came in a Kodak package at the local store? How times have changed.

There were no seat belts in that old car, either. It had definitely seen better days, but I, on the other hand, was dressed and coiffed for a trip to the laundry. Underneath that top I was obviously wearing one of those skirts that had a stretchy waist and an elastic insert for the growing tummy. It's been a long time since I've seen anybody wearing one of those. These days pregnancy is not hidden; it's perfectly okay to show everything.

Chris looks so small and vulnerable as he climbs into the car. Derald had to be the photographer and might even have been going with us. Maybe we were going somewhere else first, who knows? I don't even remember seeing this picture before. It is taken in front of our rented home, where we lived for several years. Flint was Derald's home town, and the water back then was perfectly drinkable, and the city was a quiet town of around 200,000. I just looked up the figures and found that the population began to decline after 1960, falling to 140,000 by 1990. Now, since the water crisis, it's around 96,000.

Chris, Stephen and Derald are gone now, and I am living in a different part of the country, married to another man and living in retirement from my working life. I lived in Flint for nine years before moving to California. When Chris was around 12, he stopped living with me and went back to Flint to live with his father and stepmother. I was unfettered and began to travel around the country and Mexico with a girlfriend. My, when I look back at my life, I am amazed at how many different people I've been. By the time I ended up in Colorado in 1974, I had lived in many different places and felt homeless. Boulder, Colorado ended up being the place I would call home.

I found a career in Boulder and worked for thirty years at the National Center for Atmospheric Research before retiring at 65 and moving to the Pacific Northwest, where I now enjoy another quiet town of around 200,000 people, and have a comfortable routine that will continue until either illness or advanced age changes my regimen. I love Bellingham and its surroundings and have found my second home. Interestingly, I rarely think about the past, or Colorado, or any of the other places I've lived, unless I'm writing about it, or unless a picture from the past emerges from the ether, as this one did.

I've lived a life of moderate comfort, although loss and grief have given me plenty of challenges to face. But really, it's nothing like the lives of many I see every day, or read about every day. The world has changed so very much in the last half century. Just yesterday I watched, on Hulu, a documentary that drove that home for me: Minding the Gap. It was released last year and has received rave reviews, well deserved if you ask me. (The link is to a review by A.O. Scott at the New York Times.)

It's about three young men growing up today, and covers about a decade in their lives. The glue that binds them together is skateboarding. They live in Rockport, Illinois, and none of them have much hope of making it out of their difficult lives. One of them, Bing Liu, a Chinese-American young man, is the filmmaker. He started videotaping their exploits when they were in middle school, and followed their lives as they gained skill in skateboarding. It was all that kept them going at times.

It’s not only the glue that binds them to one another through tough times but also a source of identity and meaning, a way of life and a life saver. “Minding the Gap” is more than a celebration of skateboarding as a sport and a subculture. With infinite sensitivity, Mr. Liu delves into some of the most painful and intimate details of his friends’ lives and his own, and then layers his observations into a rich, devastating essay on race, class and manhood in 21st-century America.

In watching the documentary, I began to care very much about these young men and their lives. Keire Johnson is black and worked as a dishwasher for a long time before finally becoming a waiter. He was able to buy himself a car, and he describes how he has placed his registration, insurance, and license on the dashboard so he would not have to reach into a pocket or make any moves that could be construed by a policeman as threatening.

That got me to thinking about my own life, my white privilege, and that I would never have thought to be afraid that I might be shot when stopped for any reason, but that a young black man must think about that every single day. I don't know that life except through documentaries. But I have learned, through watching this one, how scary and dangerous it is to be growing up in the world today, especially as a person of color.

It's been a long, long time since that picture was taken, and the world has changed immeasurably. Now that I am in the twilight of my own life, having gone through all the heartache and pleasures that these three young men still have ahead of them. I am extremely glad that there are such sensitive and moving documentaries as this one to help put myself in their world. My own world seems quaint in comparison, but I am happy to be alive today, to experience the myriad flavors of the lives of others.

And now it's time for me to join my own circle of friends, starting my own Sunday, first with this post and second with my journey to the coffee shop. My friend Gene will not be there, since he left for a trip to Mexico yesterday to join family members there. John and I will hold down the fort until he returns.

My dear partner sleeps next to me, my tea is gone, and I'm back from my excursion into Sunday morning musings. I do hope that you, my dear virtual friends, will have a wonderful week ahead, with lots of love and adventure (if that is what you want). I myself will enjoy my routine and be grateful for every day and every week that I can continue it. Be well until we meet again next week.

Celebrating the equinox

Moonrise and Mt. Shuksan

I saw that several people who belong to another hiking group, the Mt. Baker Club, decided to take advantage of the great weather earlier this week and take an evening drive all the way up to the High Country in order to take pictures of the full moon rising behind the mountains, on the day of the Spring Equinox. It's rare for the moon to be full right at that time. It won't happen again for another 11 years. I think this picture was taken by Mark Wheatley; he is the one who distributed this picture, anyway. Isn't it stunning?

Yesterday I pondered what I might write about this morning, and for a while I considered writing a post about my son Chris, much like one I wrote a while back about my mother. So many of my loved ones are gone now, and although they still live on in my memories and photographs, thinking about them brings their essence alive again. That's when I realized that it was still painful to think about what to write, when it comes to Chris. He died almost two decades ago, in August 2002, and still I am hesitant when it comes to composing a post that would honor my long-gone child.

It has made me realize that I have a habit of burying unpleasant memories and thoughts that make me feel uncomfortable. Maybe everyone is this way, I don't know, but for me the sense of loss is submerged by everyday life, and it only comes up when I turn my attention in that direction. Mama died in 1993, a decade earlier than Chris, so maybe that's one reason why it's easier to think about her life. Or perhaps it's because it's not natural to lose and have to bury a child. Not that it doesn't happen every single moment of every single day, somewhere in the world we live in.

Coping mechanisms vary. I know several people who have lost a grown child, to accidents or illness or suicide. Some have almost defined their continuing existence by remembering and sharing memories, long afterwards. Others don't talk about it much. But I wonder how many are like me, averting their eyes and changing the subject. I am now in my twilight years, thinking ahead of how to spend the final decade (or two if I'm lucky) of my life. Longevity does not run in my family, and I've already outlived both of my parents. One of my sisters died in 2014, and the remaining siblings are all getting long in the tooth as well.

It's all happened so quickly! I sometimes forget my age, but not often, since age has also brought its share of aches and pains. I don't mind them all that much, but I know that there's not much reason for me to try to remedy them with doctor visits and even surgery, since they are as much a part of ageing as my white hair. And as I wrote last week, the Buddhist Five Remembrances is one way to keep in mind that everything is ephemeral and subject to change. But it isn't very uplifting to think that way; yes we know all that, but is it right to consider only the downside to being alive? That it will all end one day?

I have read many books during my lifetime, and some of them I have read more than once. It's my hope that my eyesight will last as long as the rest of me, since reading enriches my life so much. I'm always looking for another good book to read and appreciate, and since my interests cover the gamut from entertaining nonfiction to escapist novels, much of how I feel on any given day might be linked to the latest book I'm reading. My friend Judy gave me a book by Erik Larson, Thunderstruck, which I'm reading now. I didn't realize it until I began the book that I had already read another by the same author, Isaac's Storm, about the deadliest hurricane in history. He's a good author and is keeping my interest in this latest book, set in the early days of the twentieth century, in London, and it reminds me of how much our world has changed since then.

One of the best ways I've found to cope with difficulty, whether it's with the loss of our loved ones, or of youth, or any other cherished object, is humor. It comes with the territory of growing older, being able to appreciate the humor in just about everything that comes our way as the days and weeks and years pass. My friend John sends me emails filled with humor, and I find that as I laugh heartily at them, I feel ever so much better. Now that I have seen and felt so much of life, I think that I will choose to be a lover of all that makes us laugh. This brings to mind a poem that always makes me smile, written by Lewis Carroll in Alice in Wonderland (just a couple of stanzas here):

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?" 

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

If you want to read (or remember) the entire poem again, I've linked it here for your enjoyment. That will be what I will share with you to celebrate the beginning of spring in the Northern Hemisphere in 2019. 

Now that I've written this post and didn't get all maudlin as I was afraid I might, I'll start the rest of my day. My sweet partner is still sleeping quietly next to me, and my tea is long gone, so it's time to finish. As always, I wish you, my dear readers, a wonderful week ahead, filled with lots of laughter and light. Until we meet again next week.

St. Patrick's Day 2019

Carter in our community garden 2019

It's St. Patrick's Day today. How did it come around again so soon? It's the story of my life: I barely finish the Sunday post and it's already Sunday again. My days are flying by at an alarming rate. In a couple of days, spring officially begins, and another winter will be behind us. In fact, this Wednesday at 2:58pm here in the Pacific Northwest, it will be SPRING. The Tulip Festival in the Skagit Valley is only two weeks away, but this year the tulips will be late, because of all our cold weather in February. I suppose with all this warm weather we're having right now it means that the early tulip varieties will begin blooming within another week or two.

Today I'll start planting the flowers I purchased yesterday into my front porch planters. It's such a good feeling to see the sun shining and everything greening up. Our wonderful community garden is in the best shape it's ever been in, since we have one new resident, Carter, who has helped to create a fine environment. He was out there improving things all winter long, so instead of going out to see the winter weeds having taken over, my own plot was quietly doing nothing under a bed of straw. I need to think about what I want to plant out there, but first I'll brighten up the front porch with lots of pansies and primroses.

I hardly know where to begin with my usual post ruminations. It's curious to me how sometimes I can barely decide which of many directions to take, and others my mind is a complete blank. That's sort of where I am today. I first looked up the history of St. Patrick's Day, wondering who he was.

According to tradition, Patrick returned to Ireland to convert the pagan Irish to Christianity. The Declaration says that he spent many years evangelising in the northern half of Ireland and converted "thousands." Patrick's efforts against the druids were eventually turned into an allegory in which he drove "snakes" out of Ireland, despite the fact that snakes were not known to inhabit the region. ... Celebrations generally involve public parades and festivals, céilís, and the wearing of green attire or shamrocks. 

So he was another one of those guys who was converted and believed it was his calling to convert the whole rest of the world to Christianity. Since here we are in 2019 wearing lots of shamrocks and other greenery and drinking green beer, he was sort of successful in turning a regular day into a festival In Chicago, where an entire river is dyed green. You can read about it here. A video shows that it's really a vivid color and people love it. It's only done when the holiday falls on a weekend, apparently, so it's been six years since it was last turned green.

I've got some Irish ancestry in me, which I discovered last year when I spit into a little tube and sent my DNA off to be tested. I'm about half British and Irish, with no way to know how much for each one, but somewhere in the distant past my ancestors probably danced an Irish jig or two. And wore shamrocks too, perhaps. I'll find something green to wear today.

This past week was a challenge in being able to recover from some rather intense exercise. I had my usual two yoga classes, both of which were hard enough to make me sore, and then on Thursday we hiked up Oyster Dome, a couple of thousand feet of elevation, on ice and lots of snow. It took me a few days to recover from it; my knees don't do well traipsing through soft snow, and I was reminded once again that my cardiovascular system isn't what it once was. I struggled, but slept like a rock that night. Now that it's been three days, with a nice five-mile walk yesterday to work out the kinks, I think I'm mostly recovered.

I keep putting off joining the slower hiking group, because I don't want to leave my old friends behind. I look forward to being with them each Thursday, but this latest hike was just one more reminder that this summer I will not be able to keep up on the harder hikes into the High Country. It's good to push myself, I think, but still I must remember that everyone slows down, and there is a reason for me to pay attention to what I can and cannot do. Even as I write this, I feel a sadness come over me for having to face the inevitable.

This does not mean I will not continue to do all I can to stay fit and healthy, but there really is a change from year to year that I cannot deny. It does sometimes make me wonder if there is an underlying problem that my body is telling me to pay attention to. One of our regular hikers discovered that he has pancreatic cancer, but he was keeping up with us until one day, he just couldn't any more. I worry about something like that happening to me. It's the one cancer I fear the most, because there are no tests to detect it until it has spread. It's scary to contemplate.

But make no mistake about it: something sooner or later will surface to cause me to modify or reduce my vigorous activity. I am reminded of the Five Remembrances of Buddha:

1. I am subject to aging. There is no way to avoid aging.
2. I am subject to ill health. There is no way to avoid illness.
3. I am going to die. There is no way to avoid death.
4. Everyone and everything that I love will change, and I will be separated from them.
5. My only true possessions are my actions, and I cannot escape their consequences.

I have written about these remembrances before. But I conveniently forget as I live my life that they apply to me, too. And that I am no longer young, so it's evident that the vagaries of age are catching up to me. Pondering this, I realize that it's time for me to start focusing on that last remembrance: that my only true possessions are my actions.

But I must not forget that happiness springs eternal and that digging in the dirt and planting flowers are a wonderful source of delight. On St. Patrick's Day this year, I will be sure to spread around a bit of happiness into each soul I encounter. That begins right here, right now, with you, my dear readers. Let me wish each of you a wonderful day and week ahead, and that you will find happiness.

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”
― Marcel Proust