It’s January 8th and many of the proclamations and promises we made to ourselves a week ago will have started to fade. We put a lot of pressure on the first day of a new year, as though this might be the time we get things together to accomplish some of the hopes we have for ourselves. And I think that is just great! Why wouldn’t the first day of a perfectly good new year be the perfect day for hope to reign supreme, that we might make a list of things we wish to do, of ideas and dreams that would move from the hope list to the accomplished list. Every day of a new month or week has the same possibility, as does the first hour we are awake on any new day. In those seconds before the weight of the day rests upon us, we have the chance to aspire and to imagine a better version of ourselves.
No one ever told us life would be easy. A dear friend’s mother reminded me of that many years ago, when I was struggling to put one foot ahead of the other. And her words helped and continue to help me all these years later. Life can be messy and uncomfortable, can seem cruel and heartless, and “fair” has nothing to do with being alive. But oh my, it is filled with wonder.
On New Year’s Eve some of my neighbours gathered for a potluck dinner. I love a potluck get-together where we all bring our favourite and most transportable dish with us. The conversation began around the table with those things we worry about, the obvious failures of government and the choices the masses seem to make that harm or at the very least do little to help those who really need help. I was starting to strategize my exit because I have no means of processing the bleak perspective that we are faced with these days, but then something magical happened. We started sharing stories of what the world was like when we were children, when we started to morph into adulthood, and a great deal of joy erupted, and … it got me thinking.
When we’re this far out from childhood, it is a bit like flying over the past in an airplane, looking down from 30,000 feet so to speak. We know the details are all still there, but the edges of our experiences are smooth, neat and tidy. In all the sharing, not one story recounted personal accolade or applause, but instead it was the fun, the shared laughter and the private giggles. We all remembered the 1972 Canada/Soviet Union hockey Summit Series, with Paul Henderson’s game winning goals in the last three games. We shouted those details with vigour before moving on. The test pattern CBC TV signed off with at the end of the day’s programming; the Friendly Giant and Mr. Dress-Up; being feral children left to our own devices and choices, both good and bad, that sometimes included firecrackers and hornet nests; the madness of mercury-containing Merthiolate, banned in the 1990s, but used for cleaning our wounds, along with the mercurochrome; the clove oil used to silence our complaints of a toothache, only going to the dentist when absolutely necessary.
The discussion morphed into the moments that surprised us and we carry with us still – the hummingbird defying our expectation of its hovering and instead being still on the wire to remind us to pause in gratitude; the fawn stopping its dash of fear to turn to face us, her ears and eyes urging us to take notice as if trying to communicate something we should know; the smell of wild roses that hit us while we cycled, bent over urging our body for speed; the first green shoots pushing through the soil in spring that pause our breath and bring a smile of acknowledgement that we could then bid farewell to winter.
We called out our favourite moments that sprung to mind – the smell of our baby’s head, her fingers tightly wound round our single finger – the zing of the cast as the fishing line flies out over the water – the feeling of lift when one fellow’s float plane leaves the water and he is, for that flash of time, weightless – the crunch of cold snow beneath our feet, the really cold stuff that makes us both shiver and celebrate in the same moment – the stranger who smiles at us on the street for no reason other than to smile – the infinite variety of laughs – the smell of freshly baked bread. We carried on and on, finally collapsing in happy silence, knowing we were all very fortunate to have such a library of images to call on whenever we so choose.
A new day starts tomorrow. I will drink more water. It’s not Everest but some days it feels like it. Anyone for a game of marbles?
wendistewart@live.ca
