Tag Archives: joy

New Toy

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I am not really a fan of stuff, and one type of stuff that seems to always grow is toys.  Our children have a gajillion toys.  We buy them toys occasionally (hard to resist when you are Disney World, for example) but they also arrive as gifts from friends and family, and they also arrive as toys that are outgrown by cousins or friends.

Our children have received many toys that are really great.  They have a huge collection of Lego and Duplo blocks, for example, that were given to them.  We did not have to buy any for them to be able to create buildings and spaceships and cars and cities.  My son’s favorite toys are wooden trains.  Most of those were given to us as well.  So we have received some good stuff and I am thankful for that, even if they don’t quite see the beneficence of their relations.

We have lots of crap as well, of course.  Can you say birthday party gift bags?  How many UPO’s have they generated?  About a bazillion, I’d say.  And the Mardi Gras parade this spring?  Plastic bead necklaces up the whazoo.  Too much, if you ask me.  Even if you don’t ask me it’s too much.

Today, however, our children got the most excellent toy.  My father-in-law had mentioned this teeter totter that his second set of kids had played with and loved, and that he was hoping to pass on.  He came by today and left a shiny new plaything.  The thing is, the one he dug out of his barn was broken, rusted, not in good shape.  It wouldn’t be safe to use.  So he made a new one.  It is strong and beefy and operates smoothly.  And it is no ordinary teeter totter.

Call it a seesaw if you will, but this doesn’t just pivot up and down.  The pivot also allows the cross beam to swing in all directions.  So it goes up and down, yes, but it also swings in circles.  My children have been playing on it for about three hours, with breaks for dinner and spraying each other with the hose.  They have been laughing most of the time as well.  I love this thing.  Not only is it just plain old fun, but they have to work together for it to be fun.  They seem to have it down pretty well at this point.  They are spinning fast.

I think my father-in-law ought to patent this thing and sell them.  Seriously.  It is fun just to watch them spin around and up and down.  I am betting that this becomes the toy of the summer.  They won’t play with it quite so much as the days go on.  They will become accustomed to it and the newness will wear off.  I am sure, however, that it will continue to be way fun for them.  It is one item of stuff I feel will get plenty of mileage at this household.

Rain Situation

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It isn’t raining at the moment.  Well, maybe it is raining a little, but barely.  The sun is setting and we have that rare light when the bright sun shines under the clouds, coloring them steel gray and blasting the green hills with brightness.  It won’t last long.  The distant mountain tops are bright and I can see that rain falls there, and the shadows are creeping.

It has rained for a couple of days straight.  I planted flower seeds with the children on Tuesday afternoon, before dinner.  Then it rained.  And rained.  It is Friday now, about the same hour we planted the seeds.  Three days of wet.  I think they have gotten enough water to germinate.

I have not needed to uncoil the hose to water the garden.  In fact, I have been afraid that the garden has been getting too much water.  Last summer we had a wet spell that ruined some of our crops, including carrots.  They rotted in the ground.  Nothing I planted is so advanced that it will rot but this rain might keep some seeds from starting as I would like.  We’ll have to see what happens.

A hermit thrush tosses out its flutey voice over the wet trees behind the house.   It is an unassuming bird, what you might call an LBJ, a Little Brown Jobber, so similar to so many other bland birds.  Its voice, however, stops me at times.  Milton and Shakespeare and all those other dead English bards wrote about the nightingale, another thrush, whose voice trilled through the woods with sweetness.  I am sure they would have written their odes to the hermit thrush had they lived in Vermont.

We will likely get more rain showers over the next couple of days, but I am hoping the sun will come out to feed the new leaves on our squash plants and to warm the soil so the flowers will grow.  But that won’t happen until tomorrow.  Right now the land quiets.  The air is still, filled with moisture, heavy.  A robin adds to the thrush’s song.  Spring peepers and wood frogs sing out from the pond over the hill.  The light grows grayer.

It is not raining, but the rain has set the scene for a perfect early evening in spring.  Time to slide on some boots and head out there to smell it and feel it.

Up and Out in the Morning

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This has been a bad week for running.  I have not gotten motivated enough to give up sleep and make it happen in the morning.  And I have been home too late in the evening to really make a go of it.  Too many things to balance.  We a had a friend visiting for three nights and, of course, we stayed up late to hang.  He did come all the way from California.  This morning, however, I finally rallied for a morning run.

It wasn’t long.  I had to get back so I could get myself and the kids ready for the day.  But it was fine.  I left when it was light enough to see (no headlamp required) but the sun had not yet risen.  It was the perfect morning, although it was cold (26 degrees when I left the house).  I had no regrets about losing a little sleep.

There is a time when the world feels perfectly at peace.  The light creeps over the hills but the sun will not appear for a bit.  The eastern sky is pink or golden.  The blackbirds are beginning to chirp their chorus.  The frost glows.  The air is still.  No one else seems to be stirring.  The river shushes smoothly under the bridge.  It is quiet except for the waking birds and the sound of my feet.

That is the morning I had.  The mud was mostly frozen, so it was easy to navigate the rutted road–no sinking into the mire.  I crunched along past the fields, through the woods, onto the open road and over the hill to see the sun toss its head over the mountains.  And then the world was bright.  I felt the warm spring angle of that sun immediately, my layers instantly too much.  As I trotted north, the light flashed through the bare trees like the light from an old reel projector.

So maybe it wasn’t a bad week for running.  I haven’t gotten in many miles but this morning sure did feel like it made up for it.  It was peaceful.  It was beautiful.  I felt great.  I came home feeling calm and ready for what might come.  As I turned from the road onto our long driveway, I felt  happy to be alive, that this day was a gift.  I felt as though I was starting, right that moment, with days and days of living to come.  And hopefully, I am.

If I do not have those days and days left before I reach the great whatever it is that comes after this life, it will not have been a bad day to end on.  I hope, however, to have many more mornings like this one.

Feeling Alive

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At the moment, my son is driving his toy cars off an old board onto the frozen lawn.  The sun is shining.  His down jacket is unzipped.  His pant cuffs are soaked through.  He is, although not consciously, supremely happy.  Watching him makes me so as well.

Today I had a meeting in town.  I rode my bike to get there.  I should ride my bike more often, or so I have told myself many times.  Doing so today made me realize that I have been right.  I rode only about three miles each way–not far–but I felt great.  On the way in, the temperature was in the twenties.  Leavensworth Road, my route to avoid traffic, was frozen.  It was so frozen in a couple of spots that I had to walk.  I felt the cold, the wind, my muscles moving.  I felt alive.

It seems so simple:  I take a little more time to ride rather than drive and I feel so much better.  The only disadvantage to biking is that it takes more time.  Most of the time that isn’t even a disadvantage.  As long as I have the time to take, it is worth it.  The ride home was muddy.  Leavensworth Road had thawed out.  I got a little splattered but I had fun, I got a bit tired and I smelled the world rather than just zipped by it.  I need to do that more often.

On Saturday I stood in front of 400 people and presented a bunch of information about paying for college.  I had planned for it and I had been looking forward to it.  Five minutes before start time I realized that I felt a little nervous;  not much, but enough that I forgot to introduce myself.  Other than that it went well.  I think I provided enough information in a way that worked for most people.  Driving home (too far to bike that day), I felt great.

I realized that the positive feeling came from my pushing myself.  That was the largest crowd to which I had presented, and the topic is one that those present feel is important, even have anxiety over, so I took some risks.  I took a risk even volunteering to do it.  Because I took risks, however, because I stepped outside my comfort zone, the reward was high enough to make me feel pretty good.

I need to take on these challenges more frequently.  I need to take risks, to push myself, to try new things.  A lesson for me, one I have learned more than a few times, is that I need to simply step forward and try.  When opportunites come my way that seem intimidating, I need to say yes.  It is easy to stay within my comfort zone.  It is easy to do more of what I already know.  But if I want to feel alive, I need to make things a little harder for myself.

On my ride this morning, my biggest fear was not that I would be late or that I would forget how to ride, but that I would get stuck in my peddle clips.  I have a tough time getting out of them sometimes.  I practiced on the driveway on my way out, in fact.  Nonetheless, when I had to stop to cross a big patch of ice, I could not get my left foot out, leaned that way, and hit the dirt, literally.  It made me grumpy for a moment, but then I remembered how fortunate I was to be where I was, doing something so amazing.  I took a fall, but I got up and kept going.

That’s the thing.  I can’t be afraid to take a fall.  So I get a little dirty and my ego gets bruised.  So what?  No one but me even had to know it happened.  So often we are afraid to let others know we have made a mistake, and that makes us afraid to take a risk where we might make a mistake.  But I don’t want to sit with friends and tell them how I almost tried something but didn’t.  I want to give them a good story, and often the best stories are ones where we fall down but then get up and keep going and, ultimately, are rewarded.  That is the kind of story I want to tell.

If we take risks enough, we feel comfortable, given some time.  We can get in the groove.  Before long, we can be happy without even knowing why.  If we are lucky, we are happy without even being aware of it.  And if we take the time to pick up our pile of toy cars from the grass, we might even get the chance to try it again.

Sore and Glad to be Sore

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Apparently over six feet of snow fell on Bolton Valley over the past week. That is pretty nuts. That is a lot of snow. Their total for the year so far was 272 inches when I checked earlier. When we lived up there we had a few 300-inch years. Those were good years. This one is shaping up to be in the running.

I left later than I wanted this morning but I finally got my gear together and headed up there. I was solo. My wife stayed home with the children while I skied. I was riding the lift about an hour after they opened. Come to think of it, the lift I was riding might have opened a little later than the others, so maybe I was only a half hour behind first tracks, but I did pretty well. There was plenty of untracked powder for me to track up. I only skied for an hour and a half but that was about all I could take.

I would ride up, ski down and hop right back on. No dallying for me. Since I telemark, deep snow means lots of up and down. For someone who has not skied much this winter, it also means sore thighs. I could feel the burn as I hopped and carved. I did stop in the middle of runs more than once, to take a break and catch my breath, but also just to marvel at the snow. It was deep and beautiful and wondrous.

I don’t know how many runs I took. Plenty, I suppose. I got way tired and had lots of fun. Snow that deep feels just plain dreamy. Floating on it feels like flying. I sometimes compare it to whitewater boating. Both offer the sensation of fluid movement, where one feels partly in control and partly in the flow of gravity and the elements. Catching a turn or a wave just right makes me feel a union of sorts with the world.

That is what life is about–the feeling of being so in the moment, feeling so part of your little piece of the world, that all else falls away. Joy, that’s what it is. Call it idealistic if you will, or even foolish, but if you do, I am guessing you have never had the feeling. It can come from other things as well, I am sure.  These are two that I know.

Driving home I could feel my sore muscles with every depression of the clutch. It reminded me that I should get out there more. I should take the time to get out there, and I should make sure my kids get to know that feeling of joy through experience. I am sore, but I hope to get out there again tomorrow. We will take the kids, but we will also get a few runs in ourselves, just to see if there is some powder still to cut up somewhere on the edge of the trail. Maybe I will find a spot tomorrow to ride the fluff again, even for just a few turns.

First Snow

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This morning was chilly.  It was a hard morning to get up.  The sky was gray and rain pattered against the windows, tossed by the north wind.  Leaves blew around the driveway or stuck to the side of the house.  It was dark when we needed to rise.  We all got up, however, and were eating our various breakfast items when we noticed it was snowing.

This was our first snow of the season.  We all had later schedules this morning so we had a family walk to the end of the driveway to meet the school bus.  The wind was strong and we were mostly dressed for the weather.  My wife likes to hang on to summer, so she wore a skirt and flip flops.  She did wear a knit hat with a hood, but she was a tad cold.

I carried an umbrella, which worked well on the way out.  The snow batted it as I held it over my shoulder.  On the way back to the house, however, the wind would have filled its bowl and sailed out of my hands if I held it the same way.  I carried it in front of me but gave up after a bit of semi-blind struggling and folded it up.

These first snows are some of the most beautiful.  They elate me with their gift of the change of seasons.  I always feel a sense of wonder and joy when the seasons change.  I anticipate all the things we have not done in months.  We will soon be carrying in wood and stoking the fire.  We will soon sled down our hill.  We will soon feel the contrast of warm home and cold outdoors.

They are also beautiful because the white snow covers the green grass and the remaining orange and red leaves.  The grass in the field stands tall with various browns and some lingering purple asters.  Once winter has settled in, the colors will be fewer and muted.  Gray will often predominate.  Today, however, the snow gave all the colors of fall new highlights.

The walk out to meet the school bus always offers a moment of reflection.  Today, as on so many other mornings, I had the chance to look around me.  I was with people I love, and realized, yet again, how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place.  A beautiful day in a beautiful place with beautiful people.  Not a bad way to start the day.

Waiting for the School Bus

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Every weekday morning my daughter heads out to wait for the school bus.  An adult needs to be with her and often that means me.  Often it means the whole family.  I love the ritual of walking down the driveway and waiting together.  It gives us a chance to be together and to start the day by being in the day.

It is easy to go from the house to the garage to the car to some other indoor space.  It would be easy to stay inside all day some days.  And this does happen, although I try to avoid it.  Our school bus ritual helps us begin the day in a good space.  We hear the geese flying overhead, we see the fog rising over the hills, and we feel the cool fall air.

Some days it rains.  Some days the sun shines.  Some days we do not need the umbrella we bring.  Every day starts with a fine morning.  I look forward to waiting in the falling snow or in the spring wind.  The walking and the waiting give me perspective and help me think clearly throughout the day.

Twice now, house guests have walked out and waited with us for the bus.  My daughter got quite the send-off.  She was pleased, grinning as she got on the bus.  It was wonderful.  Other days it is just me waiting with her, or waiting for her in the afternoon.  Those days are peaceful and full of joy.

Tomorrow I will be off early and will not be the one to wait with her.  I am sure I will have a good day, but it would be better with a little walk, some time together, and a few quiet moments waiting in the morning air.  The school year means my daughter spends less time with us, but it has offered these moments.  I will savor them as long as they are offered.