A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR’S
I go once a year, truthfully as much to keep Bev from nagging me about it as any other reason.
I showed up the other day, early, as is my norm.
They took me into the bowels of the office early, as is their norm, credit given where credit is due.
I like my doctor, Dr. Ankeney, had him now for five, six years, mid-forties I’m guessing. He has the same pragmatic outlook on life as I do, he’s never tried to talk me into better life habits, is always friendly, and always interested in what is going on in my life other than my health.
He was fascinated that Bev had done 900+ miles of the Pacific Crest Trail, fascinated still that we are still living in buses, and fascinated to the 3rd degree that Bev is thinking about hiking the Camino Real in September.
He poked, he prodded, he studied my chart, looked at me, and told me to get out of his office, that I was wasting his time, he actually had sick people to take care of, all said with a smile and a ready handshake.
“You’re living the best seventy-five you could hope for, buddy,” he told me, and you know what? He’s right, I am, and I am grateful and blessed beyond words. I could get all reflective, pondering why I am so blessed while others struggle constantly, but I think, today, I will just offer up a word of thanks to the universe for the wonder that is my life.
DO YOU NOTICE THE LITTLE WONDERS AROUND YOU?
He had always been . . .
He had always been that way . . .
As a little child he would walk, gingerly, through a field, as though aware that each footstep landed upon living organisms, and a keen observer would notice the slight wince in his facial expression when each footstep was carefully placed.
The same care of placement is with him today, he now being in his fifties, for the same organisms are underfoot, each living their best life, each an intricate spoke in the mammoth wheel of life, a tapestry, if you will, which holds this planet together, if you really want to get down to the nitty gritty. Single cell to multiple cells, multi-legged and bipeds, nerves and muscles and ligaments and skins and detectors and electrical waves, water throughout, toss in a sprinkling of other chemicals, and proven it is that we are all connected, each part serving a purpose, each purpose leading to another purpose, none of us intelligent enough to understand, or see, the greater picture, and thus the waste and destruction and killing continue, seemingly unabated, with no thought to the permanent scars being inflicted on the host.
But he understands.
He stops by a puddle, newly added to the pasture, a thirty-hour downpour leading to what we humans would call puddles . . . but think about it, what are those puddles to an ant, or a sparrow, a beetle just trying to make it home in time for dinner, suddenly faced with a giant ocean which suddenly appeared, as if by magic, and now blocks his path. How will that beetle react? The sparrow? The ant? The leading character in this story?
He picks up a piece of plastic, discarded by who knows whom, puts it in his pocket, shakes his head, and walks around the puddle so as not to disturb.
A birch tree, standing tall, perhaps fifty-feet, adorned with a skirt of mushrooms where yesterday there were none, bright oranges with black stems, one of a thousand different varieties in this temperate climate, during the rainy season, and he knows those mushrooms serve a purpose though he is woefully unaware of what that purpose might be . . . vows to himself to educate himself, find out as soon as he returns home.
The telltale shriek of a Cooper Hawk comes from overhead, a ballet of thermals and aerodynamic wings, dancing more than floating, one-hundred, possibly two-hundred feet above, in search of a field mouse, plentiful on the outskirts of this farm, the field mice plump from the scraps dropped by the horses and pigs and chickens and sheep, each of them sloppy eaters, but that sloppiness serving a purpose as well, a buffet for the mice who are, in turn, a buffet for the hawks and geese and coyotes and . . . and . . . and . .
The man looks to the forest edge, sees movement, always movement if you are willing to take the time to see it, the forest a buffet itself, several layers, each layer serving a purpose, feeding a certain species, the underbrush, nurse logs, upwards through multiple layers, each one an intricate tapestry, that word again, until reaching the canopy, and don’t forget the water cycle, the leaves and the barks and the man smiles at the wonder of it all, right in front of him, daily, no need for social media or television or artificial intelligence, no need to stimulate the senses with manufactured substances, the Greatest Show on Earth, right outside his window, daily, for free . . .
He moves on, gingerly placing each foot down, as he did as a young child, overcome with the wonder of it all.
Author’s note: we just completed a thirty-six hour marathon of rain, the farm/school is dotted with spots of saturated flooding, and my imagination decided to take you along on a walk . . . but it is not imagination, the description of the lives beneath us, around us, and above us, it is the real thing, and every damned one of us is called upon to do our part. Make no mistake about it, my friends, Earth is on a precarious ledge right now, we have screwed around with it far too much, and we need . . . WE NEED . . to change our ways. I’m not talking about posting cute little memes on Facebook or quoting some long-dead poet or environmentalist. I’m talking about changing our way of living, our consumption of once bountiful energy, our purchase of harmful materials. I’m talking about quantifiable actions which will actually do more than spur comments on social media, our friends telling us how socially responsible we are.
Talk is cheap.
Of course, one person cannot reverse the tide by themselves, but to simply throw up our hands and declare it is all too much, well, that is criminal. We do our part, one small part, and those small parts combine with other small parts, and maybe then the movement will gain traction and actually accomplish something.
Thank you, my friend. So far so good.
I have been looking for your blog and cannot find it. What oh what am I doing wrong?
Sigh
Good to hear you are in tip top shape Bill… <3 🙂