gratitude
The official day set aside to commemorate and celebrate those who served to assure and or defend our freedom, even many who gave their lives, has passed and it appears we are back to the “normal” routine of the “average” week day. Each person reading this post and all those who won’t has his or her unique perspective as to what is “normal” and or “average’. For most, the walk along a hallway, or down an alleyway, or up a stairway, or along the way of several city blocks to accomplish a task undertaken for a desired and possibly non-noteworthy outcome will be done in a proverbial “snap”. For some others, the very act of moving on one’s own accord will be either a memory or frank fantasy as they live in a defined dis-ability determined by any number of disease or physical consequences. Some (of us) live in the world between; that world between assumptively normal and frankly disruptive movements. The experience of having the journey from comfy recliner to scooping a morning meal for the cherished canine as being one requiring thoughtful intention to raise one’s feet beyond a shuffle to ensure a balanced delivery through the task desired. Fortunately, the more engagement the greater the promise of continued ability to engage. This unexpected “challenge” that is requiring greater intention than ever before imagined as a life task, has given me “great” pause to think not so much about what has been lost, but what has been accomplished over the years and what is yet to come. The veil of optimism is the one this participant in the journey is choosing over ones of anger, remorse, or defeat. Just like the intention often required for each step, there is an intention of thought undergirded with gratitude expressed as thankfulness for what has been and what has yet to come. I know of that which has passed but have yet to discover what is to come. Today I experience the presence of a grateful heart that seeks to thrive in the midst of each challenge and its victory!
The trees sway in the distance as the wind-swept sheets of drizzling rain meander through the countryside. Mother nature’s penchant for the extreme has shown herself well this spring season. Hot and humid followed by chilly and dry to be chased away with torrents of rain and flooded streams and roads, have been her renderings on this seasons tapestry. As possessor of perpetual Parkinson’s disease and its seemingly random expressions of unwelcome presence, the weather appears to illicit periods of prolonged stiffness, slowness of movement and thoughts somewhat heavier than when mother nature is bright and cheerful. Periods of profound pondering however, are usually followed by days less weighty, just as the pouring rain succumbs to the drying warmth of sunshine. Wet weather provides the life sustaining quench to a thirsting world that thrives in both sunshine and shadow. Gratitude for the opportunity to soak up what’s needed during times of the downpour offers grounded roots for light that dries away the shiver from the pouring rain.
Flipping an omelet was a simple task. Turning from side to side in the bed was once a thoughtless maneuver. Putting on pants while standing was second nature and required no thought or attention. Hopping from the chair to attend to a recalled task was a snap. Flicking a light switch was accomplished with lightening speed. Turning quickly because you remembered something in the other direction required no attention to the process of turning around. “Past” is the tense in each of the previous statements. So many things this “whipper-snapper” took for granted have become the thief demanding attention where no attention was before required. This stranger called Parkinson’s disease has decided to take up residence. His presence is unwelcomed and he was uninvited. His intrusiveness is fuel for my anger at times and a reminder of my grief at what has been lost. I reflect on life before his invasion and though saddened at times by loss I cannot help but be thankful that those years of freedom were given. Today the struggle is not as much with the resistance to movement or the slowness to respond to my every whim, but rather with the integration of what is today, with the memory of what used to be. Each day now becomes a new opportunity to exercise what remains. Placing grief at the feet of thankfulness helps create a path forward with the legs of gratitude.
Puddles arise in sections of the lawn and adjacent fields indicating the level of saturation already accomplished from the nearly two full days of rain. The banks of the pond are holding steady the downflow of water that has satiated the dry thirst of the last few months. Unseasonably cool temperatures add to the discomfort of venturing outside for tasks of even short duration. The usually ravenously grazing chickens in the barnyard have found a few dry spots to while away the day. Newly transplanted vegetables seem to be ravenously soaking up the downpour of fluid sustenance while producing bright and glistening blooms that precede the harvest just weeks away. While inconvenient to this geezer’s agenda, we recognize the need for these times of drizzle and downpour. As accommodating as the soil, chickens, and pond can be, so must this mind adjust to the need for nature to be fulfilled. Often with weather of this kind, this possessor of PD experiences stiffness with aches and pains that deflate the bubble of motivation that lifts us above the prickly terrain of discomfort. This time, we are not brought down by this weather, but rather wrapped in a shroud of healing warmth generated in the midst of gratitude for the renewing time afforded and the restful abode inhabited. A thankful heart now thrives in the presence of a time of renewing and a place of reflection.
She smiled so peacefully as she lay in the arms of the woman who was caring for her. I gently took her into my arms as I cradled her carefully for the first time. She slowly opened her eyes as she stared up into the face of one who was to become her father. A look of wonder on her face turned into a grin of satisfaction as she slowly closed her eyes to return to her dream world. Thirty years later and many life challenges behind us, this dad with PD still adores that smile of satisfaction that arises from her face each time we greet each other. Gratitude fills this old dad’s heart as he reflects on the wonders of the past and the hopes and joys of a future yet to come. Those piercing and loving eyes of a daughter so cherished penetrate to the heart of this thankful father and slices through the often rigid and tremulous posture that emerges involuntarily. Two days ago, we celebrated the thirtieth anniversary of her birth. Reflecting now unveils a mountain of thankfulness from whose pinnacle the view of tomorrow is made brighter.
Cloudy, overcast and chilly is the morning that greets this Spring day. It seems the ancient ones were right when predicting musculoskeletal dysfunction in the presence of cloudy and wet weather. I once thought it humorous when my grandmother would predict the onslaught of rain, simply by the lack of flexibility or pain in her joints. Interestingly, my humor has waned as the years have brought forth some similar experiences for this host to PD, among other visitors! Old is feeling so new and youth is feeling so ancient. Nevertheless, the sheer joy of living in these moments of observing nature, fellowship with friends and family, and the promise of a new dawn, fills this life experiencing heart and mind with gratitude that never ceases to lift our thoughts to brighter things. Holidays, birthdays, and other special days arrive whether sunny or not, and remind us that our time on earth together is not contingent upon the weather! A thankful heart flowing with gracious sharing with a sister or brother helps remind us that our purpose is to love one another!
Lying peacefully and quietly with her freshly cleaned golden and streaks of white hair rising gently with her every breath, Gracie the Golden Retriever sleeps the early morning away at the foot of the recliner. Having consumed her morning food and accommodated her need for a run in the yard she has settled down for her first among many naps of the day. It seems like just yesterday that this delightful little puppy slept the time away in my lap as we brought her home from the breeder. She always seemed to intuitively know that she was at her “forever” home, always eager to greet guests and become the center of attention no matter the intention of the guest. Even now, at seventy pounds and having delivered two of her own litters, she relishes her time in the lap of this host to Parkinson’s. Unashamedly, the lap giver enjoys the closeness of the warmth and weight on his often-aching thighs as he massages the cuddling canine’s ears and neck. Poppa and pup enjoy a somewhat symbiotic relationship as each gains comfort in the interaction with the other. Thoughts of gratitude fill the heart as we watch the bundle of life before us and we prepare ourselves for another day with opportunities to share in this gift called life!
The light through the bedroom window seemed bright, even as the closed blinds obscured the view. Wake from a restful sleep led this unwitting host to Parkinson’s presence to perceive that a full night of rest had been tucked into his body between the warm and welcoming sheets. A glance at the clock on the kitchen stove indicated that less than a full night’s sleep had been tucked away last evening. Nevertheless, this mind and body was rested and energized in a way unlike the last few mornings. Aches and pains had subsided and stiffness was less prominent than we have grown accustomed to. Ingestion of the morning meds that has become the habitual norm was accomplished and Gracie the Golden was granted her early morning relief run through the yard and garden. Frost had accumulated on the automobile windows and the grassy fields beyond. Winter’s grasp was not yet relaxed even as several days of spring had teased their way into the region. Internally, there exists today a “freedom” that has not been experienced in some time. It is a freedom from some symptoms that had almost become the norm; those of stiffness, rigidity, “foggy” perception of the day with a bent toward the drowsy. Today, the return of freedom from those pesky perpetrators of ennui and a mind not overwhelmed with the struggle of movement at every turn. Gratitude has been the engine that has driven each day prior, but today it is the rocket ship that propels this thankful heart and mind to rejoice in every moment of this glorious gift that used to be termed as “normal”.
The emerging green grass shows its healthy demeanor despite the few nights of sub-freezing weather. As the pre-spring warmth returns, this aging host to dopamine’s depletion (PD) savors each moment and welcomes the sense of greater freedom from the constraints of winter’s cold. With that freedom comes then the matter of choice. Shall the comfort of the sturdy recliner supersede the freedom to move about more in the warmth of the outdoor climes? Will the lure of a healthier existence with its enhanced ability in movement motivate this aching and often stiff creature toward a place of greater self-control? If so, to what end? Choosing the half-baked couch potato approach to today and tomorrow when there are multiples of other options seems wasteful and negligent. The many options available in the presence of strength of movement seem the wiser choice today. Furthermore, as gratitude has been the nourishment on the plate of thankfulness from which I feast and thrive, a choice neglectful of gracious options seems a poor response to such wonderful gifts. Today I opt for the multiples of choices more likely to appear in today’s arena of self-control and give thanks for thought provoking moments other people have already inspired.
The caulking between the old logs that was placed there so many years ago, has slowly been eroded by the rain, wind, and the freezing and thawing as the days and seasons change. The once host to hand tied sticks of tobacco hoisted first to the top tier and then filled in below was the “oven” in which some of the farm’s bright leaf tobacco was thoughtfully cured at harvest. Two o’clock in the morning is no time to repair the worn old structure, but an obsessive mind that hosts this thing called Parkinson’s insists upon addressing the repair step by step until sleep seems a distant passer-by. The greater the conscious “fight” to return to slumber, the wider awake this codger becomes until an exit from the bed seems the only relief from the obsession. Far from having slumber satiated, the recliner, the lamp and a book replace the conscious discomfort of the bed. Hours pass with just a hint of slumber tapping gently as the head hosting the dopamine depletion nods gently to startled awakening. As anxiety about the day ahead begins to call, frustration intentionally is given away with surrender to “here and now.” Thoughts of gratitude for the moment’s breath and the heartbeat that signifies the life that despite how “I desire” has so graciously been given. The residue of each thankful expression serves to complete the patchwork of the comforting quilt that is the woven masterpiece now embracing. Whatever the day unfolds, with a grip of gratitude and a tank of thankfulness, the day’s revelation can be warmly embraced!