“Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero”
- Seize the day and put no trust in the future -
(The Odes [of
Horace], Book 1:11, 23 BCE)
It’s
not an easy feat to seize each day and make the most of each day. Generally
speaking, we are so overcome by the events in our life that we have little time
to do anything but have a drink or take some Valium or both. It is important
that one tries to capture each moment, regardless of the reasons we may have
not to. Even the most mundane of days can bring its own reward. The simple
things, the easy things can often mean more than the most recognized or
significant circumstance. It’s much more efficient to hunger for tiny morsels than
to consume the whole thing. People forget that just walking your dog can have
as great an effect on your bliss as getting that promotion at work or opening
presents on Christmas morning. It is the small doses of glee and joy that make
the rest of this life worth living. They are the epitome of what it means to be
alive. We are supposed to seize each moment, not just the ones we think will
matter the most. Hard times come for everyone but so do good times and happy
times. These states can often be determined not only though grand or obvious indications
but almost silent, almost invisible glimpses. In small hours, we find the bread
of life. We should be consuming it slowly versus ramming it all down our greedy
little throats.
“If the sight of the blue skies
fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields has power to
move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand,
rejoice, for your soul is alive.” (Eleonora Duse, Italian actress)
My
parents’ property is overrun with wildlife. Although I have always appreciated
them gathering nature, I never really understood why they made such an
investment in it. So much time and so much money never made sense to me. I
would tell myself that I can watch birds for free. I love animals. I commune
with the beauty of this world. I just never got why they focused so much on Squirrels
and Chipmunks and flocks of different
winged things. There was always an abundance of these critters so I saw no
uniqueness, nothing special in such a simple thing. With my mother gone, not
much has changed. The land, the house, the gardens all still flourish at the
hands of my father and my sister. The plot is beautiful, with giant Spruce and
Pine trees filling in the sky. There are flowers everywhere. There are trees
and bushes and Lily of the Valley as far as the eye can see. Ponds are
scattered about the property and bring Possums and Raccoons and even Skunks.
Canadian Geese, and a few Deer, seem to find their way to this sanctuary. They
may come for a drink but some stay for the fish. The grounds are more like a mini-forest
than a mere piece of land. For years, it was unclear to me just why so much
energy and cash were put into the green space. In spite of having little
interest in landscaping, I could (on occasion) catch a glimpse of what my folks
saw, a reward for all their toiling. I have appreciated the place, I
just didn’t realize the importance of having such tiny morsels to consume. Our
lives are, apparently, made up of bits and bites. We fill up but we don’t know
that we have. Still, it is small pieces that always seem to remain. You don’t
have to know that you hunger to ever be fed.
When
the home I now live in was purchased, it came with abundant and rather mature gardens.
The beds around the place are filled with hosta, bleeding hearts and lilies of
many varieties and colours. The front entrance still stands safe, as a weeping
cedar takes to guard. English Ivy, tropical Ferns and hundreds of Solomon’s
Seal fill each area along with Chickens and Hens and other ground covers. The
yard itself was well developed and plush green. Come summer, the side of the
house welcomes very little sunshine, all thanks to the huge and very overgrown
Trumpet Vine that runs on top of the fence, from the front to the back of
the house. By July, it is stunning. I
discovered there was little room for anything new or transplanted. I spent all
of last year tinkering, adjusting and planning for the coming seasons. With
little work to be done on the actual gardens and plants, I focused on creating
a stone border around each specific area. I finished the entire front and left
the back patches for this year. I got decorative, hanging three metal stars at
the entrance and placing a beautiful metal heron in the main plot out front. I
mixed Lily of the Valley in with ferns and the Black-Eyed Susan found rest at
the foot of that wonderful bird. By the end of last summer, we brought in a
spruce tree, a cedar tree and a Walking Stick. We added ornamental planters and
glass influences like the Hummingbird placed on the inner gate. It turned out to
be a very beautiful place, this place. Dogwood and Sandcherry bushes fill in
the outer yard, to commingle with Myrtle, a large variety of wild and ornamental
grasses and Morning Glories coming out the wazoo. To top it all off, a large
and full Rose of Sharron acts as sentry to those who would walk through the
front gate. I can’t imagine what the place would have been like if I had to do
all the planting and all the planning. Regardless of what was here to begin
with, I couldn’t believe how much work it all was. I couldn’t believe how rewarding
it was to create your own little world, an ecological Otherland. I have to say
that I get it now. I have turned into my parents.
After
the patio stone sidewalks were re-laid and that Trumpet Vine was pruned, I set to
the task of welcoming wildlife to the space. I purchased a songbird feeder and
a Hummingbird feeder. Bird houses were already scattered about the grounds. I
started saving bread and fruit, tossing handfuls every morning for the animals
to feed on. All of a sudden, out from the decks and trees they came. Squirrels
and Chipmunks and hundreds of birds dance across from my kitchen window. All
day long you can spy on Orioles and Cardinals and Blue Jays. Flock after flock
of Sparrows peck the ground clean. Starlings are less than welcome but I feed
them just the same. There are Jacks, Juncos and a pair of brown Doves that I
have called Betty and Veronica. My favourite of the all critters was Herbert,
an adult Chipmunk who filled his face every day around noon. He was recently
beheaded by a neighbourhood cat. I watch them all. I can stand only feet from each
one without giving myself away. From the kitchen to the feeders is less than
four feet, with only glass and the occasional screen to stand between me and
them. I love wasting time glaring at them, although it rarely is a waste. I try
to memorize the regular birds, naming them accordingly. It has become one of
the greatest pleasures that I have in my life. Such an easy and simple thing
has become a staple of delight. I finally understand why my parents made such an
effort with their gardens, and the ponds, and the feeding areas about their
property. I could spend the entire day just looming in my window, watching and
interacting just like my mother and father did. I understand so much better
than I ever did before. It’s the feeling that all these little wonders can
bring. It’s the meagre and simplest of things that build together to make a
brighter day. Joy covers everything or nothing at all.
“Cherish your solitude. Take
trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep out alone under the
stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being
afraid of not coming back. Say no when you don’t want to do something. Say yes if
your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide
whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important
than finding out what you’re doing here. Believe in kissing.” (Eve Ensler,
American playwright)
When
I was a teenager, I used to hitchhike between Strathroy and London every weekend. On a Friday evening, I
would head to the main road out of town and I would
let my thumb lead the way. I
rarely failed to get where I was going. Come Sunday, I would leave my friends
and either take the train home or hitch back to the place from whence I came. It’s
been years since I took to that task. It’s been years since I needed to. It was
fun while it lasted but I much prefer to get someplace by car versus my feet
and a wiggling appendage. It’s been over twenty-five years since I last rode
the road. Still. I recall how much freedom I felt standing, waiting for fate to
pick me up. It was exciting, even dangerous, and I often miss that. It never
cost me a penny and I rarely regretted the choice. I know it sounds silly but
it was such a simple pleasure for me to explore my independence and the world
around me. Such a meagre morsel but nourishment nonetheless. It was never some complicated
expression, just a little joy that few can understand. These days, I share a
vehicle with my partner and the arrangement suits us both quite well. Any need
I have to get somewhere is usually met with a stop to fill up and a day of
touring. On the days when I don’t take my partner to work, home office serves
me well. I will admit that Paris
tends to be isolated from most other places. A small town is limited for stuff
like that. No car, no access, at least for the most part. You can always walk
if you want. One April day, I decided to do just that.
The
distance between Paris Ontario
and Brantford Ontario Brantford . They needed to
see me that day. There was no way I was about to pay $60.00 for a cab to take
me there and back so I decided to try and hitch a ride, just for fun. I figured
it was worth a try. No harm, no foul. It hadn’t occurred to me before, this
option. Honestly, I told myself that there was no way it would work for me now.
I decided I had nothing to lose, even making a note of when and where I should
turn around. It was a futile effort, I thought to myself. I walked through the
downtown of Paris , across the Grand River Bridge
and onto the highway that leads to Brantford .
I imagined it would be a fruitless attempt. Who would pick up someone who looks
half Nazi and full on grump? Sure, I am pretty but in a scary way. I expected that I would have to walk the
entire distance. Despite the April sun, the wind was cold and made me glad I
wore a winter jacket. With my water in one hand and my thumb protruding with
the other, I started walking backwards, my intent was crystal clear. Not a
minute after I stuck my thumb out, a car pulled to the side of the road just
ahead of me. He waved me on through the back window. I rushed to the grey Impala
and peered inside. I couldn't believe that in this day and age a 70 year
old man would pick up a stranger. When he asked, I explained to him where I was
going and he told me to jump in. The old guy dropped me off in the perfect spot
and I walked a few hundred feet to my destination. The little rush I got only
lasted for a few minutes. The way back home was just as easy. Almost the minute
I reached the edge of the city, the moment my thumb went up in the air, I got
picked up again. It was almost instantaneous. To my surprise, the white F-150 roared to a stop. I shuffled to
the passenger door, opened it and he bid me enter. This time farmer Bob did me
the service. He headed straight into Paris ,
past the downtown and he even dropped me off near my home. As I waved goodbye,
I noticed he was picking his teeth. It was probably just a morsel.
“We’re only here to love
Like there’s no tomorrow
So let’s live each moment like
Our time is only borrowed”
(Borrowed Time,
Madonna 2015)
I
suppose it’s true when they say that “life is full of surprises.” I am
consistently surprised just how surprised I am at being surprised. Every day brings
something new, something different and something special (or something worse). Life
is abundant in both happiness and sorrow
so one actually has to stop and pay attention in order to recognize which is
which. When you do take heed, it’s almost funny how the big things seem so
small. You would think for all the bluster they would entail so much more. It
is the morsels that sustain us, it seems. Tiny pieces all about us waiting to
be consumed. Each bite is small but if you eat enough of them, you will get
your fill. Time is borrowed and it falls away. We are left with only these.
These moments, these scrapings, miniature heirlooms one and all. They are all
that remain.
I
think I will purchase a birdbath and a feeding platform for all those rodents
in my yard. Each should give me more than enough to take notice. It’s like Wild Kingdom around here these days. I
am transported into the miracle of simple when I watch them all at play. I am
as much in the moment as each one of those critters. I think back on my family
and all the years my parents and sister have worked on developing their own
kingdom gone wild. I never understood the beauty in these experiences but I
most certainly do these days. I finally get the freedom that comes from
recognizing the moment, even if it’s attached to a fuzzy little chipmunk. So I
try to live in the now, embrace those moments, these morsels tossed about me. I
take chances, I look for adventure, even if someone else would find my journey
boring or juvenile. It took me over five hours to hitchhike to Brantford and back that
April day. At least I didn’t have to walk the entire way. I probably won’t do
it again but it was sort of fun to flash back to all those trips I made to the
big city when I was a young man. It felt great to be spontaneous, to reach for
something so simple and find such joy just from the experience. Sometimes you
have to say “what the fuck!” So I sit and dream about hitchhiking across America like I
did back in the day. Maybe this time I’ll just keep going.
“Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But I can not forget
The way I feel right now.”
(Little Wonders,
Rob Thomas 2007)
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