The Walk

Woke up to a clear, frosty morning, with a sharp blue sky. Eleven degrees, but it is supposed to get up to 32 in the afternoon. I had a rough night. I’ve been fighting Omicron since Friday. At its worst, I’ve had some achy bones and felt a bit hot. Tickly throat, dry cough. It took forever to fall asleep last night because of the achy bones thing, but I felt refreshed this morning. I think I’m over the worst of it. I was one of the first people to get it in the first wave. We were living in Virginia, outside of DC and I was working as an Army contractor. My cube mate was super sick with what in retrospect were all the classic COVID symptoms, but he wouldn’t stay home and gave it to me. That was in November 2019. I had achy bones that time too, and as a variant of the “no taste, no smell” phenomenon, things smelled weird and lots of things tasted like dish soap or metallic. I haven’t experienced that particular symptom this time around. I’m just glad that I seem to be over the symptoms “hump.” Tawnya went to Mass this morning. Out of respect for my fellow parishioners, I stayed home. Still sent in my enhanced offering for the collection basket. As I was saying yesterday, I canceled over $200 in monthly online services. It is easy to get trapped into a subscription for a cool new tool, only to realize a few months into it that you aren’t using it at all, or at least not enough to justify the expenditure. So with my giving up cigarettes and peach iced tea every day at the convenience store ($10 a day), stopping eating out of the vending machine and at fast food joints nearly every day ($10 a day), and canceling the online subscriptions (nearly $10 a day), I’ve regained nearly half of my paycheck. Intentionally. One of the nicest benefits is that I now have the ability to give to charity with a cheerful heart, without wondering if my “gift” was going to overdraw the checking account. It’s fun putting the cash monies in the church envelope each week, too.

The temperature dropped overnight and it is 18 degrees now. The sun will be coming up in a few minutes, revealing a partly cloudy sky. While not bitterly cold, it is enough to remind you that it is January in Indiana. I went out and walked Bibi around the neighborhood instead of taking her down to Paradise Spring. Today I’m reading Norberg-Hodge’s “Local is Our Future” as a segue to getting back to writing my book on human scale and pace. So much of what she says echoes Fritz Schumacher, John Senior, Max-Neef, and others who have commented on the subject. She’s not right about everything, but she’s right about most of it. A brilliant woman who unfortunately has been ignored. 

This is part of my intentionally paring down my life, even to the possible demise of other cherished projects that aren’t going anywhere. I don’t have the time or the focus to devote to so many projects, and so like in other areas of my life, I’m scaling back in those, too. I’m going to cancel all of my online subscriptions except for the website, and do I really even need that? In a way, I’m starting to prepare myself for partial retirement in a couple of years. I’m paying for too many stupid things. Impulse purchases. And then I don’t use them enough to justify the expense.

P.S. I went and canceled just about all of my online services. I feel relieved of a great burden. I’m certainly starting the year out in grand fashion.

I got called into work early today so me and the Beebs (Habibi, Bibi – the dog) got our walk in early. It was 33 and overcast when I got up at 9 a.m., the sun just peeking through the clouds here and there. I was thinking as I was walking and listening to a couple of geese belt out a duet as they flew across the sky. I’d like to write a forest bathing book for Christians, incorporating nature descriptive bible verses as well as commentary on my method of practicing Shinrin Yoku. I was also thinking about the fact that our first parents were gardeners, Eden’s caretakers if you will. And I wondered what the deeper meaning was behind the words “to till it and keep it.” What I found amazed me. To “till it” is from the Hebrew wore abâd. It means to dress it like a military commander forms his ranks, or a surgeon binds up a wound. Isn’t that powerful? The word also has the sense of making something suitable for your use. But the important part is that it means to work it for someone else. In this sense, it was Adam’s dressing it and working it for God. To keep it comes from the Hebrew word shâmar, and it means to guard. It also has the sense of observing it, protecting it, retaining and even treasuring it. Are we not still a race of gardeners, sprung from our first parents to keep it in good order, to guard, protect and treasure it? I think so.

Mostly sunny and about 34 degrees when I got up. Another good morning. I was up before 9 a.m. and got up and took a shower, started some laundry, got about halfway through cleaning the kitchen, and took Bibi for her morning walk. Lots of squirrel activity. We didn’t see any other people out walking. You can still smell the river. The geese are still doing their thing in the river. I’ve been thinking a lot about what this year is going to bring as I pursue this path of intentionality. Yesterday it translated into me paring down my wardrobe by about half, as I cleaned out my closet and tidied up the bedroom. It also entailed me spending about $100 on a shelf for my half of the clothes closet. Hello ADHD. But since my hangers are now mostly empty except for a green suit coat with tan slacks for Mass, a black “marry’m & bury’em” suit, and a few seasonal button-down shirts with ties, I really don’t use or need a lot of hangers. I’d rather my clothes be folded neatly and placed on the appropriate shelf. It allows me to assign a shelf to an activity, like work clothes. “Not work” clothes. Hiking and cycling apparel. And guess what? I’m only allowed to own enough clothes that will fit on the shelves. If it exceeds that, something has to go. And that is the only reason to buy new clothes. To replace something that has worn out or has otherwise been replaced. The old go to the thrift store, are upcycled or downcycled.

Mostly cloudy but temperatures above freezing. I could really smell the river as I walked Bibi at Paradise Spring. The river geese were honking and congregating on the ice islands. Some of them were swimming in the current. The river is higher than normal and the current is quick. I love that river smell. 

Cleaned out my closet and got rid of a lot of clothes. I’m intentionally downsizing the amount of stuff that I own. It’s a constant battle. People are always bringing new things into the house. Not consumable items like food. We had Christmas and the annual commercialization thereof. That means a lot of new stuff came in, in the form of gifts. Like any good hobbit, I like giving and getting gifts. I’m guilty of it quite often. But then you’re left with more stuff with which to contend. If you have to get me a gift, please make it something consumable, or better yet, make it an experience. Give me an experience I never would have had otherwise. Bring your guitar or violin and sing or play me a song. Pound on my door early on a perfect morning, have coffee in hand and sit with me on the back porch to watch the sunrise. Or give me a coupon worth one evening sitting around your fire pit with a glass of bourbon or an ice-cold beer. And really talk to me. About the important stuff. The eternal stuff. Things of wonder or great importance. Or just stare into the embers with me.

That reminds me that I need to get some ashes from Dad’s fire pit to start a tradition of “friendship ashes” in the family. Have somebody make a small vial or container that holds the “heart of fire” and each time you share them at a campfire or fire pit gathering with friends, especially if there are new friends, at some point in the course of the evening, give the short memorial and remember past fires with friends and family. Tell anyone sharing the fire with you that, now that they’ve drawn heat from your fire, the fire that has warmed us all, we share a connection. It does not make us family. It may not make us friends. But for the rest of your life you will remember this fire. This fellowship. The faces lit by the orange flames. The stories and the laughter. You will carry it in your heart to the grave, and into what lies beyond the grave. Tonight we are at peace with one another, and at least for this hour, life is good. ***