Life of Wry

Lest I forget that I live in easy times in an easy place, let me describe the morning:

First… I got up early (early enough, anyway).  Logged on, checked in and caught up with the world and my people in it.

Left for a walk, camera and phone with.  En route, called my mom and talked for a half hour.. caught up on all things mom, and vice versa, which she loves. An easy and really enjoyable conversation.  I seriously dislike talking on the phone, but find long conversations completely endurable when I’m out and about, especially walking.

Continued walking speedily through and around the arboretum, stopping here and there to take pictures with my good camera, taking more care to frame and zoom-in on shots than usual.  The whole trip around and along the creek felt leisurely.  I was also very aware, and amused, that I have no idea what I’m doing with photography, and know less about botany, but could still find it incredibly enjoyable to take pictures of all this wildly blooming (if un-name-able) plant life.

Came upon a dozen artists from the Crocker Art Museum who’d positioned themselves around Lake Mrak to paint in the early morning light.

It was charming, but it was the soundtrack that made me smile…. a group of guys had spontaneously gathered on the deck across the lake with vintage looking brass instruments and were playing some funky upbeat music that could be heard for a pretty good distance.  They were unrelated to the painters, but they complemented the lakeside scene rather perfectly.

Ran into Peter’s English teacher and passed a few other walkers, dog walkers and such, but for the most part, it was quiet, a lot less busy than most weekday mornings.  All and all, serene and peaceful, except for the quacking ducks and brass music.

Passed through the redwood grove, certainly everyone’s favorite stretch of Putah Creek, and completed the 3 1/2 mile loop. Then headed over to Mishka’s for an au lait and poppyseed muffin.  Of course.  Sat outside in the 75-degree shade reading the New York Times and listening to an Italian woman who was video chatting with someone, somewhere, animated (and loud).

Wandered home through the Farmer’s Market.  Got swallowed into the Saturday morning Central Park cacophony–the crowds, the music, the activities.  I worked at remaining anonymous, not feeling like getting involved in any conversations (though I’m sure that’d have been fine). Entered the market proper and picked my way from booth to booth sampling and then buying some organic nectarines and peaches, got spit out the other end and headed home.

Back home, and it’s not even noon. Shortly, I’ll join Jim for a walk back downtown for lunch, then plan to garden the rest of the day and later have dinner with friends.

Ok. Why am I bothering with this detail?

Well, because I don’t want to take it for granted.  This morning was unremarkable but it was also really pleasant and I think worth acknowledging that:

We’re not dealing with insufferable heat, like so many around the country right now.  We’re not dealing with the aftermath of the Oslo rampage. We’re removed from (though not unaffected by) the drama of the debt ceiling debates, republican horse race, Murdoch empire collapse and too, too many other domestic political tragicomedies.  Someone else actually has to deal with all that, and it’s not me.  Hell, I don’t even work. We have friends, resources, choices, ideas and options.  We’re rich (by world standards), healthy, educated, creative and we’re not in a war zone. I can actually call my mom on the phone.  That sure won’t last forever. My feral teenager’s out and about, hanging with friends and digging his independence like nobody’s business.  It’s a nice thing to have a day to myself.  Win win.

So, right?  We’re crazy privileged and lucky.  We drew the long straw, were born in the right place in an easy time.  It’s a nice summer and things are good.  I can get as cynical and snarky as the next guy.. but it’s wise to remember: it’s all ridiculously good.