Columnist Craig Lore
Yesterday night, it was late, and I really just wanted to go to
bed. But the dogs needed to be walked. With the side fence down,
being rebuilt, I have to leave the dogs in their run and walk them
three to four times a day. So I dragged myself out of my chair, put
on my coat, grabbed the leashes and stepped out into the night. It
was clear and crisp.
By Guest Columnist Craig Lore
Yesterday night, it was late, and I really just wanted to go to bed. But the dogs needed to be walked. With the side fence down, being rebuilt, I have to leave the dogs in their run and walk them three to four times a day. So I dragged myself out of my chair, put on my coat, grabbed the leashes and stepped out into the night. It was clear and crisp.
The black lab, Cokie, pulled on her leash, as usual, as if she will miss something or not be the first to discover a new smell, a fresh trail while the yellow lab, Maggie, was calm, content to be led, to explore within the limits of a loose-held leash. And the walk was pleasant, once we were out there. We moved slowly, I stopped occasionally to let the dogs sniff something or other while I stood taking in the night when I found myself drawn to the large oak tree at the corner of the street, the one in front of the 100-year-old Presbyterian church, in San Martin. I walked the dogs to the base of the tree, looked up as far as I could, which wasn’t that far in the dark, and I felt its wisdom.
The tree is older than nearly everything around it, including the church. I put my hand on the deeply fissured trunk and felt its rough texture on my palm. I asked the tree to grant me some of its wisdom, strength, patience and vision. And in return, I pledged to the tree my protection, my observance and my appreciation. I have no idea if the tree felt anything, but I know that I felt better and more at ease.
The oak tree is part of my routine: I have passed by it many, many times usually without taking much notice. I have touched this tree before: stretching, at the end of a run placing my hand on its trunk for support. But I had never until that night touched the tree to make a connection.
Life can be like that. We go about our day, taking the same route to school or work, passing the same territory, the same people, the same old things, and we never take the time to stop and look at something, acknowledge some person or marvel at the design of the water cooler. I suppose it would be unrealistic to be mindful of every detail of every passing moment in our lives: We could hardly get from our desk at work to the water cooler and back if we stopped to appreciate every thing on the route. But certainly there is more time than we think to stop and show our appreciation to the life and the lives around us. The rewards may not be reciprocated – that person whom you start saying hello to in the morning or the one who never says anything but sits only four desks away from you may not return your greetings. The rewards may only be internal, but that is enough.
I suppose this sounds like another call to smell the roses, and that’s fine, but we really do need to be more aware of our surroundings, more mindful of the people and flavors of our lives the fall colors, the sound of a passing train, the silence of the night sky, the V-shaped flight of the Canada goose. And we need to be grateful for what we have.
Our gratitude should start with an appreciation for ourselves, and then like the ripples a pebble makes when dropped in the lake, our gratitude moves away from our center and touches the trees, and rocks, and coworkers, and loved ones, and water coolers because each of these is a part of our lives, and the things that we do, the choices we make, affect everything else in the universe. We need to pause with some regularity, to remember what we are grateful for, and then to show our gratitude with a smile, a hug, a cash donation, a word of encouragement or a walk at midnight to touch a tree.
