OH, THAT OLD THING?

When I flip through the Rolodex in my head reviewing the varied experiences I’ve had, I wonder why some memories are more precious or more vivid than others. For example, I’ve been on hundreds of plane trips to exciting places, but the one that stands out is when one of the two engines on a DC3 exploded over the jungle-like hillsides of eastern Honduras. Just can’t get that out of my frontal lobe.

We tend to value rare things, not common things. Carats more than carrots. Eclipses more than everyday sunshine. It’s just human nature. We go for the superlative, the unusual, the last of a kind. I admit it; when there were just a few dragonflies, I longed to see them. Now there are hundreds, and I still enjoy them, but not quite so intensely. When I see a swarm of brown, dull sparrows on the ground, I think, “Gee, I wish we had some birds today.” One glimpse of a Scarlet Tanager, and I am mooning over it for weeks.

I would guess that some little speck in our DNA remembers a time when noticing something out of the ordinary meant staying alive. And there’s a little greed, too; it’s nice to have something no one else does, whether it’s an item or an experience.

We notice something extraordinary pretty darn fast. The trick is to revel in the ordinary, the common. Sparrows are ordinary, until you think about how many kinds there are 

and notice  how beautiful they are.

We have 4 or 5 woodpeckers on the feeders almost all the time. Still, I cannot help but stare into the forest longing for one more glimpse of the pileated. Is it too much to ask for one more pileated before I leave this place? 

Okay, everyday woodies aren’t too shabby.

What am I? Chopped liver?

You know what would be captivating? If the sun didn’t rise. Certainly would make one more cognizant of the miracle of its daily appearance. 

 Today appreciate the everyday.