Ordinary and Extraordinary Moments in a Day

Yesterday, Linda Kot (Cape Cod Linda) suggested a book by this title: The Gift of an Ordinary Day.  I haven't read the book but was intrigued by the title, and--as always--made it all about me:

After three and a half hours in the Concord Mini Center and lunch at a neighborhood Saigon buffet, I felt like it had been quite an ordinary day indeed.  Even on the road, it's not so bad to have a regular ordinary day in which to practice the virtues you planned to practice--like patience and remembering to live in the moment.  

So the wheels need aligning, again? Okay, you get to practice saying: "That's part of cost of traveling west, Baby!  Be with it.  Ree-lax!"  

So the GPS promised ten minutes (to the Concord Mini Center)  which turned out to be thirty?  And so even thirty turned out to be ninety because of detours and traffic snarls and endless red lights?  So?  Isn't that part of the journey of life, too?  Shouldn't every friggin' obstacle be embraced, as they say? 

So Someone yells "Asshole!" out her window and you're pretty sure it's directed at you for breaking some traffic courtesy that exists around here that nobody told you about?  Isn't that another opportunity to send forth charitable thoughts after all? 

On the other hand--and as Gary used to say, "There's always the other hand...."

(I am reminded of the fact that just over a year ago, I saw him for the last time, and Linda was here from Cape Cod on that November day I drove out to say good-bye, knowing it would be the last visit.  He was smiling from his hospice bed, blowing kisses as we left.)

Even on ordinary days, there are extraordinary moments.  Whenever I used to tell Gary about some drama or misunderstanding, he'd smile his Buddha smile and say, "It's a big world, Sweetheart."  I try to remember how big it is when I feel myself shrinking when a stranger calls me names.  I remember how big it is when I meet someone I never would have met but for the kindness of someone (or even some physical pain) introducing me.  

What used to be ordinary and taken for granted becomes extraordinary when it's gone.  Like the ordinary chance to meet a friend for Greek lunch, after that friend is no longer here.  

Like how it used to be, moving around in a body seemingly-impervious to pain, now that the occasional pain announces itself, or how something as simple as squatting with ease used to be ordinary, but is now the kind of thing you watch others do with outright envy.  

And so yesterday's body aches led me to Andrea, just as a week ago, they led me to Dr. Linda in Woodland Hills for acupuncture.  Both are extraordinary healers and both were generous with suggestions of places to go from here.  "Another pitch for Middletown and Harbin Hot Springs," Dr. Linda wrote in an email yesterday. "It's where the hippies went after SF, aided by a guy with a big trust fund but his heart in the right place.  Just thinking about a quiet moonlight soak makes me so envious."

I wake up every single night at 3:15, no variations, no matter what the time zone.
Having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night in an ordinary nuisance.
But being able to sit on this comfy trundle bed of a generous new friend and write, bothering no one with my lights, is extraordinary.

Being late to an appointment is a chance for an ordinarily "disgustingly punctual" self to deal with delays, and to be reassured so very kindly by Andrea who says:  it's all okay, "no worries."





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