Today would’ve been my dad’s 93rd birthday. Like him, I have a fantastic memory for dates, like birthdates. I can remember birthdates, month and day, but please, please, please, don’t ever expect me to be able to tell you what year something or other happened. I know when my kids were born. I know when I graduated from high school. Everything else just happened somewhere along the line.
Dad still has a Facebook page, so, in case I forgot about his birthday today, I received a reminder along with a suggestion to buy him a Starbuck’s gift card. I considered it, but decided against it. I’ve left his page up, as I’ve noticed with friends who have passed before me, their Facebook pages are left and people stop by to pay tribute on birthdays, holidays and other important dates. It only seemed creepy for a bit, but I actually rather appreciate it, now, to be able to “publicly” pay respect to someone, to see others pay the same tribute. I have yet to take a look at Dad’s page to see if anyone has stopped by to pay homage. I’ll do so after a glass of wine, later this evening.
I ran seven fantastic miles this morning, according to plan. It feels like October in the Napa Valley. I know, it is, but it feels like it. This is the very best time of year in California, and here, especially. It’s cool enough in the morning to want to stay under the covers a moment longer, just long enough to hear the furnace kick on. As a child, I’d have gone over and sat on the floor, over the vent, with my nightgown billowing out around me, trapping the warm air within. My kids did this, too, when they visited their grandparents. I decided against sitting on the heater vent this morning. I’ll indulge at some point, even if just for the sake of posterity. And I can almost bet Mom will pop in to check up on me at precisely that moment and question my actions and intentions, my reasoning, and, perhaps, my sanity.
Once up, I donned my running gear, had breakfast and did a little work, while my running socks tumbled in the dryer. Then I headed to the “dog park”, where I park my car and ran my favorite loop, which ends in the vineyards of the Oak Knoll District. This, my favorite time of year, the sun is bright, there is rarely rain, and, if any, just enough to be novel, enough to wash the dust off everything, making the world look crisp and clean. There is rarely any fog, maybe just a few fluffy clouds here and there, drifting on the breeze as the valley breathes, inhaling in the morning, exhaling in the afternoon and evening, drawing a cool breath from the bay to the south, warming the air in the sunny valley, and blowing it slowly back out towards the water in the afternoon.
This is the time of year that I remember so fondly from my school years. School has started, there are football games every weekend, and the weather is finally just about right to be able to wear all your new school clothes for fall; sweaters, jeans, boots, all the cute things you found shopping for school, but as summer lingers here for so long, they were all much too warm to wear. For the first month or so of school, it was still shorts, tank tops and sandals or flats. Finally, fall school clothes can be worn without danger of heat stroke!
There is a change in the slant of the sunlight, too, that is indicative of the season. You begin to notice the subtle distance of the sun, it is bright, but the light is more diffused and just a little less warm. The light catches the changing colors of the leaves on the trees and on the vines and adopts a golden hue. When the sun sets, it is cool enough for a sweater, but warm enough for an evening walk. As night settles in, someone, somewhere, will light a fire in their fireplace and the smell of smoke will drift subtly on the cool air, like magic, unless it’s a “spare the air” day and there is a “burn ban.” I know, romance = brutally murdered.
The street I grew up on is lined with Chinese pistachio trees, planted by the city. They turn from green to fiery red and orange this time of year. The “City” is tearing up our sidewalk, street and gutters around the neighborhood where the tree roots have lifted the pavement. Our tree, I’m certain, is the biggest culprit. A few of the neighbors’ trees have actually been removed. Mom fears, like death, that “they’ll” remove our tree. They may, they probably should, but haven’t, thus far. Every day this week there have been dusty yellow pieces of equipment trundling up and down the street raising both dust and a racket. Trucks line the street and men in orange shirts mill about. Today, the jackhammering began. I gathered a few critical items for survival and headed for the Napa Valley Coffee Roasting Company to regain some quiet, solitude and, hopefully, my sanity. I’ll work here until my computer dies, then look for an outlet here, or elsewhere. For now, with my iced decaf and enough serenity to be able to construct sentences, I am both at peace and in peace. Bliss.
This is living in the present. This is living in the moment. This is what we’re supposed to do, always. I am working, I am writing, and I am content. Thoughts of tomorrow, next week, next month, next year are as distant as those times are in the future. Thoughts of yesterday, last week, last month and last year are equally as distant. Removed. Removed from me by the time that has passed, the time that has not yet arrived, and, in the same manner, removed from my mind. This is where happiness and productivity thrive, in the present. This is a place free of stress, free of sorrow. There is nothing, right now, I need, that I don’t have. To extrapolate this feeling, this practice, across one’s life would create a happiness and contentment so complete that, if everyone knew about this secret, there would likely be no sadness, no depression, no anxiety, no fear, the world over. There could very well be no war, there would be most definitely, less disease. In fact, I am quite certain, as I’ve learned from Eckhart Tolle, this is the key to life, the key to everything. The present, a present, just waiting to be discovered.
I’m enjoying my present. How about you?