Apr. 5th, 2015

wyld_dandelyon: (guitar gloves)
In fact, I can see it from my window. How cool is that? I won't get to watch the whole thing--the moon will drop below the horizon all too soon. Still, I got to see it with my eyes, and without the intermediary of a computer or television screen.

That's something I couldn't do during the last few eclipses due to cloud cover. I had to satisfy myself with other people's pictures, taken in other parts of the world. But just as there's a special magic in being able to do that, there's also a special magic in being able to see it here.

(pause for sleepy moon-watching)

So, I had to go to the attic eventually, since the moon dropped behind the houses across the street, and then watched it vanish--not at totality, really, just slivered to the point where the pre-dawn light and the tree limbs between me and it obscured it quite handily.

(pause to watch the total eclipse online, and to fall asleep on the couch, to be awakened by the wise advice that it's better to sleep in bed, and by a day's work of chores and errands)

I wonder, if I could live forever, or at least for thousands of years, would I reach a point where I was bored by things like eclipses, or tulips opening in the spring, or the taste of a perfectly ripe strawberry?

I don't mean, if I reach a point where I can't see or smell the perfect beauty of the first rose of spring, and can't taste the butter melting into my potato, and can't enjoy sleeping and waking due to pain and infirmity--it's not boredom if the body can't take in things properly, that's something else altogether.

But would I get bored if I were perfectly healthy, but had just experienced so many meals and flowers and strange phenomena that I didn't care?

I don't think so. It's a very personal answer, of course, but looking back, the times I didn't appreciate the little things as much as I normally do were all times, in retrospect, that I was sick or exhausted (and usually both). And even then, it was more like not seeing the sun rise because of the fog.

You'd think I'd remember this faster, when I'm having trouble focusing and finding the joy in getting things done, with all my experience with chronic illness--but that's the thing about chronic illness, it's sneaky. It's not like breaking your leg, it's like an eclipse. Things seem perfectly normal, then just a little off, and you never quite see a moment of discontinuity, a moment when there's a big change, it's just at some point, you realize not only have things been changing, but the change is dramatic and significant.

And unlike the eclipse, chronic health issues don't just go away. You have to do something about them.

But that's another post altogether.

This post is about appreciating the good things in life--the playfulness of a cat, the taste of halapeno jack cheese, the green smell of spring returning to the world, and soon, the soft gold of dandelions in the sun.

And stories--stories of cats and dragons and magic, of love and truth and kindness, and always, always, stories of people.

But for tonight--check out that moon! Isn't it cool?
pictures! )

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August 2017

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