Rain, Snow and the Art of Appreciation

 

As you were drifting off to sleep during the recent storms, did you hear the nighttime raindrops dancing on your rooftop?

 

I mean really hear nature’s symphony? To these ears, a Mozart piano concerto was never lovelier.

 

            And after the clouds cleared did you see the Monet-like brushstrokes left behind on our mountains? To be honest, I missed them until a friend shared an encounter she had during her daily morning walk.

 

            Standing smack-dab in the middle of the street in her neighborhood was a man she had never before seen. Her first thought was, “What is he doing?” And a second: “I hope he doesn’t get run over.”

 

            As she passed, the man said, “I was just taking a moment before work to appreciate the snow on the mountains. We just moved here.”

 

            With that he climbed into his truck and drove off, his day off to a grander start than had he been in a hurried rush.

 

            As my friend noted afterwards: “We hear all the time about gratitude; appreciation for little things; things we take for granted. Find them – just don’t get hit by a car!”

 

Sometimes we all need reminders of our blind spots, our deaf spots, of things – both little and large – we take for granted. We need fresh counsel on an old maxim by Walter Hagen: “Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. You’re only here for a short visit. So don’t forget to stop and smell the roses.”

 

Also, stop and look at the snow on the mountains.

 

            “The journey is better than the inn,” is how Cervantes poetically put this Zen-like ideal in the 17 th century.

 

            Much more recently in “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values,” first published in 1974, Robert M. Pirsig wrote about climbing a mountain and how too many people focus only on reaching its summit:

 

“When you’re no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn’t just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. THIS leaf has jagged edges. THIS rock looks loose. These are things you should notice. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It’s the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top. Here’s where things grow.”

 

Here’s where things grow, indeed, and life’s sustaining pleasures happen.

 

Here’s where mountains are frosted with snow.

 

Here’s where children laugh on a merry-go-round and smile as melting ice cream drips down their chins and scream with delight when a rogue wave crashes into a sandcastle.

 

Here’s firefly-like sparks rising above a glowing campfire.

 

Here’s a child’s kite and a Monarch butterfly both dancing on a shared breeze.

 

Here’s where the shade beneath the canopy of a magnificent oak is perfect for reading or napping or daydreaming.

 

Here’s a seagull gracefully suspended without even flapping its wings.

 

Here’s a father running alongside as his young daughter learns to ride a two-wheeler, the girl unaware her dad is no longer holding the seat to provide balance.

 

Here’s a speedy mother pushing a jogging stroller, both faces joyous.

 

Here’s noticing the new beauty in a loved one’s face you have stared at a million times before.

 

Here’s a friend’s smile and a dog’s tail wag.

 

Here’s the Ventura Pier, in its own way as majestic as the Eiffel Tower.

 

Here’s the Channel Islands, as beautiful as Yosemite’s Half Dome.

 

Here’s a boy tracking mud inside and a Zen-like mother wise enough to know she will too soon miss his messes.

 

Here’s wildflowers blossoming in springtime and stars doing likewise at nighttime.

 

Here’s a balletic surfer using the face of a wave as her canvas.

 

Here’s a painting, as imaginative and wonderful as anything by Picasso, held by magnets on a refrigerator door.

 

Here’s Two Trees standing sentinel in evening silhouette.

 

Here’s “young love” walking hand-in-hand along the beach – and old lovers doing so, too.

 

Here’s the arrival gate at the airport.

 

Here’s an inspiring sunrise and a clear sunset, and also here’s thunderclouds and a rainbow afterwards.

 

Here’s where memories grow.

 

Here’s a reminder to take time to look at the snow-capped mountains – and at all of the “roses” along life’s journey.

 

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

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