I took the day off yesterday from riding the trike and today I passed as well. I have experienced some discomfort in my hips and knees, not pain but I get the message. On the pain scale 1-10 it would be a (1). I have never been an overachiever in the gym, more of a good enough is good enough when it comes to exertion. A low, slow, lactic acid burn in the muscles is my signal that I’m where I need to be and even then, I limit that slow burn to 5-10 seconds and back off. A few days away from the routine can’t hurt and I will slip back into it slow and easy. I don’t have anything to prove.
In the epilogue to the movie, ‘Shawshank Redemption’, ’Red’ (Morgan Freeman) comments on the prison warden who committed suicide rather than be arrested for corruption: “I’d like to think the last thing that went through his head, other than that bullet, was how the hell Andy Dufresne got the best of him.” Clever word play; ‘through his head’ both the literal and the figurative. So, how does one juggle words and come up with suitable thoughts and ideas for a Pandemic Diary audience? The virus has us, it has me isolated as much as possible and you need something to keep you busy. So I write. I know of only a handful of friends who follow my blog but you never know who might be passing through. Sometimes I complain but I would rather take the high road than the low one.
I have a friend (another teacher) who argues that travel isn’t necessary for one to live a full, rewarding life. I am pretty well traveled while he is not. I agreed, responded in kind with a short little story about Marcel Proust who wrote, “The real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” You don’t have to be a globe trotter, all you need is imagination and to pay attention. There is a right place for everyone, it can stay put or move around. Still, travel makes for the best education, a sentiment that has long been expressed universally.
I was in Whanganui New Zealand, on the coast between Aukland and Wellington. At the library I met Sarah Tocker, a consultant/trainer, we both needed a wifi signal but we talked more than anything else. Whanganui is a small city so when she meets interesting people she invites them to dinner. That way her family can experience that diversity as well. I was invited.
I met her husband Aneurin, a surfer and their two girls, Olivia, 6 and Sylvia, maybe 3. We sat on the floor, making bubbles and drawing cartoons. After dinner the girls played and the grown ups talked. When it came time for me to leave, Olivia gave me a small, hand made poster that showed us as stick people. The caption read, “Olivia likes Frank.” Then I was gifted a bubble blower, a small, soap-filled flask with a wire loop. Dip into the soapy water, wave it around and bubbles fly like bees from a hive.
Six years later the poster is still in my guitar case where I see it often. The bubble blower is nested neatly with my other treasures in my trophy case. Sometimes I take it out and make bubbles. Some stories are good until another one takes its place. Then some are good to lsat a lifetime. Sure, I am old and my memory may slip but not enough to forget this story.
Whatever your condition, wherever you may be, seeing with new eyes makes the difference between the mundane and the marvelous. People slip into and out of your story and they all make a difference. You have to pay attention. You can’t touch another life without being touched in return. My life could have been rich and full even if I never left the town where I was born. But my story from an Alaskan Ice Field would be make believe. Sleeping on sandy beaches in the Grand Canyon would need be imagined and for certain, I never would have met Olivia Tocker or her little sister Sylvia.
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