September has come and gone and I didn't add a single yarn to my little web the entire month. I'm not sure why. I think I was waiting for a magical moment I felt worthy of sharing. Well, I guess I really am a fool. The whole point of this web is to help myself, and whomever else passes this way, to realize how precious and special each and every moment is, even the bad ones. Because let's face it, this life is all we have right now. Well, I've learned my lesson, so I'll try not to worry about how remarkable my life should be before I consider it noteworthy. With that in mind, here's a brief summary of some of the ordinary miracles I observed last month ...A hummingbird visited my backyard. That's two hummingbirds I've seen in the city this past summer - the first two I've ever seen in the many years I've lived here. I spotted both birds within a few months of marking the tenth anniversary of my mother's passing by getting a hummingbird tattoo on my ankle. (See previous entry.)
I walked, without an umbrella, face up, in the gentle, late-summer rain. During that same walk a vivid red dragonfly landed on my arm to rest for a while. On yet another walk through our glorious neighbourhood park I spied a great blue heron, poised and motionless in the pond, within feet of the shoreline where I stood. And just a few feet from the heron a cormorant was perched on a wooden post, its wings spread wide, in full sun-worshipping mode.
I also met with a dear childhood friend whom I hadn't seen in eight years. I had called her up on whim, no doubt brought about by a powerful full moon that day, to wish her a happy birthday. It was good to hear her voice when she returned my call a couple of days later, and we caught up on our lives shortly afterwards when we met for lunch. Meeting with her after so long reminded me that life and learning goes on, with all its joy and sadness, fortune and tragedy. It will go on, even if we choose to not fully engage in it. And sometimes, tragically, it forces us to be fully engaged in the most difficult of ways. Grief is a price we sometimes pay for deep love. But Susan, my beautiful and enduring friend, is wiser and lovelier than ever, and has come back from great loss to live more fully and deeply than ever. It was a rich and rewarding experience just to sit with her.
I've learned that life doesn't have to smack me in the face with beauty, joy, misfortune or loss to make me appreciate all the rest of the small and seemingly inconsequential moments. I'm grateful for all of them. I'm an actress and a storyteller, and this much I know for sure - life is not a dress rehearsal.
- G. P.
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