Greetings, everyone! I’m thrilled to be among you again to celebrate your delights and to share my own!
August 15: Today, in the hands of my massage therapist, I learned that my body is essentially a slab of Rocky Road Ice Cream, sans ice cream. So I breathed into the probe of his pile-driving hands. (Hello, IT Bands!) I melted as hot stones paved by arms, shoulders and back. And I inhaled the eucalyptus scent, all tingles and koala bears, of the soothing creams and lotions. I eventually relinquished my Self and rumbled down this massage road to wherever it chose to lead.
August 16: When on a walk I meet a car at an intersection, I used to kindly wave them through. They’d kindly wave me through. I’d wave back a little more vigorously. They wouldn’t move; our generosity had engendered stalemate.
So now I just turn my back on the intersection and look up at the trees, the clouds or the rooftops, as though something infinitely interesting is happening there. And, funny thing, during those ten seconds of silent pause I notice the crosshatch of leaves and sky, or an airplane’s contrail, or the blooms in a window box. When I finally turn back to the intersection, the car is gone. And I’m still thinking about the crosshatch, the contrail, or the flowers.
August 17: I glided out of my exercise class today feeling stretched, strong(er) and happy. The summer day was morning-mild and I had a small sack in hand to collect the odd bits of trash that (inexplicably) spill out of people’s cars. I almost hummed a jaunty tune.
An eight-year old walked past me, hand in hand with his dad, and looked back over his shoulder as I harvested a straw-wrapper. He turned again as, now on the woodsy side of the street, I retrieved a cup lid. “Say ‘hey,’” I called to him, “If you spot anything.” He nodded and pointed to a tissue.
Eventually, I caught up with him and his dad. “You and I have keen eyes,” I said. “And I always wash my hands very, very well when I get home.” He nodded again. Then, with his dad’s permission, I reached into my gym bag, extracted another repurposed newspaper bag and handed it to him. “Will you wash your hands very, very well when you get home?” He solemnly promised. As we parted, I thanked him. “Helpers matter.”
August 18: A few weeks ago, a gulp (!!) of cormorants watched from a tall tuft of cord grass as a friend and I slipped across Sinepuxent Bay on a kayak tour of Assateague Island. Black mussels hugged the waterline and a light bay breeze puffed the mosquitos back to the surrounding salt marshes. A National Park Service ranger paddling along with us explained the ecology of the beautiful island and its waterways. And he talked about the 1962 “Ash Wednesday Storm” that saved it all.
With visions of yet another massive ocean resort town, a developer had secured investors, sold plots of land and started building infrastructure on Assateague Island. The Ash Wednesday Storm, however, submerged the island from beach to bay, pushed handfuls of houses well off their foundations, and washed away the developer’s grand plan. Already bankrupt, the developer joined the local community and others to urge Congress to create the Assateague National Seashore. Congress did. And so, a half mile south of the energy and asphalt of Ocean City, Maryland, we have a 37-mile sliver of paradise. I’ll paddle to that.
August 19: Backpacks, parents and clusters of small children populated our street corner this morning. The First Day of School Bus rolled up and flung its door wide. Judging from the splash of bright purple and a large letter P, this bus was destined for our town’s Mt. Daniel campus, where the kindergarten, first and second graders meet.
Suddenly, running past my house came a bright little boy with a backpack over his shoulders and panic in his heart. He wove through the crowd of parents and big kids toward the school bus door. A parent took his picture as he greeted the driver. The door closed and the bus rumbled on.
I predict that he’ll arrive early at our corner each day until he turns 14, at which point he’ll join the sprinting teenagers competing for a gold medal in “bus.”
August 20: Speaking of gold medals, I saw a young man wearing an Abby Wambach soccer jersey as I left our public library. I thought about our town’s woodworker, who in retirement fashions found wood into beautiful “live edge” coffee tables. And I thought about Ms. Wambach, who is married to the woodworker’s daughter. I wonder what it’s like to see your daughter-in-law’s name worn proudly on the sidewalks of home.
Bonus: I saw the bright little boy at our corner this morning, well-settled and waiting.
August 21: Shade, not sun, would be my destination and delight as I started my walk. But as I passed into the dreaded sunshine abutting the soccer field, my senses were overrun by the scent of new mown grass. Then as I left the shady trail to cross the even-more-dreaded overpass, a vigorous breeze dabbed my sweat-speckled brow. Later, I watched a four-point buck nibble something sun-kissed along the creek. And, yes, the shade was lovely too.
August 22: The grounds of my silent retreat center — all gardens and ponds, woods and lawns — offer benches for every possible view, elevation and variant of sunshine. This morning, I enjoyed waterfall sounds from the third floor veranda; this afternoon I chose dappled shade by the swimming pool. As dinner approached (I work up a surprising appetite with all this reading, sitting and quietude), I strolled back to the retreat center and waved to one of my retreat companions, an elderly Catholic nun, leaning over the third floor veranda wall. She smiled, returned my wave, and pursed her lips to send a shower of soap bubbles into the summer day.
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If you’d like to browse my past delights, please consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands. Or learn a bit more about my Blog by visiting my Welcome page. You’ll also see links to four essays that were published in print magazines. I’m glad you’re here!
Fashioned For Joy 
Welcome, welcome back! How I have missed your bright, uplifting, energetic posts. My, what adventures you have had and continue to have. Can’t wait to read more about them.
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Thank you, Laurie, for your warm Maine welcome! I appreciate your point about energy: reviving my practice of seeing — and recording and sharing — delights is already energizing me. I’m glad you feel a bit of the same too!
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XO
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I read your post and thought about what to comment for a while….first, of course, welcome back. Your posts are always so gracious and uplifting, I love the way you spot those little things. Second, my new expression of the day is ‘a gulp of cormorants’. I love those primeval looking birds so am glad to learn the collective noun. Third, the picture of the pond at the Bon Secours Retreat & Conference Center truly captures serenity. You have brightened up a very wet and grey day.
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Hi, Barbara. And I do indeed feel very welcomed back; returning to you and the blogging community is a gift to myself. And thank you for enjoying “a gulp of cormorants.” Naturally, I had to look it up. I’ll try to remember it, along with that “parliament of owls” and “dazzle of zebras.” I salute whoever had the slightly mischievous and altogether delightful idea of distinguishing groups of animals with such hilarious names.
And yes, the grounds at Bon Secours are indeed serene. I’m glad it brightened your rainy day. Although your beautiful camellias no doubt help too!
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There are so many wonderful collective nouns (I love a clutter of cats….).
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A “clutter of cats”!? You have completely enriched my day!!
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Welcome back, Rocky Road! (one of my favourite flavours, incidentally)
I love that you helped someone else be a helper! I am imagining you picking up litter purposefully along the way. This is one of the things I missed very much during Covid when I had to resist the urge to pick anything at all up. And yes, we will wash our hands very well when we get home.
Riding a camel is a very good look for you! I like how at home you look.
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Hi, Ju-Lyn. Camel. Well. That is indeed it’s own story, coming soon!
I appreciate what you said about helping someone else become a helper. Mr. Rogers is right: look for the helpers (and, I’d add, find the goodness in the world). You have a ministry right now: very profound helping. And I know you will allow others to help you.
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Your presence and words are always a balm, Carol Ann. I cannot express how much I have missed you. Thank you, dear friend, for extending your warmth and care.
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Welcome back, you have been sorely missed. Your powers of observation and description, and your ability to draw positive messages from seemingly ordinary activities and occurrences, are clearly undiminished.
The story of how the Assateague National Seashore came about is inspiring, demonstrating that in the longer term “natural disasters” can have highly beneficial consequences. And I love your revelation that cormorants congregate in “gulps”…that little fact will stay with me, and enrich my future forays into coastal birdwatching!
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Thank you, Mr. P. It’s so nice to be back! And, as always, your words encourage me. I like your point about how sometimes “natural disasters” yield unexpected blessings. I remember sorrow when wildfires swept Yellowstone a while back: the next year, magnificent wildflowers bloomed in places where scrub had previously choked them. I wish it were always this way.
And, hey, regarding “gulps”: let’s promise to share with each other these new crazy words when we encounter them. They do indeed enrich how we engage the world!
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Yes, let’s do that! Coincidentally, yesterday we popped out for a couple of hours birdwatching at a local lake and spotted a single cormorant sitting miserably on a tiny island at its centre (over here, cormorants often move inland in expectation of catching more fish – courtesy of angling clubs – than they can get along the coastline.) This cormorant was a somewhat forlorn, lonesome figure. More like a reluctant sip than a gulp!
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Welcome back, Carol Ann!
The joy you share is much needed in the world today.
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Thank you, Nes. I feel the same way about your work!
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Hi Carol Ann,It is so nice to hear from you! It has been a whi
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Hi, Steve. Thank you for stopping by! It has indeed been awhile. I hope you are well. I send you my warmest regards!
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a most delightful stream of consciousness! It was great to catch up with you
alane
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Hello, Alane! Thank you for your kind note. I know how busy this week has been for you! With this return to blogging, I am relearning my computer skills — and channeling everything you taught me (especially calm confidence!). I’m thinking of you fondly.
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Dear Carol Ann,
What a relief to see your blogs again! My mind wandered to different possibilities of the long gap. I’m happy that you’re well.
There were times when I yearned for something short and delight to read to give my brain a break from the many obligations of a retired person. I’m reading this edition from the plane heading to Copenhagen to help move my daughter to another part of Denmark. It’s equivalent of moving to Nebraska from DC, figuratively speaking. You’ve also given me an idea about tea time in Alexandria. I will try that place one day in the fall. Thank tou!
I wish you many, many delightful days of discovery and being with friends and families.
Warmest regards Khanh
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Dear Khanh — Thank you so much for your lovely, kind, cheerful note. I wish you and your daughter happy days in Denmark and happy days on your return! You are so right about the many obligations of a retired person. I think I’ve frightened my husband away from the idea! If you decide to go to Lady Camellia’s, CALL ME. I’d love to meet you there!
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