In Yoga class yesterday Nancy, our teacher, read from the wisdom of a Yogi who said we need to find inspiration in the ordinary, and that the way to do that is breathe and clear our minds. We laid back on blankets with eye pillows on. There are about fifteen woman and one man in the class. He is filming the fake miners at the gold mine up the road. He told the botanist from Britain who is studying the butter and egg plants near my beach, all about it. I couldn't help overhear while I was clearing my mind and breathing. He said the show is like the Deadliest Catch, only at a gold mine. (Well, a sort of gold mine, set up for the show, as far as anyone around here can figure out.) But I was supposed to be breathing. It got harder when we stretched upside down and my arms quivered and my feet wouldn't point the way Nancy's did, but I kept breathing. After class I rode my bike to the library to meet a recent widower and gather the details for his wife's obituary. He was a real gold miner-- and every other kind of miner, he said, anything worth digging up he'd dug, from Idaho to Alaska. They have lived here about ten years, but keep to themselves. She had been sick, housebound with lung trouble for years, he said. She liked puzzles and romantic movies. He likes cutting firewood. He was a nice man, gentle and quiet. He said he missed her, but that his dog helped. As we left the building, a big chocolate lab in the back of his pick up barked and wagged, and the real miner smiled. An hour later I was babysitting Caroline. We played with blocks, crawled around the living room, and fed each other small pieces of banana and sweet potato before taking a stroll around the Small Tracts Loop. The clouds were low and gray blue, and they made the yellows and reds of the last leaves and grasses along the beach brighter. The rose hips were bright red. Marlys and Nikki pulled over to say hello. Nikki is blind so she can't see the colors, or the beach logs rising on the very high tide. But Marlys said they had just been to the spring on Mud Bay Road to get some water. Nikki showed me her water bottle. Marlys sipped hers from an empty Pepsi can. They were listening to inspirational music, hymns, like "I Believe", from a Guide Post CD. Marlys said they like to sing along and get inspired. Once they drove off, Ralph came jogging by, and said I looked like a proud grandmother. I said I was. It started to rain in earnest, so we trotted by the re-cycle center and on to the top of the hill. The showers quit at the Mormon Church, and when I slowed to check out my neighbors' new spaniel puppy they came out on the porch to chat. On the last stretch home, I started singing my own inspiring song. It was not quite Guide Post material, "O me O my O, look at Miss Ohio, running around with the rag top down, " and from under that wet 'rag top' stroller hood, Caroline woke up and squealed-- she does that. A real squeak of joy. And I was inspired, which is a long way of saying that Yogi was part right-- it is nice to clear your mind to be inspired. At the same time, it has been my experience that the most ordinary of moments are the ones with the most resonance. That often the big stuff is just too much. But a good dog, a glass of spring water, a jog, a chat with the neighbors-- and especially a baby-- those are plenty inspiring for me. If you don't have a baby handy, and would like that kind of inspiration, peek in on the lap-sit story hour with Holly at the library, Monday's at 11 am.
The weather man says it is going to be a windy day and night-- so batten down the hatches.