zen spots and the temporary end of soup and potatoes

Above drawing in journal, an exercise {attempted} in zen. {One had the thought of filling an entire journal with such, but then remembered just how thin the line between something like that and OCD really is.}

I thank you all for your suggestions. Many of these I have tried, nearly all as a matter of fact…I believe the only one I’ve not is switching to a toothpaste without laurel sulfates. And now I have. Of course these things are much harder to come by out here in small town, Ontario, but one grows quickly accustomed to driving, and driving, whether one likes it or not. I believe the things I am looking most forward to about living in Davis, is the degree to which I will spend more time on my bicycle and less time in my car. There are enormous drawback of course, such as strip malls and suburbia in general, and drunken 20 year old college students out painting the town as they are wont to do, but we swallow hard these things.

So I am happy to report that after several nights where things actually grew worse, and lead to my taking some pain medication {toradol} that Keri found lingering from having teeth out, I slept far too many hours, ate nothing but soup and potatoes for days {5?} and so on, last night, I was finally able to eat. Tofu with vegetables, rice and a glass of wine. Do not underestimate the degree to which I enjoyed this meal. It was absolutely divine. Still pained, but at long last finally possible. Though said time and time again, and perhaps more importantly, experienced time and time again, it is amazing how much we take our healthy bodies for granted. Each time I go through some form of physical discomfort, I tell myself that I will acknowledge and be thankful for my health more often. Every day even. The same goes for any emotional turmoil. Keri and I go through something emotionally difficult, and I tell myself that I will live more in the moment, and remain constantly aware of how grateful I am for things. But then life tumbles in and we just come to accept it all. This, I believe, is one of life’s more difficult challenges.

It is also amazing how much one uses their damn tongue. I suppose this was a rather unique case, as the canker sore grew to the size of a small mammal, as a result of the clove oil I am certain, but I still find myself stunned at how debilitating these little oral disasters can be. Amazing. And whatever the potential healing properties of clove oil may be, jeff pitcher’s body says, “No. NO NO NO NO NO!”

And so today is the last day. Tomorrow I will wake, eat my breakfast, hug and kiss my wife, trying not to cry for the forthcoming absence, and drive away from what has been my home for a year. This time, I will head down a different way, crossing the border in Detroit, a city I’ve never seen, and in the arms of America I shall be. I just confessed to Keri yesterday, while taking what will be my last walk through the woods nearby for some time, that I always have trouble bidding a place farewell. I never really know how to capture and swallow the magnitude of such things, the ever present unfolding of a life. My life. And so I thank the place and say goodbye. I stand there, at the edge of the water and run the memories through my head. Swimming and napping and camping and playing guitar and watching the frogs jump away from my lethal footfalls. Shaking the snow from the trees, crushed over and limp from its weight. Throwing rocks on the frozen lake, and listening to it glassy whispers. And I will stand in each room of the house doing the same. The yard. The studio. I will breathe deeply and try to find the quiet, the stillness, impossible as it may be.

And then the road. I will push the car forward, the highway peeling back behind me, becoming my history, another story of a life unfolding. And I will eat. Anything but soup and potatoes. And I will await my wife, as patiently as I can, which is simply not all that patient. And then I will look back, and miss so many things about this place, that I took for granted. Just like my tongue, like my wife, like the very heart in my chest that beats. And I will try, each day, to find the depth of my gratitude for it all. Farewell Flesherton, farewell.

Posted by jeff pitcher at July 20, 2005 10:26 AM

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