Somehow, four days of the new year have come and nearly gone. I cannot quite fathom this break-neck passage of time. I’ve had busy days, though. I’ve enjoyed long conversations with friends; written letters; launched a tiny renovation of my tiny house; and watched a myriad of videos about personal philosophy.
The birds have returned to the Delta. The crows came first, followed by thousands of little brown songbirds and scattered clusters of majestic white egrets. Two mornings ago, I awoke to the cries of geese. Today en route to Lodi, a flock of Sandhill cranes soared overhead. My soul yearned to take flight in their midst but I contented myself with pulling alongside the road and staring as they climbed into the sky.
I came home mid-afternoon, my little Canon PowerShot out of its case and ready in case I spied a bird or two along Brannan Island Road. I nearly got a picture of a heron with its wings spread wide, but a dog barked and startled both of us. Then I saw one of the enormous freighters that make their ponderous way from the Pacific through the Delta to Stockton’s port. I gave chase, and ended up in my usual awkward pose: Hanging from the car window, squinting, praying that I wouldn’t embarrass myself by tumbling head first into the San Joaquin.
The nearby homeowner waved as I made a turn to continue home. I stopped in the middle of the road, lowered my window, and apologized for bothering her dogs.
“Oh, I don’t pay any attention to those mutts,” she laughed. “Aren’t those big ships grand,” she continued. I agreed, and then admired her house.
“It’s enough for me and my eighty-three year old mother,” she acknowledged. “Those ships turn in the deep channel out there,” she told me. “I never get tired of watching them.” I agreed again, earnestly this time. Then I wished her a happy New Year, and pulled out into the road, smiling, cheered, remembering anew why I love #mytinylife so dearly.
It’s the fourth day of the seventy-third month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.