Making lists

This feels like a hard week, so I am again making my lists—where I catalog the good things I see around me and know to be true. It’s a way of warding off the blues, the downward slope, the despair.

This is what I saw on my walk today:

I passed a move-it-yourself rental van with two young men—early twenties, perhaps—jumping in with great excitement and pulling away from the curb. On the lawn was a grey-haired woman filming their departure on her phone and staring hard, almost hungrily.

Her son! Taking flight into his own life!

I couldn’t tell if she were teary-eyed or not, but I nearly was.

***

A young woman in a cherry red coat asked to pet my dog. She’s an exchange student at the university, from China. “I can’t wait to graduate and get a job,” she tells me, “so I can get a dog of my own.” She still misses her grandfather’s dog, now long gone.

“He was my best friend when I was young,” she says.

***

The leaf litter right now is gorgeous. Autumnal confetti.

I have a scary medical procedure today, but I also have health insurance (which everyone needs and deserves but does not get in my country). This feels like something to be grateful for, and also angry about.

***

My neighbors had to cut down a small cedar tree that had been planted too close to their house, but now we have loads of greenery to make into wreaths. I feel a holiday craft binge coming on.

I’m inviting all the neighbors to join me.

***

These clear autumn days with no rain feel like precious gifts to be gathered up and treasured. Every bit of blue sky and red and golden leaves.

I will take them all and keep them in my pocket to warm the wet and dark that lies ahead.

***

Big leaf maples really are big! It’s very satisfying when things live up to their name.

I have a dog who whines at me until I take him walking. I’m never sure if it’s more for his benefit or for mine, but we both feel better afterward.

***

These so-called strawberry trees have red and yellow fruit, but they also still have flowers on them, to feed the last few hummingbirds that are hanging around. I’ve been hearing them in the garden lately, that flutter-beat of wings, so fast it takes your breath away.

How is it possible that such a tiny thing will fly from here to Central America? Will fly clear across the Gulf of Mexico? Surely that is as much a miracle as anything else.

These trees, these leaves, these autumn colors
The world is still a beautiful place.
We are still all in it—with blood in our veins and air in our lungs.
There is still time; it is not too late to do some good.

Thanks for being here with me.

What sort of good are you noticing these days?

—Tara