Things That Matter

A blue norther is blowing in as I write this. I barely made it down to get the newspaper. The wind chilled on my way. The dog was frisky, bounding through the velvet flush of rye grass in the front meadow. The cat, skittish with the wind and hesitant about his morning sip from the ground birdbath, vanished inside before I was halfway back to the house.

Ruts have pocked the driveway from all the rain. We'll have to buy in more gravel. The SO's in charge of that project. He says we must wait a while for things to dry up first, if they will. It's supposed to rain hard with this norther, and from the looks of the sky this morning that's likely. After 8 o'clock already and the photocell-run floodlight is still burning. Birds have taken cover. Boughs of the trees are swaying, and occasionally a dead limb falls on the roof with a clang.

The house has lots of windows, high and low. It's an eccentric house anyway, so why not have crazy windows, too. The center of the house is a geodesic dome with wings jutting in three directions. The main part lies under the dome, the kitchen, master bedroom, and in a loft upstairs, one guest bedroom and my office. The livingroom has it's own wing with wide exposed beams. The sunroom makes another wing, as does the garage and outside guest room. There are four skylights with wooden spokes like wagon wheels beneath the dome, and other windows of all shapes and sizes throughout the house. I'm sure it won't be an easy house to sell one day. It sat vacant for several years before us, and this was during a housing boom. But I love it here --we all love it -- and that's all that really counts.

Home. A place where a person can be themselves, feel comfortable inside, say anything within its walls, snug and cozy. Home is one thing that really matters.

Love. Something so hard to find and hold, to define, to understand. Having it, feeling it, returning it, believing in it. Love is another thing that matters.

Purpose. Nobody is exempt from it, and purpose is the thing that defines someone. It's our job to carry out, aside from, in addition to -- or perhaps those are one and the same -- the thing one does for a living. Purpose fulfills, it makes us thrive and gives us drive. It's the thing that propels us through life. "Find your purpose," to quote words of wisdom from my mother long ago. Purpose is another thing that matters.

Joy. "We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy," as Joseph Campbell has said. It's that choice I'm concerned with, a lesson so many never learn, and one that I continue to learn and relearn: That it is a conscious choice a person makes, to be joyous, to allow yourself the freedom of happiness. Otherwise what is the point of living, if all of life is only misery? I suppose a fair amount of sorrow is required to fully appreciate joy. Who was it said sorrow and joy go hand-in-hand? Joy is a full heart and gratitude of mind. Joy is another thing that matters.

Gratitude. I am grateful for my beautiful home, and for the man I love, and for my animals, for my sons, and my grandson, for my dad and my good friends. I'm grateful for a healthy mind and a sound body, imperfect though it may be. I'm grateful for some success in doing the things I love to do, and for the promise of a future that's even brighter than my past. I'm full of hope and personal peace, and I'm thankful to be alive. Gratitude is another thing that matters.

It's Christmas, and close to a new year, a new decade, and it's seems to me to be a time for reflection and for valuing things that matter. I'm sure there are other things that would compliment this list, but there are so many that don't, and sometimes it's the things that don't matter at all that consume us, that cause us anguish, or that make us bristle in our attitude towards others, and that keep us from fully recognizing the preciousness of the life we are given.

Onward ....