1. Being here. At the beach, in Waldport, in our favorite house, in Oregon, on vacation.

2. Long walks on the beach. The closest access is only two blocks from our house and if you walk from one end of the beach to the other as far as you can go, it’s about six miles. There are seals that nap on the bayside and a pair of bald eagles.

3. So much good food. Even just a regular peanut butter and jelly sandwich is on a whole other level, (blame it on the marionberry jam and secret ingredient — potato chips!).

4. My tiny family. My three boys, and all the walking and reading and napping and playing and cuddling and couching.

5. Being close enough that I can visit with family, who I don’t get to see enough.

Bonus joy: quilts made by my aunt, a salad that was so huge it felt like it took three hours to eat it, clam chowder, veggies and berries from the farmer’s market, the very best pancakes, reading, sitting in the sun, watching bad tv with Eric, staying up too late and getting up too early, Ringo feeling better (YAY!), being able to afford a vacation, our new car, new flip-flops, the blister on my foot going away, sunshine after a day of rain, clean water, a warm shower, helpful customer service people, a washer and dryer in our rental, Depoe Baykery, naps, meditating with Ringo in the morning, knowing Sam’s breed (he’s 50% Border Collie and 50% Chesapeake Bay Retriever), the way Ringo ran around the yard like a mad man last night, texting with friends, pictures of our garden back in Colorado from the “farmer” we “hired” to tend it.

image by eric

This is no day of rest. It’s a day early and I’m spending it packing and preparing to leave for our trip to Oregon tomorrow, but I feel compelled to write this now, and might as well post it since it’s already written.

I’ve been thinking a lot about mortality. A sometime student of mine and fellow yoga practitioner died this week. He was young, had just gotten married last year and had a baby boy. His death was an accident, a fall at a construction site, and a shock. I didn’t know him well, but I’d chat with him from time to time. He was one of those people who was always around, always said “hello” and had a smile on his face. He was the nicest guy. I just took a yoga class with him a few weeks ago. And now he’s just…gone.

Death is confusing for those left behind. Especially when the death is sudden and unexpected, but even when it’s not it is so hard to comprehend that someone you knew, someone you loved is just…gone, that you will never see them again. There’s a particular difficulty when you didn’t get to say good-bye, when you didn’t realize that the last time you saw them was the last time you’d ever see them.

Yes
by William Stafford

It could happen any time, tornado,
earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen.
Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could you know. That’s why we wake
and look out–no guarantees
in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning,
like right now, like noon,
like evening.

Maybe you are tired of hearing me say it, kind and gentle reader, but life is tender and terrible, beautiful and brutal — keep your heart open. And may all of us, those here and gone, rest in peace.