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Today embraced a strong rain. The kind that puts you in the mood for music, contemplation and the nurturing act of seeking warm fuzzies.
It’s ironic and delightfully appropriate that this “issue” of the Daily Ohm appeared today. It speaks of slowing down and enjoying the moment. For in that moment lays the essence of a thing. If you have not savored it, you have not experienced it.
I doubt that anyone is any slower than I with the exception of my own mother. But I’ve always been this way. Not methodically, or out of a conscious effort to be slow. More of a slowness for the unrushed quality it brings to what I am doing and what I feel.
I’ve been so far behind in any semblance of letter writing that, looking at the downpour and the timely arrival of the precepts of the Daily Ohm, I decided to take a day away from the rest of the world. Sitting in my Man Chair, with one of those arched “lap tables,” I wrote. To loved ones whose Birthdays have since slipped by. To those I felt needed to hear an I Love You or a Thank You from me.
In years gone by, I always wrote letters by hand. The envelopes were painted. The flaps bore wax seals in golden glitter that now won’t go through the new machines they have at the Post Office.
In the old house in Murrells Inlet, an entire side of my enclosed porch was reserved for talking on the phone and writing letters. Coffee made, I’d pick a mug from the 150 or so that hung around the kitchen. My selection was for whom I wanted to share my morning and a note. Porch side, I’d Zen into the natural beauty of hundred year oaks dripping moss, with the orange light across the marsh and inlet, on out to sea. It was a place I came to more mornings than not. And there was the Great Writing Table, which bore the pens and paints and stickers for writing a letter. On that glassed-in porch, on those mornings that coffee cups and loved ones communed with me, letter-writing was very much alive and well in the southern
That porch is gone now for me, and I cannot see across the broad marsh, watching shrimp boats head out to sea.
But on this morning I declared not to enter the world of other people. I would languish the day writing letters and notes. In the small desk behind me in
That is all I did today, listening to the rain and Steve Gorn’s “At Ease.” The music and the drizzle seemed to know one another.
As this piece of an Ohm finishes, it proclaims the value of an unrushed, unfettered soak to cleanse the day in peace. I am fortunate enough to have the Man Tub. Its breadth is nearly four feet. The length a comfortable, almost shameful six feet, six inches. The 20 inch depth allows mountains of bubbles and the dozen duckies that join me. One does not rush the Man Tub. Its purpose lies in hours, not minutes. Fading light filtering through
The rain and promise of bubbling serenity have born a dozen pieces to post. All written by hand, in my signature pink ink. Kind of a shame that few people can read my writing. The envelopes aren’t painted, but the stamps of love and the seal honoring my family heritage adorn them. My envelopes are a thing of beauty, if I say so myself, which I do.
It continues to be the perfect of rainy days. I am saturated in both its simplicity, power and humble welcome. Thus I pen this homage to a showery Thursday on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
If only to myself, I’ve proven that letter-writing isn’t dead quite yet.
Nor is the luxury of mounds of bubbles shared with ducks in a candlelit room with cocktails.
This is as close as I’m willing to get to a Rainy Day frenzy.
Uncle Ricky
Frederick Clifford Cropper
The Daily Ohm for Today shown below:
October 15, 2009
Enjoying a Snail's Pace
Doing Things Slowly
Life can often feel like it’s zipping by in fast forward. We feel obliged to accelerate our own speed along with it, until our productivity turns into frenzied accomplishment. We find ourselves cramming as much activity as possible into the shortest periods of time. We disregard our natural rhythms because it seems we have to just to keep up. In truth, rushing never gets you anywhere but on to the next activity or goal.
Slowing down allows you to not only savor your experiences, but also it allows you to fully focus your attention and energy on the task at hand. Moving at a slower place lets you get things done more efficiently, while rushing diminishes the quality of your work and your relationships. Slowing down also lets you be more mindful, deliberate, and fully present. When we slow down, we are giving ourselves the opportunity to reacquaint ourselves to our natural rhythms. We let go of the “fast forward” stress, and allow our bodies to remain centered and grounded. Slowing down is inherent to fully savoring anything in life. Rushing to take a bath can feel like an uncomfortable dunk in hot water, while taking a slow hot bath can be luxuriant and relaxing. A student cramming for a test will often feel tired and unsure, whereas someone who really absorbs the information will be more confident and relaxed. Cooking, eating, reading, and writing can become pleasurable when done slowly. ! Slowing down lets you become more absorbed in whatever it is you are doing. The food you eat tastes better, and the stories you read become more alive.
Slowing down allows you to disconnect from the frenzied pace buzzing around you so you can begin moving at your own pace. The moments we choose to live in fast forward motion then become a conscious choice rather than an involuntary action. Learning to slow down in our fast-moving world can take practice, but if you slow down long enough to try it, you may surprise yourself with how natural and organic living at this pace can be.
