AUGUST 10, 2022 – Like Tony the Tiger in the old Frosted Flakes TV commercials, I feel G-g-g-g-r-r-r-e-e-a-t! Yet the feeling gnaws at me: If I feel so great, why must I soon feel so “crappy”? I refer to my upcoming cancer treatment, of which you’re about to read a lot—assuming you’ll follow my blog. I understand that the appointed treatment is a “no-brainer,” that despite the attendant risks, it’s the recommended course of action to extend my life significantly; that the risks and short-term unpleasantness are far outweighed by the most probable benefits. But still, right now–I’m feeling great!
But in a word . . . damn! After hitting rock bottom from last November into February, my initial treatment regimen worked miraculously—from my perspective; as predicted, from the viewpoint of my care-givers. Here now I sit at the end of our dock up at the Red Cabin, enjoying a splendiferous, sun-splashed August day. I’m surrounded by nature smiling in full, as an occasional mallard swims by and a distant loon calls out lazily, enjoying some down time while the eagles are pre-occupied elsewhere.
I’m here alone, having dashed up late yesterday to enjoy less than 48 hours of calm before the “fun” begins on Friday. As I spend this solo time, however, I’m reminded of what my sister Jenny said recently about “family places” in settings beautiful: “Yes, the surroundings are wonderful, but what makes those places so enticing are the people.”
I recall the weekend just past, when “the people” included my wife and our six-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter. The little one, especially, loves it here, which, at this stage in our lives, is why my wife and I now so love it here. For four days, Illiana filled the air with chatter, laughter, and pure delight, as she kept herself occupied every waking moment. I recalled my own early childhood here in the company of my grandparents—a time that formed cherished, indelible memories.
As much as I enjoy the surrounding tranquility and the infinite natural beauty that accompanies it, I miss watching our granddaughter doing somersaults underwater; making up games on the porch; building an obstacle course in the yard; touching the clumps of moss by the forest path along the shore; seeing the Big Dipper hanging high above the cabin; eating her ramen soup inventively with a spoon in one hand and a fork in the other.
But then I catch myself. The past, the future—each is infinitely long; whereas the present is infinitesimally short. Thus, our thoughts live overwhelmingly in the past or future and ever so briefly in the present. Yet paradoxically, the present is the only place where we can ever truly reside. Perhaps only the mind of the Zen master can be in the present—the place where all of us belong and must learn to embrace.
The hard part is that upon grasping “the present,” it’s already “the past,” and “the future” cascades continuously into . . . “the present.”
Enough, already. Today I’ll focus where and when I am in the moment; not in a time or place where I am not.
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
