Meh.
“Magnificent pines,” the sign promised, along a trail at the Arboretum.
Who could resist?
I’m a sucker for the superlative. We had a whole family adventure once because we followed a sign promising “World’s Best Ham Sandwich.” If I come upon a huge chair, or a giant ice cream cone, I’ll beg someone to take my picture with it. Large stuffed bears, immense hats, the mascot at the ball game? I love it all. It’s all a moment out of the ordinary, a step into weird possibilities.
We detoured to purchase the World’s Best Ham Sandwich, and unwrapped lunch with eager expectation. It turned out to be a fine ham sandwich, although not the world’s best, or even top ten. But the story is part of our family lore now. It’s a parable, and we get different meanings from it, as we tell it different ways. The lesson here is: don’t believe everything you read. No, wait, it’s a story about trying everything once. No, it’s a story about how amusing everyday life can be.
The magnificent pines were very lovely.
Even better was the other sign along the trail. Not So Magnificent Pines.
Every day is filled with Not So Magnificent Pines. Not So Magnificent conversations. Not The World’s Best meals. Not So Magnificent versions of myself, not at my best in being patient or generous or thrifty.
Now that I’m closer to the end of life than the beginning, based on the math, the average pines and the average day are more and more of a gift. I wake up and put my feet on the wood floor, drink clean water, and take a shower with a towel that I chose, with no waiting in line. I live with one human being that I chose, not in a shelter or on a park bench. The thermostat insulates me from the dire realities of climate change.
My ordinary life would be someone’s dream come true.
Not So Magnificent Days? I’ll take them, every one that comes.
-- Mary Austin