Ode to Joy: a Multi-genre Reflection

“The opposite of play is not work; it’s depression.” Brian Sutton-Smith

Two of my friends turned 49 this week—a precursor to help me adjust my sails before I, too, reach that landmark later this year. One says she was just not born to ever be 50. It just doesn’t fit her mode of operating in the world. I wonder what 50 looks like in her mind. I’m interested in how people seem to form ideas about what life is like at a given age. Even my grandmother had them. As far back as I can remember, when it was a day where her bones ached or her body refused to cooperate with her mind she would say, “I feel like sixty!” She continued to use this expression well into her nineties.

My other recently birthday’d friend says turning fifty changes nothing. Sometimes my body disagrees. Things change, certainly—things we can’t control. But my friend’s point, I think, is that we do control what happens inside ourselves—we choose our own sense of balance as we play with the knobs that adjust our levels of fight or acceptance with regard to these inevitable changes. There is no right or wrong approach--the settings that bring optimum happiness will be different for each of us, according to our own individual joys and challenges.

I have been lucky. I am in the privileged position of being able to find the joy in my life. I can still run and play and laugh and love. I realize that this is not possible for everyone. Physical ailments exacerbated with age, loss of love, diseases like cancer or depression, so many life circumstances require a focus on mere survival rather than joy.

I grew up in a house where my father went around singing “Accent-tu-ate the positive; elim -in-ate the negative; latch on to the affirmative, and don’t mess with Mr. In-between.” The truth is, most of life is in-between. Some days are better than others. But the life circumstances Bob and I have built for ourselves, along with the occasional fear and sorrow, brings me a great deal of joy.

The other day, Bob said, “You know, I think this relationship of ours is relatively rare. After all these years, we can still make each other laugh.” It’s true. It’s an odd day where we don’t enjoy a belly laugh together. Those usually come during play times—walking with the dogs (and cats), dancing around the kitchen as we make dinner, laughing about some ridiculous circumstance of the day or something that one of my students said. Being with Bob brings me joy.

We have a network of friends, too, who still know how to play. My dad once noticed and found it remarkable that none of the couples in our closest circle of friends have children. I know in many ways having children around keeps you young. Ours would be grown by now anyway. The strange thing is that not having children also helps keep us young. In our minds, we are still the children. Our role has never switched to that of parent. We still know how to play. I smile at the thought of six of us, filling half a row in a movie theater a few years ago, waiting to see Toy Story. We kayak and have water fights. We build campfires and make s’mores and tell stories. Of course, we don’t do these things nearly often enough. We agree that our lives are ridiculously busy with the demands of work and trying to survive the high cost of living in the Flathead Valley. Each time we gather, we vow to see each other more often. We remind each other to play. Our friendships bring me joy.

I find joy in my early mornings of solitude. Each morning I am home, I make a pot of black tea strong enough to drink it “white”—the New Zealand way. I sit in a little rocking chair in a big, triangular window upstairs—looking out as the world as it awakens, giving thanks for a new day. My cat Moxie is often in my lap along with a book or my little computer. Mornings bring me joy.

Morning’s Pond

Aleutia, the younger
Of the two Samoyeds, and I
Are the only two
Awake—

Pressing our noses
Into the corners
Of the Day

While the rest
Of our small
Family
Dreams

Idaho, the athsmatic cat,
snores
Qanik, Aleutia’s older sister, chases yesterday’s rabbits,
toenails clicking on the wood floor in hot pursuit,
and a beloved man, having not yet smelled coffee,
Yawns through his stretch, rolls over, returns to slow, rhythmic breathing

Wrapped in the sounds
Of peace
Their presence
Reassures us,

Infuses us with a courage
That is not our own

As we dip our toes into the morning.

____________________________

No list of joys would be complete without mentioning our pets. Currently, two dirty white Samoyeds and two cats—one black and one orange—share our lives and sometimes our laps. These animals model joy. They are our teachers in play. Their presence in our lives reminds us to lighten up—to each day look forward to things we might take for granted and never should--our walks and our food—and to be grateful for every opportunity to run free in this amazing forest we call home.

Qanik and Aleutia run full tilt, when they want to, and stop instantly—their noses grabbed by a scent that yanks them around. Sometimes it sets them spinning in circles.

We find joy in watching our little cat, Moxie, running as fast as she can to keep up with us when we walk Moxie is a small cat with short legs. Yesterday, we didn’t even realize she had followed us until suddenly, far from the house, halfway through our normal route, there she was, running up behind us, panting. Bob laughed out loud--yelled out to me, “Guess who’s here?” At times when she’s completely worn out or we are walking through mud or water that would cover her legs, she consents to ride on my shoulder for a while. I hoist her up there like a bag of potatoes, so she can see the world behind my back. She’ll balance herself there—sometimes I don’t even have to hold onto her—and watch the world go by, backwards.

Sometimes the animals find joy in ways we wish they wouldn’t. Aleutia, for example, loves skunks. She also loves cats, and we think she probably doesn’t see much difference between the two. And she seems to particularly love that skunky smell. She chased one just last night. Her sister, Qanik, was not far behind— following close enough to protect Aleutia, but far enough away to never really get sprayed. Aleutia is always the one in the line of fire. And as she carries that smell our way, I can almost hear her say, “ahhhh… spring.”


Skunked

Charging down the hill
In response to my impatient third call
Comes Aleutia, the youngest Samoyed--
A white streak,
Eyes squinted,
Mask matted,
Yellow-green droplets
Dotting her head

She flies past--
Splashes into the lake
Odor arriving
Out of sync
Like a sonic boom
Or a worn out
Movie soundtrack.

Sprung from the water,
She lands on her back
In the bare dirt under the trees
Rolling, rolling
Tamarack needles sticking to
Wet white fur
Turning to mud.

Crazed,
She stands and shakes,
Bounces from dirt
To water
And back
Her typical post-bath
Behavior revisited

Relief
In her eyes
That this time,
At least
Her new aroma,
This hard-earned eu de skunk,
Befits a dog
Of the forest.


Aleutia sometimes also finds other non-living play toys. Sometimes she carries them from the outhouse. When she’s trying to inspire a partner to join in her play, she will grab something in her mouth and shake it hard, tempting her potential playmate to try and take it from her. We sometimes find the aftermath of this kind of play--toilet paper strung out over the yard, as if the households I blessed with such an honor in my teenage years had come to return the favor. Once we found the soft toilet seat, meant to make those winter morning visits just a little more comfortable, a little worse for wear, in the middle of the yard. Sometimes we find the shredded remains of catalogs and magazines.

Let’er Rip

Outhouse catalogs
never last long.
Aleutia,
Samoyed shopper,
rips out pages
one by one…
systematically
rejecting
their offers.


So whatever dreaded age is lined up, waiting for you, and whatever your current ability to find joy in the world, we hope these words and these photos are a way of sharing some of ours.