Leaving the Lethbridge, Alberta nursing home after another intriguing day with my 99-year-old mother, I did a thing I try never to do: walk while staring at my phone. When I see others do this, I tsk-tsk to myself. Dangerous at worst –people crash into things this way or are crashed into by hurtling machines, perhaps being driven by people also checking messages. Distracting at best — missing out on the here and now for the there and then.
Fortunately another woman in the parking lot who wasn’t gawking at a tiny screen called out to me. “Deer!” she said. At first I thought she was hailing me in an overly familiar manner. But when I looked up she was pointing. And there they were. About eight or ten of them, grazing along and ignoring us.
It’s not that I’m unfamiliar with the species. I’ve lived in neighborhoods where they decimated gardens — my gardens! — and it’s not a big surprise to see them at this location. We’re right near the edge of town, where houses give way to the wide sweep of Alberta prairie.
Still. What a pleasure to watch them lazily feeding as the light fades on a mild winter day. What a gift the other woman gave me, reminding me to be here. She also reminded me how much humans like to share our delight with each other, as though sharing increases our delight.
Tiny humans on this tiny blue-green ball tucked into this whirling spiral arm galaxy in a universe so immense I can’t begin to comprehend it. “Look,” we like to say to each other. “Look at that. Isn’t it amazing?”
Maybe that’s what we’re here for.
Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now 