The most difficult part of my life as an artificially retired person is the far niente part ---- the do nothing aspect. Of course, it's impossible to actually do nothing, but sitting still for any length of time is a challenge for me after four decades of employed busyness.
What a surprise then to discover that a retreat into childhood has brought me to that place.
As a kid, I lived in a suburb of San Francisco in one of those numerous subdivisions that popped up in the leave-it-to-Beaver 50's. For whatever reason, our yard was overrun with blue belly lizards and back then I took it upon myself to be their protector.
(Note: I've always been comfortable with creatures having no legs, two legs or four legs. Anything beyond four legs and/or slimy is creepy. Show me something slimy with eight legs and I take off shrieking.)
My years of chasing, catching and releasing blue bellies were pretty carefree... I loved those long summer days when I had nothing but time, and blue bellies were plentiful and endlessly entertaining. My memories of those days are mostly all sweet and include polliwogs and frogs, backyard wading pools, roller skates with metal keys, jump rope and jacks - and always lizards.
There was that time, however, when I caught three blue bellies at once (a record that still stands.) I left my small subjects outside in a well outfitted glass terrarium while I ate lunch, visited a friend, read a comic book and took a nap. When I returned to check on the lizards I found to my horror that they were all crispy and dead, victims of passive solar dehydration. A science experiment gone horribly wrong which haunts me to this day.
Then again there was the time my mom moved my horned toad into the garage just before her Tupperware party and we found him dead the next day. I seem to have left a trail of dead reptiles behind me...less a protector than the angel of death. But that was then.
Fast forward to less than a year ago when my husband and I moved into a house in the country and found our yard teeming with blue bellies. These Western fence lizards have either gotten faster or I've slowed down a bit but since I can't outrun them I have to settle for watching them in action. And let me tell you, this is life and death drama on an intense - albeit miniature - scale!
One morning early this Spring, I happened to spot a tailless lizard sprinting down a concrete stairway that runs the length of our yard. He was incredibly focused and crossed the equivalent of 10 lizard miles in seconds - to a waiting female, of course. I've since seen this one lizard (who I've nicknamed Stumpy) all over the place and realize he sees our yard and every lizard in it as his. Small, plain and without a tail nonetheless he is fearless and committed to maintaining his dominance. How could a female lizard resist such confidence? (Think short-of-stature but supremely confident Napoleon, and his Josephine.) I quietly watched him pursue and eventually win over the female.
Weeks later, I saw a very colorful male blue belly sunning himself on our deck. His back scales were highlighted in beautiful shades of aquamarine - a terribly handsome, fairly large specimen. But Stumpy was not happy with this pretender to the throne, and charged at him from across the deck. After threatening each other with lizard push-ups and staring matches, a fierce fight ensued - a tightly wound ball of wrestling lizards twisting and turning in the sun, mouths open, fighting for the right to mate with a female I saw nearby. They eventually separated and the brightly colored male retreated across the deck. If lizards have egos, his was undoubtably bruised. Relentlessly Stumpy charged but at the last minute his adversary lightly stepped aside and Stumpy flew off the deck and landed with a poof of dust in the sand below. Without missing a beat, Stumpy jumped back up on the deck and chased the other male to a pile of rocks nearby. They were so intent on staring each other down that the new male didn't notice me, and I picked him up for a closer look. After a minute or two I put him back and off he ran to a more welcoming yard, I'm sure.
Since then I've noticed we have a resident population of about 10 lizards, but Stumpy remains in charge. They are accustomed to me now and allow me to observe them from a distance of a foot or so without running away. Without stereoscopic vision, they regard me by tilting their heads, one steely eye watching my every move, both of us at once observed and observer. Even though I've come to accept that fact that I have indeed slowed down over the years, I am convinced that blue bellies have gotten faster, and I watch them stampede over sand, rocks, and wood while marvelling at the drama that is their life.
http://www.sdnhm.org/fieldguide/herps/scel-occ.html
http://cemarin.ucdavis.edu/files/61104.pdf
Il Dolce Far Niente
The sweetness of doing nothing, il dolce far niente, is a wonderful Italian expression that perfectly captures the exquisite gift of living in, and fully appreciating, the moment.
Like most Americans, the ability to live in the moment was for me an abstract idea. Proud of my ability to multitask circles around most people, of my job as director of two hospital departments, of never sitting still for a moment, the concept of "the sweet do-nothing" was at once incredibly appealing and completely foreign.
The concept was foreign, that is, until January 2009 when life intervened and I was abruptly "reorganized" out of my job at the hospital where I worked for almost 20 years.So now, at age 60, here I am living an enforced life of "il dolce far niente." I find myself in the enviable position of having a lot of time on my hands and (initially at least) no idea what to do with it. Although I focus a part of each day doggedly searching for a new job, most of my calendar is so empty it echoes.
But to my surprise, rather than feeling adrift in days without schedules, meetings and agendas, I now know that there is such a richness, such a gift in enjoying each day on its own merit. Rather than controlling my time, I'm learning to allow it to unfold and am almost always pleased with what life presents me.
In this blog, I want to share that richness as I discover the beauty of simple things - while still coming to terms with being unemployed for the first time in my life in an economy that's tanking and where jobs are few and far between. What I hope will evolve through this blog (for you as well as for me) is a true appreciation for another way of living. We'll just have to see how it goes.
Like most Americans, the ability to live in the moment was for me an abstract idea. Proud of my ability to multitask circles around most people, of my job as director of two hospital departments, of never sitting still for a moment, the concept of "the sweet do-nothing" was at once incredibly appealing and completely foreign.
The concept was foreign, that is, until January 2009 when life intervened and I was abruptly "reorganized" out of my job at the hospital where I worked for almost 20 years.So now, at age 60, here I am living an enforced life of "il dolce far niente." I find myself in the enviable position of having a lot of time on my hands and (initially at least) no idea what to do with it. Although I focus a part of each day doggedly searching for a new job, most of my calendar is so empty it echoes.
But to my surprise, rather than feeling adrift in days without schedules, meetings and agendas, I now know that there is such a richness, such a gift in enjoying each day on its own merit. Rather than controlling my time, I'm learning to allow it to unfold and am almost always pleased with what life presents me.
In this blog, I want to share that richness as I discover the beauty of simple things - while still coming to terms with being unemployed for the first time in my life in an economy that's tanking and where jobs are few and far between. What I hope will evolve through this blog (for you as well as for me) is a true appreciation for another way of living. We'll just have to see how it goes.
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3 comments:
Say do you have any recipes for lizard jerky?
I love those lizards! There's one that lives right outside my office. I've nicknamed him "My Friend" and tell my husband all about his comings and goings throughout the year!
How great that you're all enjoying each other. What a wonderful time!
David, you're vicious! Mean! Cruel! Okay, so after de-boning the lizard, you slice him/her really thin--I find that a fillet knife does the trick. Then...
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