O is for Ordinary Moments

One ordinary evening in August, almost four years ago, I stood in the middle of the gym floor glaring at the treadmill. Tiny rivulets of sweat were dribbling down my body and seeping through my old t-shirt. I had only just got in. The forty steps I took from my front door to reach the club house in our compound had sapped me of my energy. I was angry. Upset at the unfairness of being imprisoned indoors by this crazy, suffocating heat of fifty degrees Celsius, I punched hard at the start button and started my warm up. My heart was not in it. The anger was bubbling up inside and making me stomp on the rubber belt. I stopped.

Looking for a distraction, I brought the speed of the machine down so that I could jump off. I did. And went to the corner where all the old books are kept. Doha is a transient place. People come and go. When they leave, this corner of the compound club house gets a new supply of books and magazines; stuff people don't want to carry back with them. Spanish, French, English, Dutch and Arabic books and magazines pile up haphazardly on a rickety book case.

It was the colour of the cover that caught my eye. It was a shade of my favourite, turquoise. I tugged at it and pulled the spine out and read the title. The blurb promised a good read.

Three days later, when I turned the last page, I was tempted to start all over. But, the laundry pile was growing higher and we'd eaten eggs and toast for two dinners in a row. It was time to step out of the happy fog I'd buried myself in and face the real world.

The book was:

Reading this book changed the way I looked at my days. It almost felt like all the ordinary around me had gotten a make-over! There was so much magic happening around me and I'd never even noticed, like:

• the shapes on my bed the sun draws with his rays when I pull the curtains back every morning. The sky is always blue here (or at least for eleven out of twelve months).
• or
• the neighbour's cat curled up in the big garden pot by our entrance door; the cool soil keeping his ginger fur from getting too hot and his furry red tail twitching to its own beat. 
• etc. etc. you get the idea, right?

Everyday ordinary things that went unnoticed and unappreciated because I was too busy complaining about the heat, or making plans to escape, or longing for the outdoors, started to look different. This beautiful memoir showed me how rich my ordinary was.

'the gift on an ordinary day' sits on my bedside table. I still can't figure out how anyone could've parted with this gem. Their loss--my gain, I guess.

Last April, I wrote To Katrina Kenison to thank her. If I'd asked her permission, I would've shared her reply here. But, I didn't plan this post ahead of time, so I didn't. All I can say is that she wrote a beautiful reply and added this at the end: 

"We are all just walking each other home." ~ Ram Dass

I'm taking the liberty to quote William Martin (I discovered him via Katrina's book, too) here. 

He writes in The Parent's Tao Te Ching:

Make the Ordinary Come Alive

Do not ask your children

to strive for extraordinary lives.

....

Help them instead to find the wonder

and marvel of an ordinary life.

Show them the joy of tasting

tomatoes, apples and pears.

Show them how to cry

when pets and people die

Show them the infinite pleasure

in the touch of a hand.

And make the ordinary come alive for them.

The extraordinary will take care of itself.

I became that child and showed myself the way. How could I show this beauty to my children if I wasn't able to see it myself? I was getting a bit lost in the glitter of expat life, you see. Designer bags and size zero waists were eroding my confidence. That was four years ago. That was before Katrina's words blasted the ordinary into my life and turned it sunny side up. 

I can never tire of thanking her for writing this book,

or,

 the person who left their copy for me to find on that rickety old bookshelf in the corner of the club house.

THANK YOU BOTH.