At this moment

Gosh, I just looked back and saw that I haven’t done an ‘at this moment’ for six years! The three animals I mentioned in the last one are all dead now. If you go to the sidebar under ‘letter topics’ you can see the (very few) other postings. I’ll try to do it more often. I like stopping once in a while and really noticing. It all began as an exercise Tom had his students do. (I did change the 'feel' category to emotional feeling rather than snow on my face or wind in my hair.) Today, just before 5 pm, I sat in the big study chair between the south windows

reading.

What I saw: straight ahead

to the left

to the right

What I heard: the breeze outside the three open windows

What I smelled: bread baking in the oven

What I tasted: nothing, though thinking about the quinoa and sautéed vegetables I’m going to cook later.

What I felt: very happy in the study, which is also now a playroom and a yoga room. There are gates on both doors so Lucy cannot get in, and the room stays quite clean. It is a room without any electronic devices, and there isn’t even a clock. Just toys and books and photographs and my desk where I still check my checking account on paper, and pay bills with a check, and write cards. For me, a perfect space. I saw that my very first 'at this moment' was also in this room; and how it has changed since 2007. The computer was in there along with my beloved black reproduction phone and the answering machine. Now I don't have a land line, and the answering machine is in the same category of a VHS machine. Also, the room is all freshly painted with those new picture shelves I noted here. The only thing that remains the same is the quilt my Aunt Susie made in 1927.

At this moment

You may find out what 'At this moment' is at the first posting, and the others may be found under 'Letter Topics' on the sidebar. If you are so inclined, please join me in this little exercise in awareness.

What I see: Sadie lying where the Christmas tree will be in a short time. Sooty sleeping. Ben is just beside me as I sit in the reading chair which was 'Today's picture.'

What I hear: a slight crackling of the wood stove, the furnace running, and the sound of the humidifier.

What I smell: a faint reminder of the IHOP French toast I made this morning.

What I taste: that French toast.

What I feel: warm and cozy, and happily immersed in my Agatha Chrisie book, Hercule Poirot's Christmas.

At this moment

It's been ages since I've done an 'at this moment.' You may find out more about what it is at the very first posting, and the others may be found under Letter Topics on the sidebar. If you are so inclined, please join me in this little exercise in awareness.

At half past noon in the middle of September.



What I saw: the view from my rocking chair as I looked up from my current book, A Fortnight in September.





What I heard: the humming of the dishwasher and the dryer.

What I smelled: just the slightest waft of wood smoke from the woodstove. We've been burning it for a few days now.

What I tasted: the cheesecake with strawberries I just ate.

What I felt: the warmth of the woodstove.

At this moment

What I saw: my water glass and my Reeve Lindbergh book. The chickadees, juncos, and nuthatches finishing up the last of the bird food. When they're empty, I'll take down the sunflower and suet feeders, but will leave the thistle. We did that last year, and I think it kept the goldfinches living here all summer. The reason we remove the other feeders this time of year is that the bears are waking up, and they do love to raid bird feeders. We've not had any visitors, but I sure don't want to draw them either. They are definitely in the neighborhood.

What I heard: those aforementioned birds, and the chickens clucking away in the barn.

What I smelled: the fresh air of spring.

What I tasted: my water.

What I felt: the warmth of the air - our warmest day so far, with temps in the low seventies.

I so enjoyed your comments last time I posted an 'at this moment', and I would love to read your own. It is a nice way to stop and really pay attention.

Addendum: A reader has just let me know that there is a wonderful article, with terrific pictures, on Reeve Lindbergh in today's New York Times. You may read it here.

At this moment

I realized I haven't done an "at this moment" for a while so here goes, at 7:30 pm on a Thursday evening.

What I saw: sunset. I was sitting on the porch, and it actually wasn't as dark as the picture.

What I heard: glorious robins and song sparrows.

What I smelled: spring in the air, and a hint of wood smoke because yes, indeed, we are still using the woodstove.

What I tasted: my cosmo. :<)

What I felt: a cool breeze.

At this moment - indoors

I thought I would offer an at this moment in an indoors version. This is what I see:

The computer screen

The telephone table and view out the south facing windows.

Books, pottery bowls made by a friend, my mother's desk.

And behind me is our built-in bookcase.

I hear the washing machine going.
I smell bread just baked.
I taste that bread. :<)
I feel the afternoon warmth of the room.

And again, I would so enjoy reading about your moments.

At this moment

Now playing on my computer, as I write: Bob Marley & The Wailers - Three Little Birds

Tom assigns a writing exercise to his junior high students called "at this moment." They must go outdoors and record what they see, hear, smell, taste, and feel. The last one isn't an emotional feeling, but a physical one such as cold air on one's face.

I thought this would be a great occasional blogging idea, and I so hope those of you who visit might do it on your own blogs. An indoor experience would also be interesting, I think.

I went outdoors at around 11:15 am and sat down on the side steps to read.
This is what I saw:

The dogs.
The clothesline, and the daylilies that need to be cut back.
The woodpile ready for winter, color in the (almost) autumn leaves, the iris we are going to dig up and send to Les, and rosehips.

What I heard:
crickets, flies buzzing (and driving Ben crazy), a chickadee in the woods. The birds at the feeder had eaten their morning meal and flown off, so there weren't many bird songs. Mostly, it was silent. Blessed, blessed silence.

What I smelled:
fresh air.

I wasn't eating or drinking anything, so no taste.

What I felt:
sunshine on my face and a slight breeze.