I spent much of yesterday sitting in the chaise on my screened porch immersed in “Our Town.” Although it’s been years since I last read the play, there was a time when I knew every line of it by heart. Returning to Grover’s Corners now, on a languid summer afternoon, I was caught off guard by just how familiar it still feels and, at the same time, how alive and fresh and real. I certainly didn’t expect tears to blur the lines of the third act. It’s not as if there are any surprises there. And yet . . .
As an awkward high school freshman with a tiny role in a community theatre production of a play I’d never heard of, I had no idea that Thornton Wilder was about to rock my world. I didn’t know that a few simple scenes played out on a nearly bare stage would profoundly shape the person I was becoming. And I certainly couldn’t have foreseen that, fifty years later, I would be here – living in the town that inspired the play, sitting on a porch with that life-changing script in my hands, in a house that stands precisely halfway between the writers’ colony where Wilder wrote most of “Our Town” back in 1937 and the still-thriving summer theatre where he confided to the director of their first production, in 1940, that he never “meant that cemetery scene to be so depressing.”
All I knew back then was that I was drawn to theatre by a kind of hunger, the same way I was pulled into books — because I longed for something more, something I couldn’t even name but that hinted at the possibility of a life bigger and more exciting than the one on offer in my own small New Hampshire town.
Perhaps the stage would be my ticket out, or so I must have hoped when I showed up for that long-ago audition. Too young and inexperienced to play Emily, I was cast as George’s little sister Rebecca. By the end of the first read-through, I was in love with my brother.
And yet, in the end it wasn’t romance that jolted me awake and set me on my path toward adulthood. (Although that all-consuming passion – unrequited at first, briefly returned for one hot, heady adolescent summer, then mourned through the tortured pages of several years’ worth of mortifying journals — certainly did mark a rite of passage.)
What my heretofore oblivious fourteen-year-old self took away from our many weeks of rehearsals and performances in a small white church hall was both simple and shattering: a dawning awareness of life’s fleetingness.
Remarkably, the very mundane predictability that I was so eager to escape in my own boring life was the very stuff we were being asked to act out on stage – a mother calling her family to breakfast, a brother and sister annoying each other, children being hurried off to school, the nightly burden of homework, idle gossip and small talk about the weather, fathers coming and going from work, the relentless accumulation of gestures and meals and days that are just like all the gestures and meals and days that have come before.
By fourteen I had lost a Camel-smoking 58-year-old grandfather to a heart attack in his raspberry patch. But I had never so much as paused to consider the losses yet in store. Nothing felt precarious because nothing ever changed. And so, little wonder, nothing felt precious, either.
And then, night after night after night, I watched Lauri Landry (two years older than me and still, hands down, the best Emily I’ve ever seen anywhere) walk across the stage and take her place among the dead.
It is one thing to attend a play, applaud the cast, exit the theatre and return to your life. But it’s another thing entirely to live inside a play through months of rehearsals, run-throughs, and performances. For better or worse, the stark truth beneath the words enters you at a cellular level, becoming forever more a part of who and what you are – all the more so if you are as young, impressionable, and unformed as I was then.
Instead of getting bored with “Our Town,” or tired of hearing the same old lines repeated show after show, I had the opposite response. Every time I climbed the step ladder and looked at an imaginary moon alongside the first boy I had ever loved, it just brought us closer to the day when I would never stand on that ladder with him again. I could hardly bear to think of it. And every night, as Emily set foot back in her kitchen to relive her 12th birthday, begging, “Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me,” I was there in the wings, grateful for the dark so no one could see the tears running down my face.
It wasn’t just that I was pining for a boy. It was that in the course of learning and living in and loving “Our Town,” I also got the memo: No one gets out of here alive. And once I had it, there was no way I could ever send it back. Life might be mundane, repetitive, and excruciatingly predictable, but it was also short and therefore beautiful, a fragile tapestry of joys, losses, irretrievable moments and inevitable heartbreak. Fail to pay attention, and I would miss the parts that mattered most.
Many years later, when my beloved friend Diane was dying of cancer at 55, far too young and painfully aware of all she would miss, I was struck both by her lack of self-pity and by her intense longing for what can only be called dailiness. If she’d had a bucket list, her husband would gladly have bought plane tickets to Timbuktoo. But all she wanted was more of what was slipping away – time to pick raspberries and put up a batch of jam, to take a walk with a friend, to bake a cake for her son’s birthday, to curl up on the couch and watch her favorite TV series through to the end, to see her daughter graduate from high school and her children get married and her grandchildren be born.
Of course, I got it. I looked at my own life, full of kids to shuttle around and meals to make and deadlines to meet, and wondered how I could have it so good while she was losing everything. And when I decided to try to write a book about change and grief and holding on and letting go, the title was the first thing I typed. In the midst of teenagers growing up, selling a house, and all of us moving from one state to another and starting over again, the title was the only thing I knew for sure. Thanks to Thornton Wilder and his play, I’d learned at a young age that when tragedy strikes or fate throws you a curve or life hangs in the balance, there’s really just one thing any of us want: the gift of an ordinary day.
Four years ago, when my friend Ann Patchett was on book tour with her novel “The Dutch House,” she stayed for a couple of nights in our guest room. Between her events in New Hampshire and Massachusetts, we did some yoga, took walks, and caught up with each other. As we strolled through town one mild October morning, I asked Ann if she had any ideas for her next book. She did, just the smallest seed of one. “I’m thinking I want to write a novel about a middle-aged woman whose life was changed by playing Emily in ‘Our Town’ when she was in high school,” Ann said. Or, at least, this is how I remember it. I do know I got a little too excited.
“Oh you must!” I exclaimed, immediately steering her toward Pine Street, where we could walk right past the houses known in local lore as Wilder’s inspiration for the Webb and the Gibbs family homes. And then I told Ann my own “Our Town” tale, complete with all the euphoria and heartbreak of that indelible first love. “Use any of it,” I said, pretty certain she wouldn’t use one bit. She was more than capable of making up her own story.
And yet, as Covid brought everyday life to a stop a few months later, and as Ann wrote a collection of essays instead of a novel, we checked in every so often about the “Our Town” book. It was taking shape in her mind, she reported from Nashville. And then, at long last, it was taking shape on the page. Here In Peterborough, with an almost eerie sense of Thornton Wilder hovering over this whole enterprise, I was urging her on, albeit, for mostly selfish reasons: I couldn’t wait to read it.
Which brings us to this full-circle moment. “Tom Lake” isn’t anything close to my “Our Town” experience (although there is a youthful love story, and Ann tells me her lost-boy heart throb is directly descended from my own). And yet I keep discovering little bits of both my younger and my older self myself within its pages. Perhaps this is the mark of a great piece of fiction: in a story about people who never existed, we discover some uncharted parts of ourselves and, in the process, become more fully cognizant of who we are – and more clear about what we’re here to do.
In a couple of weeks, Ann will embark on a 27-city book tour for “Tom Lake,” speaking and reading all across the country. But she’ll start right here in New England, and the two of us will get to sit down in person at last and have a good long chat about her beautiful novel. We’ll be on stage together in Concord, NH, on the evening of August 8 and we’d love to see you there. (Info and tickets are here.)
I read “Our Town” yesterday as self-assigned homework, to refresh my memory before our book event. But spending an afternoon back in Grover’s Corners refreshed my soul, too. It’s a very different play to me now, on the cusp of 65, than it was at fourteen. Despite the impression it made on me then, I know now, in a way no young girl possibly could, that one has to live some life and lose some people and grieve the passage of time in order to really appreciate “Our Town.”
I hope no one I love will ever need to plead “just look at me, one minute, as if you actually saw me.” And yet, I do forget to look. We all do. I forget to “realize life” as I live it, to be grateful for every ordinary moment, to pay attention to the beauty that is here, now. But after 36 years of marriage, with two sons in their thirties, two parents approaching ninety, and an ever-lengthening list of loved ones who are gone, I do my best to inhabit these days fully, gratefully, eyes wide open to the beauty of each beloved face. Nothing could be more important.
It’s 8 a.m. on a rainy Sunday morning as I type these words. In a few minutes, I’ll close my laptop and hop in the car and go pick up my father at the retirement apartment where he and my mom now live, on the other side of town. We’ll stand in line at the bakery till it opens and buy some warm sourdough bread to bring home. Not much of an outing, really, but it’s a chance to spend some time with my dad, something we both cherish.
Yesterday I found myself moved by a line near the end of “Our Town,” one I’d never paid much attention to before. When Emily, newly arrived in the cemetery on the hill, tells the Stage Manager she wants to return to her old life for just one day, a happy day, she’s interrupted by her mother-in-law, who has been dead long enough to know better.
“No!” Mrs. Gibbs warns. “Choose the least important day of your life. It will be important enough.” These are the words I’m taking to heart today. Maybe you will, too.
enter to win a copy of “Tom Lake”
Publication date for “Tom Lake” is August 1. It will be my pleasure to buy a copy for Ann to personalize for one lucky reader. If you’d like to enter to win the book, just leave a note in the comments below. Answer the question: What ordinary moment will you remember from today? (Or, just say, “I’m in!). On August 1, I will choose one reader at random from the comments to receive a signed, personalized copy of “Tom Lake.” If you wish to order a signed copy, you can do so directly from Parnassus Books in Nashville, here.
And be sure to check out Ann’s entire tour schedule here. Chances are, she’ll be coming soon to a bookstore near you. Happy summer reading to all!
I always love reading your essays and emails. There’s so few and far between. This one hit a special note. Having lost my husband a year ago unexpectedly, I have to say it’s the ordinary days and the unimportant days that really count.
Loved the essay!
An ordinary moment today walking the dog out in the he morning and feeling the hot humid air and seeing the flowers in the garden.
Thank you for you words. I always love reading your reflections!
After weeks of waking up too early in the morning with far too much on my mind, this morning I woke up very late. I had fallen back asleep at some point and now I feel refreshed…the way one should feel after a restful night.
I’m in!
Oh, what a wonderful column, thank you, thank you. “Our Town” has companined me over so many years, so many productions, the early ones when I was also a young teenager.
Two especially memorable ones:
At The Globe Theater in San Diego, outdoors on a summer night, with a new love sitting next me me some 30 yrs ago.
And then at the Broad Theater in Los Angeles a few years ago, with a cast in street clothes, and the incredible Helen Hunt in levis as the stage manager.
What a just right and honorable intention you named so beautifully. Of course we fall and fall short, but we can continue to hold, to remind ourselves, to revisit that thoughtful hope that
“no one I love will ever need to plead “just look at me, one minute, as if you actually saw me.” And yet, I do forget to look. We all do. I forget to “realize life” as I live it, to be grateful for every ordinary moment, to pay attention to the beauty that is here, now. But after 36 years of marriage, with two sons in their thirties, two parents approaching ninety, and an ever-lengthening list of loved ones who are gone, I do my best to inhabit these days fully, gratefully, eyes wide open to the beauty of each beloved face. Nothing could be more important.”
Again, thank you, thank you
I will remember the hugs and back rub from my sweet husband, the hug from our adult son, and the cuddles with our three sweet cats.
After spending the morning making apricot raspberry jam, this post was a perfect thing to read while I was waiting for the canning part to finish. Thank you! And I’m in. I love that play so much. Grace was in it too. So good. Xoxo
Ah yes, the gift of an ordinary day! We do start to look at them as gifts when we understand that our ordinary days are finite in number, and when the days become extraordinary because they are filled with medical appointments and treatments. The ordinary moment I’ll remember from today is having the luxury to spend much of this hot and humid day reading, and I’m very much looking forward to immersing myself in Ann Patchett’s new book in August.
Our Town, one of my favorite plays. I own a tattered copy of the play from HS but I wasn’t in the play. Still so powerful to sit though and watch each performance, each actor. It too brings tears to my eyes but the actual impact of the play didn’t really hit me until I began to lose family members. Please one more ordinary day with my dad, my aunt, my uncle, my cousins. I’m 75. Yes, dear ones pass away, but did I tell them how much I loved them. I hope so. I try to do that for my family now, kids and grandkids, being there when I can and telling them I love them.. I know I will read Tom Lake with eyes wide open, and tears in my eyes. Thank you Katrina.
Today, as my husband measured sugar and water to fill our hummingbird feeder, I thought how lucky we are to have this “unimportant” moment after a long 58 year marriage.
Wow, Katrina. I needed this today. Thank you for reminding me to appreciate the less flashy moments/days of my life. Very helpful!
I’d love to get in on the book drawing, if you’ll please add my name.
Thank you from Antrim!
SOOOO great to hear from you Katrina. I saw your name in my inbox and said out loud, “Oh good!” On this Sunday morning, while still in my nightgown, I poured a decaf and settled in on the patio, along with my two cats and Sheltie to read your words. I LOVE your writing and often read the posts at least three times. I wish we heard from you more often and thank you for continuing to stay in touch with us.
I often say, “This life journey is not for the faint of heart.”
Our ordinary day to remember: a morning spent with my 20-something boys, watching the Wimbledon championship, turned into a 5 hour marathon. Despite my complete lack of sports knowledge, my willingness to learn from them has always brought us together. I love your discovery about the “least important day.” So true.
My husband and I had breakfast at home with two dear friends this morning, we talked and laughed and enjoyed every moment together!
My ordinary moment memory:
Just before I opened your email, I finished writing birthday cards to friends near and far away, addressing envelopes, stamping my return address, and licking postage stamps.
I’m IN.
Thank you, always, for your words.
Shelly Gilliland
Shellygilliland@live.com
Sharing a cup of coffee with my adult autistic grandson is how we start each day. He tells me his plans for the day; we take it together from there.
The ordinary moment I will remember from today was laying in bed listening to the rain and trying to shift my focus from feelings of frustration because it was indeed raining again but watching it gently water my garden and being thankful our home and family are safe and dry. We live in Littleton, NH very close to our dear VT neighbors who have been dealing with the flooding.
An ordinary Sunday afternoon: sitting in my favorite chair, reading until I doze off. A quiet evening with my husband to look forward to.
I’m looking forward to the new book – and I think I’ll finally have to read Our Town! 🙂
Stunning. Gorgeous.
I enjoyed a nice walk with my husband on one of the trails in Point Pelee.
I will remember the ordinary moment of today of filling my new pantry (in my new kitchen after having a flood that destroyed it) and getting so much pleasure from organizing it with my new way of healthy eating.
I’ll be seeing “our Town” next month at the wonderful American Players Theater in Wisconsin, so your piece was a lovely prelude. Today’s moment, “do you still have the blue tricycle in your basement?” from 5-year old grandson Theo in our family phone call just now. My Dad refurbished that tricycle.
Just an ordinary day 38 years ago thankful after breast cancer I was still able to stand in my kitchen and make supper for my children.
I never forgot this.
I am in.
An ordinary moment I will remember from today is sipping warm black tea with milk and honey at my little breakfast table by the window, this sunny Sunday morning.
I don’t know what I’ll actually remember of this ordinary day, but I noticed how bright the heliopsis and day lilies and phlox looked in my garden amid all the green on this gray, heavy sky day. Maybe I’ll remember kitchen camping … we’re eating out of the cooler while the fridge defrosts from it’s summer strike. Maybe I’ll remember the one perfect blueberry I picked from our bushes.
I read Our Town again a few months ago, because my daughter’s bookgroup was reading it. I wondered if she at age 12 would get it, the way that I do.
So nice to read your words again. Today I dragged out my ironing board and my Mother’s iron and I thought of her. Having lost her four years ago I am grateful to remember her and her love of ironing. While I did not inherit her love or skill, it’s enough to know her hands were once where mine were as I used it.
Rainy Sunday here in Massachusetts, the decision to just stay in and do whatever was the best gift. A little knitting, a little reading, watching the WNBA All Star game. Nothing “special” but all of it a gift. (Can’t wait for Ann’s next book!)
I’m in !! Thank you 🙏
Oh Life! Oh Katrina and Ann! What a terrific day to have all three with me today. I am absolutely itching to read anything that Ann writes.
My ordinary moment of the day was buying sunflowers at the farmers market with dear friends and taking my daughter to the dance camp. Loved every second of it.
Getting kale ready to steam.
I was sitting in my yard wondering about God’s invitation to me to be present to this moment and feeling the emptiness of it. Blue cloud lees sky, my dog asleep at my feet, no birds obvious, not even any wind… and wondering what this moment had to teach me. It was an easy move to gratitude for all the beauty around me. And for the gift of time alone with no demands. Precious given day!
A lovely that hit close to home. Thank you. My 19 year old cat curled up on my lap and purred
My most amazing dog, Blu, is fire-works averse so I took him into the cellar on the 4th. Set up a huge bed of pillows & comforters & cuddled all 50 pounds of him until he calmed. Then, suddenly, a neighbor set off the mother of all fireworks in the middle of the night. Blu startled & jumped on my face. I didn’t want to wake my husband, so I stayed in the cellar, with a towel over my bleeding forehead, until morning. ER. Stitches. Now, an infection. My husband has kindly changed my bandages Every Single Day. He wants to go to tomorrow’s NASCAR race but is worried about my infection. Not necessarily an “ordinary” moment but something I will cherish forever.
Sitting by the lake this morning, drinking black coffee with my husband of 20 years, filled with some worry for my aging parents, some concerns over our teens, and some stress for our lives. We watched some baby mergansers paddle by, and wish we could be filled with more peace than fear.
Lovely! Our Town was the first play I saw at age 14 with my Dad at a local community college. I remember thinking how sad, yet beautiful and later realized the word I wanted was bittersweet- one of my favorite words!
I love Ann’s books and can’t wait to read her newest
I’ll remember the joy of following my husband down our local mountain trail this afternoon, enjoying the companionable silence punctuated by the occasional remark or two. Lane, at 60 years young, was recently diagnosed with primary progressive aphasia and Frontotemporal dementia. So I savor each conversation no matter how trivial or mundane, knowing that in the future I won’t hear his voice telling me “I love you,” “what’s for dinner?” or “are you up for a hike?”
Mischa, our rescue cat, has but one bad habit, and even that one is endearing. He likes to sleep on my legs in the wee hours of each day. Whether or not he causes the cramping in my legs or not, the cramping occurs, usually at 5:45 am. Today was going to be a really big day for my wife Cary and me, but Mischa did not know that. He does know that when I get up around that time, that I will usually go with him into the kitchen, feed him a small amount of canned cat food instead of his regular dry stuff, comb the loose hairs off his body, and give him a good butt scratching. And all that happened this morning. Then we read the morning paper and waited for Cary to wake up. But the day really began with MIscha sleeping on my legs.
A day with old friends we haven’t spent time with in years and easily picked up right where we left off. A gift to meet people and become friends you can walk through all of life with.
Lovely as always, Katrina. My most ordinary and precious moments are riding bikes with my husband, side by side. Sometimes we chatter, other times are silent, as good friends can be. A simple grilled cheese, tomato and basil sandwich when everything is fresh is not to be minimized, nor a simple deck where I can check out baskets of yellow petunias. It all counts.
A cool, damp summer’s morning watching the Canadian geese swim peacefully across the pond out back. It seemed perfect, coffee mug in hand and my shawl pulled in close. I’ve been in this same spot so many times yet each morning seems new and fresh.
Oh my word. So, I am in my in my bedroom on this rainy afternoon re-reading Ann Patchett’s These Precious Days;I am on the Sooki chapter. My dear friend who is also a fan of Ann Patchett , and who also has cancer was particularly touched by this chapter. So, I decide to take a break from reading and check my email and there is this newsletter from you, Katrina, and you are writing about Ann Patchett! And, you tell us she is on tour for her latest book, Tom Lake, and that she will be in NH with you in a couple of weeks – and I get chills – because I am going to see Ann here in Maine in couple of weeks with my friend who has cancer – I love these many sweet “coincidences”. This type of thing seems to be a big part of Ann’s world:)
Thank you for continuing to share you journey with us, Katrina.
In anticipation of an impending remodel, I have been whittling away at boxes of correspondence (I saved everything!), trying to let go of stuff and unburden my children in the future. This morning, I saw the overview of my early married years, and was reminded of relationships that have endured and others that have not. It’s both fun and emotional to look back. Then, I opened my email and read your essay which brought me back to my present day ordinary and wonderful life. Thank you.
Lovely post- urged those wonderful thoughts to emerge. I’m in a hotel room in DC – arrived before the conference that brought me here. A conference that deals with homelessness- I tried to imagine with empathy an ordinary day for someone without a safe place, a home.
I sit privileged in my hotel room- decided to gather a simple dinner by myself- a Demi baguette, some hummus, a glass of wine. Contemplation, solitude and gratitude that I can have this ordinary day to call my own.
I
Am
In
Why is it so difficult to recall -or even notice- ordinary moments? The more I ponder, the more those moments don’t seem ordinary at all!
Even my before workday mug of tea sipped on the back porch this dawn (where it was cooler and lighter than indoors) was relished, knowing that tomorrow’s mug won’t be exactly the same;- the day’s temperature, brightness, sounds, smells and my solitude are unlikely to be repeated tomorrow, even if I take my mug out there again tomorrow morning before work.
Grateful, as always, for your words. Today’s moment: sitting at a picnic table in the gray mist of this day in rural Maine, eating a crab roll and talking with my much-loved nephew. No fanfare or profundity, just the comfort of time together as he visits from his far-away home.
Also, can I say how happy it makes me to be reminded that you and Ann Patchett are friends?
I’m in!
This ordinary day brought me a Katrina Kenison essay; making it an extraordinary day…your words are one of the very surprising things that arrive like ‘found treasure’. Thank you, thank you…now to share with friends, Katrina!
Beautiful! I played Rebecca at the Putney School, with Thatcher Hurd (children’s author to be) as my brother. I love her cosmic spinout.
It’s a treat to be able to follow you online. I am now mostly in New York, reviewing theater; summers on Nantucket. My daughter, whom you may remember as a seven-year-old, now has seven year old twin girls. I’ve written an historical novel, set partly in Peterborough – may I subject you to it? Very best wishes!
Thank you for your lovely writing, Katrina, and for how you think about our precious time on our life journeys, and how you help us all to do the same with each new posting. — My least important day was a date I no longer recall. It would have been the day when my beloved mother introduced me to Ann Patchett on that ordinary day, and introduced me to so many other authors I have come to love and respect on other ordinary days we had when she was still with us. Thank you for reminding me of that memory of her on this ordinary day.
Dear Katrina,
I love reading about your and Ann’s conversation as her new book was forming. I wanted also to send you a belated thank you. . . your writing about your friend’s passing very much accompanied me on my first journey with a dear friend who was 60. . . just as I was realizing how much your writing impacted my sense of how to accompany her. . . you quoted her moto through her last days ‘eyes wide open’. . . . what a lovely synchronicity. She was an incredible lover of books and worked in publication. . . her last day she asked me to come over and sit downstairs to have me close . . . with one last favor communicated via her husband. . . could I replenish her free little library out in front of her house from her stash of books-in-waiting box . . . but to make sure I included at least 2 to 3 banned books in the adult and child section. So her. . . she had a difficult childhood but as I reflect back months later. . . I realized she aged young. . . she used to be so serious according to her friends from her 20s. . . but the last 20 years. . . with a love of the ordinary beauty, friendship, natural world, meditation, creativity in collages, weaving and words. . . she had lightened her heart. When asked if she had a legacy. . . she merely said she hoped people experienced a kind of immediacy and presence they felt they experienced with her and carried forward. . . how fortunate are we to know such humans who are clear about the preciousness of ordinary moments. Thank you again. . . You helped me recognize the intimacy within the loss . . . I told her I felt like we were two 12 year olds with binoculars and crooked oversized safari hats looking out her back garden looking for wild and shy moments of timelessness in those final months. . .
Thank you for your writing.
Seeing your email was such a gift. Waited to make my tea & sit outside to read it.
Was going thru 47 years of lifetime memories thinking ‘what ordinary day will I remember?
Sometimes life gets so busy that even when you realize it, you forget to stop & just be.
You reminded me.
Stay blessed.
Talking on the phone as I do everyday to my best friend who lives in California while I’m siting here in Massachusetts. We find a time virtually everyday to check in and talk about everything. Sometimes our conversations are richer, deeper than others. But all of them fill my soul, make me filled loved and let me know I am “seen.”
We are so privileged to live another day realizing we are loved. Thank you for the reminder
My 87 year old father-in-law is staying with my husband and me as he recovers from a mini-stroke suffered last week. My sweet sister brought over her Oculus, virtual headset, so he could “revisit” all his favorite places from the comfort of a recliner. Today he traveled back to his childhood home, his elementary school, the first home he purchased with his deceased wife, and his workplaces. As much as we lament about the fears of automation, this tool helped restore his memories…the spark returned to his eyes, the recognition ignited his spirit. Like good art and literature, technology can repair and heal the soul. I am amazed and grateful.
Today I will remember a church picnic in a country church with a wood stove going to percolate the coffee for the picnic that followed. Then down to Mill Creek for swimming. Beautiful, ordinary day.
I first saw Our Town as a twelve year old and wept, I am THRILLED to read Ann’s book and I’m picking up a copy of Our Town now, thanks Katrina❤️
My son’s hug hello
Thank you, as always for your inspiring thoughts and words.
I have just spent two weeks helping my pregnant daughter and her husband move their family to West Point, NY for a year. The dailiness of being with my grandsons (aged 7 & 5) has been a blessing but also very tiring. I am constantly reminded that this is ordinary happiness at its best. The days are long but the time is short. Thank you for the gift of your writing, Katrina!
This morning my husband and I welcomed the day as we always do on summer mornings, drinking our first cups of coffee outside on the patio.
So enjoyed reading a lovely missive from you again right after a brief chat about the weeks ordinary and extraordinary happenings for my adult daughter and I. A wonderful luxuriously slow paced Sunday.
What a moving post. I, too, hold “Our Town” close to my heart and my life, although I never read, saw, or experienced the play in my teen years.
What ordinary moment from today will I remember? While we ate super outside on our deck, my husband said, “Turn around and look behind you.” The cosmos in the kitchen garden had bloomed. (And that was just yesterday.)
The ordinary moment I will remember from today is meditating with my kitty in my lap.
Today was just one of those most ordinary days, rainy, nothing special going on…another one, please…
What I will remember about this ordinary day will be playing play dough bakery with my six year old granddaughter and her glee as we paid for each other’s concoctions with play dough coins. Precious time.
This came to my inbox at the perfect time!!!
I’m In!!
Gail
I’m in!
Drinking coffee on the deck, working on the Sunday crossword puzzle, and enjoying the summer flowers.
This ordinary day brought me to your article here, which I loved. Ordinary moments from today include being blessed with a strong body to take a walk, clean the kitchen floor, and pick cucumbers from the garden. Small precious blessings.
As a mom of four daughters and recently empty nested and retired I am discovering g the gift of an ordinary day all over again -I read it first when my girls were so young and now it has given me new gifts.thank you
My ordinary day? I’m visiting my newly-married daughter. )Some would say that two and half years is no longer newly married, but the long-look-back from thirty-one years says two and a half is nothing.) We’re playing Scrabble and drinking coffee and making simple dinners. And I’m enjoying every precious minute, especially after reading this essay. Thanks for taking the time to write.
Today’s ordinary moment that I’ll remember: walking over to the neighbor’s blackberry bush to see if the berries have ripened yet (so close!)
I will remember the smiles on my daughter’s faces, the sound of my husband laughing at the puppies, the feel of the puppies heads on my feat as they napped while I sat in the shade listening to my daughter’s in the pool, and the way my Mom looked while relaxing on our couch as she told us about her day yesterday.
What a lovely column. Thank you Katrina. Our Town is truly timeless which I realized more than ever a couple of years ago attending a performance at Chautauqua. And your raspberry references were equally spot on since I spent the afternoon collecting today’s haul from the patch in back. And I kept thinking about my dad while I was picking remembering how much he loved doing that very same thing – until he was 91. How lucky we are. And how fortunate for us all that you keep writing to make us think and that Ann Patchett has a new book out – can’t wait! On a “Smithie” note, have you run into Jennifer Walters, the new rector at the Episcopal church in Peterborough – who was chaplain at Smith at one time. Life is good.
Thank you for this lovely post, Katrina – I only wish I lived closer to NH to see your talk with Ann Patchett!
My ordinary moment today was making a Greek salad – we just got back from Santorini and are still dreaming about the amazing food and spectacular views!
What I will remember about this ordinary day is making and drinking water infused with fresh blackberries, orange slices and minced ginger. I need to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate in preparation for infusion treatments tomorrow. Also my 9-year-old granddaughter folding towels from the dryer for me and giving me an extra hug before leaving.
Thank you for this post and many of your others. I too can relate to wishing for nothing more than an ordinary day. I am sure everyone does. that is what makes it powerful.
Today, I’ll remember how my oldest daughter–home for only a few days–threw her head back, mouth filled with dinner, and laughed at something her younger brother said, and how he lit up knowing he could still make her laugh while I paid witness to the continual knitting together of family ties.
Love the peace that comes with an ordinary day.
What I’ll remember about this ordinary day is celebrating my son’s 30th birthday with his beautiful wife and our precious grandsons, 2 years old and 2 months old. Oh, these precious ordinary days of a toddlers delight in life, the smell and the sweet smiles and coos of a baby. I’m in! Can’t wait to read ‘Tom Lake’! Thank you for your always eloquent words, Katrina.
I have always loved Our Town. My two oldest children were in a production in High School, and we all attended many many run-throughs. I’m so happy to read this thoughtful, poignant essay. Thank you so much, Katrina!
This afternoon I spread a “car blanket” (my grandmother had made it years ago from scraps of this and that), in the shade under an Amur maple in my backyard, and then laid down and watched the clouds shift until I fell asleep.
I read your post later in the afternoon, and as always, I savored your reflections. Thank you!
I always enjoy your writings and look forward to reading your latest when I see it in my inbox. Today I am thankful for young adult children beside me in church–not something that happens often. I’m in for celebrating the ordinary on any day. May I remember to ‘see’ the day around me. Thank you.
Today my husband and I began clearing out a storage unit…pieces of furniture from 3 generations of family, both sides. All big and brown, and not wanted by our children or local antique dealers…or even Goodwill. The process makes me incredibly sad…so many memories, of beloved people and places. Your essay reminded me to cherish the memories…while savoring today. I needed that ~ heartfelt thanks.
I’m sitting on my porch swing, a beautiful Midwestern summer night, listening to a gaggle of neighborhood boys play wiffleball next-door. These are the days I will remember.
A most delightful return to ordinary times. Loved reading your essay.
I am grateful to work in my garden today. I’ve been yearning for this after many busy days.
My ordinary moment was drinking coffee out on my porch this morning with my cat by my side. I’m in! And thank you for your beautiful post.
Walking my dog. Listening to a mockingbird imitate a cardinal and then a song sparrow. Seeing a juvenile fox who looked lonely and confused flinch when a bird landed on his back and quickly flew away, as if to say, “Step away from the nest.” Admiring, by text, the beautiful, shorter hair of my daughter, who, by the way, will always be the best Emily in the best production of Our Town I have ever seen. I thought of her as I read your lovely essay, Katrina.
I am completely enamored w my 4 yr old granddaughter. She has changed our world and is such a joy to be around. An “ordinary moment” that has filled my heart and mind happened a couple of weeks ago when she asked to sleep over at Love’s house (our grandparent names are Grumpy and Love.) the next morning she brought her toys into our room and climbed into bed with me. She snuggled under covers and wriggled up next to me. This had never happened before, she’s normally too busy. I think the contentment and comfort she felt from warming up next to me was more precious for me than for her. Then we face-timed Grumpy in the living room and she asked for pancakes. Her confidence and security when she’s with us is balm to my soul.
I picked wild blueberries today. It was an hour out of a whole day. Ordinary but special too.
So happy to see your note in my inbox. Love your writing and love Ann’s too.
Would love to win the book.
A long walk on the French Broad River with a dear friend on a beatuiful sunny afternoon.
This ordinary day held a sweet surprise of dinner at our son’s new “place,’ a small Midwest farmhouse he rents with his longtime girlfriend. They both just graduated from college, and the endings and beginnings have stacked up this summer. Your timely books slowed me down from rushing through his childhood, and I thank you for that. But this evening with the sun shining through the wildfire haze, I stood out in the yard with the breeze rustling already tasseled corn and sighed at time. What we gain and what we squander. Thank you for accompanying me on my parenting journey. You are a steady and cherished friend.
I enjoyed watching my young grandchildren have fun at the pool. They grow up so fast and I am lucky that I now live nearby. Even the squabbles are worth it!
An ordinary moment playing a game and laughing with my husband and two almost grown daughters – cherishing every moment we have all together under the same roof.
I fell in love with Our Town so long ago that I can’t remember when but, sometime in high school.You’re correct, though, it gets richer for me, the older Ii get. I do think, though, I was pretty rare to be as appreciative of it as I was, as young as I was. Katrina, I am also 65 (the number 60 freaked me out, I must admit, but I got over it), I discovered your book, The Gift of an Ordinary Day when my son was in elementary school, and his sisters 7 and 11 years older. I implored all my friends to read it and most did. Our Town and your book both changed my life. One Christmas I gave my 3 children Our Town, and wrote in the front “Read this every year”. When they have children, I’ll give them yours with the same inscription.
Both are amazing. thank you so much for writing this column. I really hope to come to NH.
I so enjoyed this post today
My highlight of today was watching my friend catch a fish on my boat.
she hasn’t caught a fish since she was a child as she broke her back when she was 27 and is wheelchair bound. it’s not much of a “bind” to her…she is a 5 time wheelchair gold medalist and an amazing woman!!!
She missed being able to tell her Dsd the story of fishing today…we all enjoyed every minute!
Enjoyed ice cream with 3 sisters in law under a tent on a steamy rainy day on Cape Cod. Life is good!
I will remember walking my stubborn dog on a wet, humid day in the cranberry bogs and sitting down to an early dinner on a dark day with my husband and daughter to talk about the power of partnership.
Morning bike ride with the Cycle in the City group. Love exploring our city with such a nice group of people.
I always enjoy reading your posts, Katrina, and what a bonus to learn of Ann Patchett’s new book. I’ll remember the afternoon spent with my mom today, as we sipped tea and watched the birds from her sunroom. As she will soon be 96, I cherish these ordinary but special days. Thank you for the reminder!
Katrina, I knew exactly what you were referring to from the title of your post today – it is actually one of my favorite lines in my mother’s (and my) favorite play – I was named after Emily Webb and became a married Emily Gibson myself!
And Ann Patchett is a favorite author as well – I will most definitely find her book. Hoping to hear more from you!
blessings,
Emily from Barnstorming
I’m in!
Having just returned from a laying out of a friend’s husband, your writing today really hit home. My friend’s husband died at 65 with a grandchild just fourteen days old and one on the way. My five children are now grown and gone but are returning with the grandchildren. Life goes so fast and we really need to cherish every moment.
Thank you so much for your always insightful and inspiring writing. I’m definitely in!
Walking barefoot through the grass, filling up the bird feeder on this stormy, humid Sunday afternoon. ☺️
So many ordinary days to choose from but everyone of them always ends the same. Myself, tucked in, giving thanks for this most amazing day.
Waking to a soft Guthrie the terrier nudge and a lick and making a frothy coffee to carry into the crisp morning air and take in what the day will bring.
I remember reading An Ordinary Day when my children were small.. they’re all grown up now but I still have that book and thinking what joy this woman finds in ordinary things and looking for that myself. And today reading this piece I’m reminded of that time and I’ve enjoyed immensely lying here in bed at 7am with new sheet we bought at the weekend and my beloved cat Darcy Bussell lying in my curve and I feel grateful for this ordinary moment. Thank you.
I enjoy having a morning cup of coffee on my back porch while listening to the birds and quietly reading.
I get so excited when see your name come across my emails! I have loved all your books, “Mitten Strings For God”is my number one baby shower gift!
I am looking forward having my morning coffee and reading “Tim Lake”!
Laughing with my adult son while playing a game we last played when he was a child!
Thank you Katrina & yes! i am in!
A cherished visit with our oldest child and their wife who moved across the country 2 1/2 years ago.
Thank you for this post, Katrina. In my home, my staircase is open so one can see someone coming downstairs – the feet emerge from the second floor and the whole person appears step by step as I sit at the kitchen table with my coffee and book. My favorite ordinary moment is watching my teenage and young adult kids come down those steps. Knowing they won’t be doing that forever and I won’t be watching them do that forever.
I loved this, Katrina. For me, ordinary moments are our lifeblood. That makes them extraordinary.
Thanks for this reminder to really see them.
Thank you for your beautiful words and remembrances.. I am always touched by your clarity of thought and your ability to express yourself so beautifully.
Robin
I will remember sitting at the breakfast table, coffee in hand scrolling through emails, while my husband makes his lunch and prepares for the work day ahead. This routine plays out every morning, but today I see it with fresh eyes. Thank you.
I live on a salt marsh in Georgia and every morning the first thing I do is gaze at the marsh to see what Mother Nature has delivered that day.
I love to see the way the spartina looks in the morning light, to watch the wood storks and ibis hunt their morning meal.
I am grateful for that simplicity and beauty every day.
Thanks Katrina. Yesterday I made a pot of meatballs which always brings my mom, gone 43 years, and my sister gone two years now, both of them named Rose, into the kitchen with me. They never leave my heart.
I’m in.
Had a nicely worded comment almost ready and then the storm hit and it’s gone. We still don’t have internet back, but oh well. Enjoyed reading so many comments from readers with great stories. From Mitten Strings from God through The Gift of an Ordinary Day, and now your upcoming book, Moment of Seeing, I’ve paralleled lives- very different, yet similar. Life, loss, illness, slowing down, still doing and being, lessons, and so much more. Thank you!
I will remember driving my husband to the airport this morning. These thirty-minute drives are always bittersweet, as he departs for his series of work-related meetings and I return to a quiet empty nest for a few days — our last half hour of conversation before he embarks on days filled with work and we’re reliant upon a few quick texts and phone calls until he returns.
So wonderful to hear from you again. Today the beautiful ordinary was pouring the hot water into the pretty tea pot and looking forward to the warm cup I would soon cuddle between my hands. Love.
My ordinary moment is wanting to find something ordinary today. My husband passed two weeks ago after a two-year battle with kidney/lymph cancer. God how I want to have something feel ordinary again.
Very thought provoking message…I’m in!!
Ann Patchett is a favorite. Looking forward to this book.
It’s early as I open and read this email. I will remember striking a match, lighting a candle and offering morning prayers, then reading these words and being reminded to pay attention to the ordinary moments of my day.
What a gift it is to open my email and see that you have a new blog! That is my special thing on this ordinary day. Loved how you shared what a gift OUR TOWN has been in your life and I must tell you that is how I feel about your book THE GIFT OF AN ORDINARY DAY. It changed my life years ago when I first read it, as did MAGICAL JOURNEY!! I have gifted your book to many friends over the years hoping they too would get a glimpse of just how special each day is 🌸
So, so beautiful and poignant and honest and powerful, Katrina. As always. Thank you!
I may well have seen you in that long ago production of “Our Town,” having attended many of the early local theater productions at the UCC church. I knew Dolly Harrison.
I am a fan of Ann Patchett. My Milford based book group discussed “Dutch House” last year.
This post was especially meaningful. Thank you.
I’m in.
I’ll remember the early morning walk with my dog and the purring, shy cat on my lap!
Starting the day with tea and a view of my garden. I am inspired to read Our Town.
As I lounge in bed this (rare) sunny morning, my attention is pulled to the small bird outside my window whose wings are flickering among the lush green leaves, while diagonal white stripes from the slant of venetian blinds paint the nearby wall. “Go to the beach today”, says the tiny bird, “Summer is half over”, You’re right, I think I will” whispers the small voice within”.
~ Sierra’s Life at the NH seacoast.
Wonderful essay! I’m reading it as I lay in bed with cool breezes wafting in my bedroom window. So enjoying this ordinary moment!
I gifted THE GIFT OF AN ORDINARY DAY to my friend, who lives in France. It brings both of us t joy to re-read it every once in a while and continue to share our ordinary days with each other across the ocean. Thank you.
What a lovely essay. And all of these thoughtful comments observing the ordinary—I loved reading them!
My ordinary today is being cuddled up in bed with my three year old and eight year old while they laugh at cartoons (Bluey!). My husband is downstairs making coffee. We’re all jet-lagged from two incredible weeks in Ireland and are really savoring that feeling of being home again. At the same time, we’re grieving our beloved cat who died unexpectedly before our trip and certainly wishing for one more ordinary day with that sweetest boy.
One ordinary moment today was sitting in reverence to the dawning of the day, candle lit, holding my clear quartz palm stone, gazing out the window at the gathering wrens.
My sister is battling but also dying from pancreatic cancer, so your wish for “one ordinary day” reverberates in my heart.
Thank you for the pause button. On a 58° summer morning in Minnesota with the windows of my study open, I’m sitting in what was my mothers Norwegian blue reading chair. She left 6 years ago; dad left peacefully 2 weeks ago. Today is day one after the week that included securing his urn spot at the northern MN cemetery in the town he was raised. Now I know what a foot stone is, he’ll be right by my grandparents. ~ So I’m grateful for your essay this morning, with the summer sounds of orioles and cardinals outside, and the cool breeze through the screens, which the Universe manifested perfectly as the way to wrap me in the peace and quiet of an ordinary day.
I sit here at 6am. drinking my coffee and thinking of ordinary things that happened on other ordinary days. My husband made my coffee and delivered it with a smile. Today I made my own coffee and drink it alone. It has been 7 months since he died and I would give anything to have those ordinary moments on ordinary days back.
There is nothing more heart melting than the moment of holding a young child’s hand, when they are still young enough that they do so without any expectation, embarrassment or ego involved, with only unconditional love. In that ordinary moment, I am reminded to aspire to approach life with the same bearing.
Whenever one of your emails appears in the inbox, I disregard all others and dive into your writing, which I continue to cherish. Your words always strike a chord and arrive at just the right time as though you have a secret window into my current world. Thank you for writing and please, keep writing more. Your extraordinary writing rocks my ordinary days! 🙂
Thank you for these wise words. A whole week to oneself is truly a gift.
Nothing earth shattering here. Just a cup of green peach tea and a piece of sprouted grain bread with almond butter. And words. Beautiful, ordinary words that enable me to step inside another’s day for a few moments and share this miraculous life.
I’m in.
I broke my wrist a few weeks ago and I am not working until it heals. I am thoroughly enjoying ordinary moments with my husband: picking flowers, sitting in a porch swing and watching the birds splash in the birdbath, and having time to talk. The broken wrist was a shock to my ego but now I see all the gifts of slowing down. Thank you for your beautiful posts!
I love to read your books! Turning the pages is always easy and I look forward to what is coming next. Thank you!
Katrina,
Your beautiful essay will be a big part of this ordinary day . . . your reflections always speak tobthe feelings that matter most.
Just back from a wonderful week on the shore of Lake Michigan with my family.
Today grateful to trim back a few plants, do laundry and remember all the precious moments with those I love.
The older I am, the more I feel every day is a gift.
I kissed my husband’s cheek this morning before I left for work. I’ve done this most days for the past 29 years.
Thanks for sending this out Katrina.
It inspired me in a myriad of ways. I love your writing. Always have, always will, Ayup.
I have just started watching the Paul Newman, 2003 production. Right at the beginning, they bring out a map on an easel, and Newman as the stage manager describes the layout of town by pointing out streets (just about as they are laid out today) in town — so that the fork of High St. and Elm and Union is there, and my house, my present house, is sketched in, right there!
Then he goes on to talk about Doc Gibbs’ and publisher Webb’s houses, as scripted, with Mrs. Web’s garden, right at the edge of the driveway, exactly where (my late wife) Lisa’s was!
I could really see it!
What an experience!
And then I remembered the student who played Emily in the Hollis production I directed. She was 14, but very mature, and she really got it. Her parents were blown away, of course, to see their daughter in that role. I remember them talking to me afterwards, crying. Another profound experience.
All of this experience this morning, on this ordinary day, has been inspired by you. Thank you again. You’re a powerful stage manager in your own right.
A crow drinking happily from a bird fountain near local market. The day was very hot.
How my son realized he needed to go to the back and deposit his work check and pay his phone bill to activate his phone. Last week, scheduled an important call for today. It’s from the university he is hoping to attend this fall. How I had to shut my mouth and let him go take care of his business. Or not. Help.
This essay took my breath away more than once.
“Nothing felt precarious because nothing ever changed. And so, little wonder, nothing felt precious, either.” This is so true. Between raising a teen suddenly disabled by chronic illness, the changes wrought by the pandemic, and being on the planet for 60+ years, I’ve learned that it’s all pretty precious. Today’s gem: my daughter, who has taught herself to gracefully coexist with unending suffering, playfully booping me on the nose as she trotted off to work looking like a runway model.
Also this:
“in a story about people who never existed, we discover some uncharted parts of ourselves and, in the process, become more fully cognizant of who we are”. Again, you articulated beautifully something it’s taken me a lifetime to realize.
And Ann Patchett! No equal–except maybe her friend Katrina…
Thank you Katrina for sharing your gifts and and your heart. I find acknowledging the holiness of all my daily “ordinary” moments a kind of active prayer.
It is true that the ordinary moments are just extraordinary. My moment today was time with my daughter (soon to be married) and two of her best friends. Hearing their laughter and happy chatter brought me such joy.
Wish I was close enough to attend the event featuring two of my most favorite writers. Joy!
My moment that I will remember from today is scratching the soft fur behind my dog’s ears as she gazes at me with contentment and adoration.
After reading your beautiful essay, I’m about to amble into our kitchen to make sandwiches for my husband an me. He is outside, rebuilding the stairs to our deck with his carpentry skills – surly in need of a break and tall glass of water! I’m a huge fan of Ann Patchett, and you too. Thank you.
I’m in!
Thank you for your beautiful essay.
What I will remember and treasure from today is getting to ride to work with my daughter and eat lunch with her at the office. (She is working with me for the summer.) I will also remember and treasure getting to read your essay. You always speak right to my heart.
I’m absorbing every single ordinary minute of the next sixteen days with my daughter before she returns to university. This will most likely be her last summer at home, and I don’t want to miss a minute of it.
Thank you for such a lovely reflection. Reveling in the snores of my two dogs as I work at my desk today!
I am a huge AP fan!!!
Sitting on my screen porch on a hot summer day and seeing an Indigo Bunting for the first time ever. Two of them were cooling off in my fountain, rolling around like children.
Sitting outside at the local cafe/bakery on a July afternoon in perfect weather with an iced tea—simply being and not doing. Your posts always resonate deeply with me. Happy to hear from you again and I can’t wait for Ann’s new book!
My love and husband of 29 years has COVID (we’ve somehow avoided it for three years), so between work and caring for the dogs, today I’ve talked to him on the phone (poor man has been banished to the basement to avoid spreading it to me or our teen sons) and made him three meals. He’s very sick and weak, but his appetite hasn’t been affected. Since our boys are grown and close to independent, I normally only make dinners. Preparing a lunch plate for Brian has been a small, tender way to say I love you, when there is so little I can do for him.
I love your essay! As a child, I read my mom’s high school literature book cover to cover and there discovered Emily Webb. Last spring, I took two of my sons to see a local theater company production of Our Town. It hit so differently now—now that I could fill all those graveyard chairs with people I’ve loved and lost.
Thank you for your words!
My husband and I are at our adult daughter’s home on the opposite coast from ours, following an all-family (kids, spouses, grandkids!) beach vacation. We are peeling off for home one by one, and the sweet relational afterglow of time together will live long in my heart. It’s a lot of ordinary life as we help with young children, laundry, dishes, and I wouldn’t trade it.
I realize I am right where I’m suppose to be and I am grateful. ❤️
Getting my feet wet in the dewy grass this morning.
My ordinary moment from today was showing up as my truest self on the Pickleball courts, engaging well with others, and playing with focus and patience. Can’t wait to read this new book!
“I’m in!” 🙂
I loved reading this essay, Katrina, and all your writings.
Both my husband and I have survived cancer so we know how important it is to cherish the ordinary day of no chemo/radiation/ pain and worry. Surviving has given us a new lease on life and a greater appreciation for all our daily blessings. We love to trav el within our beautiful state of Colorado and I share my photos and stories on my blog.
My daughter grumbling at my suggestions, the dog leaning on me hinting it’s time for his dinner, the sun through the window, the crumbs on the counter, putting off starting dinner to read this essay. Thank you for making me grateful for this ordinary day.
As I age, I feel I understand more deeply how’I have seduced by our culture to believe that the extraordinary is “over there” and never “here.” Now I wander among the familiar in my life and see that it is never, ever the same. What a gift! Thank you Katrina for your beautiful piece. I see Ann is coming to Minneapolis in September. I will look forward to that!
Reading your essays makes any ordinary day extraordinary. Thank you for your posts – I read them over and over. I look forward to reading Ann’s new book. Thank you for continuing to write in this space – your words always brighten my day.
And I’m in!
Thank you as always for the reminders of gratitude. I heard someone say recently she loves when she does not betray herself despite facing an opportunity to do so. I’m hopeful today I will not betray myself with comparisons and harsh talk in the face of difficult people. What will this look like today? I’m not sure yet. Maybe I’ll claim some time alone filled with rest, books and counting the baby deer who are all knees and elbows in my backyard!
It’s a joy to see your posts. I love taking a quiet moment to read them carefully and reflect. My ordinary moment I’m cherishing is the long walk my sister and I took yesterday, appreciating the cloud cover on a steamy Florida morning and the quiet we can embrace because it’s not “in season” time. I’m blessed that I could come visit for a few days. Thank you and have a wonderful, ordinary day!
Enjoying petting the dog and reading this morning no where to rush off too today. Later will be making a batch of peach ice cream to enjoy with family this weekend. Thank for the reminder to savor the ordinary moments.
I would love this. I might not remember anything from today. It seemed pretty mundane, but at the same time it didn’t. We recently moved and as I painted the old, scuffed walls of our “new to us” home, I listened as you read to me from “Magical Journey.” I hadn’t read it in years and it seemed fitting since I will turn 50 in the near future and will have an empty nest all too soon. I decided to see if you have written anything else, and here I am, excited to see you have! And I’m happy for you to help guide me into the next phase of my life. So, thanks for keeping me company today.
I’m in. Thank you for your thoughtful essay and the reminder to pay attention and really see those loved ones in our lives.
“Ordinary day” memories are whispered to me so often from my loved ones who have passed. I smile when they arrive…mysterious and welcome. I could be making my grandmother’s German pancakes for my hungry little grandchildren, or softly petting the ears of Shelby, a beloved lab, and feel my grandmother and dog-loving sister close by once again. I dwell deeply in the beauty of my ordinary days, and Katrina you have described it beautifully. Thank you.
Your essay was pure joy to read. I’m in!
Oh, how I loved this essay. “Our Town” has been a recurring theme of my life. I had two small parts in a production in college; I was the woman in the audience who asked the Stage Manager “Is there any culture or love of beauty in Grover’s Corners?” and in the cemetery scene singing “Blessed be the Tie that Binds.” Then, married with two young children, my husband and I saw a production at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon. Twenty plus years later we saw a community theatre production in our hometown of Bend, Oregon. I was able to contain my tears in college production (while performing), but not in Ashland, or in Bend. First time, I felt like I’d been Emily with George in college, second time I felt like the Webbs or the Gibbs, and later, after my younger brother’s death from lymphoma, I was in the graveyard. I have never cried so hard in my entire life. This play resonates with me tremendously – every scene, every line, and especially your favorite line “Pick an unimportant day…” Those are indeed the moments that stay with us and fill our hearts, minds, and memories with great joy and gripping sorrow.
I also adore the film “It’s a Wonderful Life”, which I think has many of the same haunting themes and messages. Treasure each day and the people that surround you ~ as you so aptly wrote “The Gift of an Ordinary Day.”
Thank you, thank you, thank you for such glorious and painful memories ~ “Our Town” is an American treasure, likewise “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
I’m in.
Today, sitting on the porch of our beach house looking out over the ocean, my eyes drifting to the horizon and beyond. I want that every day.
Thank you for your essay. I am mindful of sitting together on the couch, reading with my husband.
Thank you for this gentle reminder. My ordinary moment for today is watching my dogs find the the coolest spot on the hardwood floor as they seek relief from the heat on this hot summer day.
I was remined of something Emily says in the play Our Town, from the cemetery. “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?
Thanks Katrina for you words of wisdom… as always.
Katrina, my ordinary precious moment of the day was sitting quietly with my 15 year old Golden doodle watching him peacefully sleep at my feet. I know his beautiful life with me is numbered now and I was so grateful to watch his breath rise and fall. My heart so full at what some would call a non event. ❤️
New here. Enjoyed the essay and wonderful comments! I love every day that I am able to walk my dogs on our subdivision
bike path. If I hear a cardinal or wren, that makes it perfect! Seeing one or the other, makes my day. I am a lucky girl.
A perfect day is baking a treat for my family, meeting a friend for coffee, and sharing a healthy summer meal with my family. Love reading your writing!
Those ‘ordinary days’ were what I loved the most and often captured with a camera or movie camera when my children were young. Thank you for a timely reminder to do that now with grown family and friends is also a good idea.
Nice to learn others feel the same. I’m going to suggest “Our Town” (the play and/or the novel form) for my book club. Then “Tom Lake” when it becomes available.
I’m in!
I was so excited to see your name in my inbox! Very early this morning while I was still in bed we had a severe thunderstorm. It took out our power during a heat wave. Not only do I love thunderstorms (and the garden needed it!), but as I laid in bed starting to get very warm, I remembered to be grateful – for power and rain. That’s my take away from today.
I love that you and Ann Patchet are friends. Two of the greats.
Thank you Katrina for putting your thoughts into words, and your words onto paper.
When I see one of your emails arrive in my inbox, I smile. I save it til I have time to really read it, not just skim it, and this last one took me a week to carve out the time, but it was worth it. More often than not, I close the read with tears in my eyes, but they are the good kind.
Much appreciation for your willingness to share.
I’m in! I will remember biking to the library with my 7 year old.
My ordinary day. Is watering my veggies early this morning tasting the cherry tomatoes, or is it picking up the grandkids from school. Or walking the dog in our orchard as the sun is setting. I love and try to remember to cherish my ordinary moments throughout the day. Thank you for reminding me to do so.
My ordinary day was punctuated with an early morning bike ride watching the sun rise over Cape Town and then daily chores of cleaning and washing and a much needed nap on the couch with my beloved Jack Russell, Charlie.
Thank you for your words of inspiration and wisdom Katrina – they are so appreciated!