Distractions 4/18/2021

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I tend to get enthused about really insignificant things. I admit it. They aren’t bad things or invaluable things but I’m not sure that they are things that most people would let steal their attention like I do.  If you have read any of my blogs you know obviously that most things in nature will easily distract me from any task at hand.  It’s amazing I get anything done at work at all considering not only do I have windows looking out onto a beautiful green space with flowers and trees and historic buildings but I occasionally also have to go walk amongst said settings.  Just the nature alone would be beguiling enough for my feeble attention span but add to it structures of historical significance and I am thinking I really should be very proud of myself that I have ever accomplished anything professionally at all.  But it’s not just at work that my focus is quickly and easily turned.  I have a notoriously short attention span. I can remember struggling with finishing work assignments all the way back to elementary school.  It’s not that I was too hyper and too busy to settle down and get my work done. I really think both then and now, my curse is too much imagination. I mean for the love of Pete I am writing a weekly blog. Obviously I have creative energy that has to spew forth lest I possibly burst or spontaneously combust. I think my issue with wandering attention is that I see things and, whether I want it to or even realize it, stories start happening.  Today I want to talk about some things that draw me away from the average day and send my mind anywhere but.

The most regular catching of my attention happens every morning on my way to work. I am on the road at most times of year in time to see the more memorable aspects of dawn and very frequently I lose myself to them. Thankfully I have made this drive so many times that I very well could do it without looking at the road.  There are two specific spots however, right near each other, which get me every morning.  Both are stretches of field.  The first is pasture.  It isn’t just a wide open grassy expanse. While such pastures are lovely this one is smaller and dotted with old oaks that have stood there a long time.  Every morning that the sun is visible, golden rays are streaming through those branches illuminating the dew on the grass.  There are patches of shadow and light playing on every sparkling surface. And somehow, the horses that live in this field seem to be very skilled at perfectly framing themselves between trees and letting the beams fall just so in the background. Every morning there is the most glorious pastoral artwork occurring casually beyond the barbed wire fence and I gawk every time no matter how many times I see it. God forbid anyone decides to make a sudden stop in front of me driving by this picturesque scene.

And only a few hundred yards beyond the horses and their oaken cathedrals is a thoroughly different type of field. This one is wide open but it has been untouched by hoof or mouth.  It is a wide grassy field that is a flawless sea of green encircled by old pecans, oaks and hickories.  There are no ridges, mounds or piles of miscellany.  Even the grass all grows to exactly the same height making it like a smooth emerald fur.  Then there is the pond to one side with a few soft, mournful willows draped around it.  On certain mornings when the temperature is just right there will be billows of steam coming off its surface making it a mirror reflecting its own cloud.  But the ethereal pond is only an occasional appearance. The field itself however bears its own far more regular magical ambience.  Almost every morning a thin blue-white mist hovers over the surface of the grass.  The only adjectives that would really serve the visual any justice fall into those that describe various forms of enchantment.  I cannot help but see those great old trees reaching their arms up against the flaming sky with their feet shrouded in a vast expanse of mist and just know that if one set foot on that ground that something other-worldly would occur.  I don’t know if you would meet fairies, I don’t know if a unicorn would trot out of the mist and encourage you to ride.  There is even the chance that if you got deep enough into that mist that the billowing grasses may part and a doorway to an entirely new place would stand before you, tantalizing with wanderlust.  All these things occur in my mind’s eye in the few seconds it takes me to travel past this field. Again my mind has lost all track of its intended focus and gone off the beaten path to lands of childlike wonder. 

When I see an old home or a historic marker I am gone. I am watching in real time the events of the past.  If I am in an old place I frequently leave whatever my purpose was to touch old handrails or to stroke the wavy surface of old window panes.  I have in my head that if I can touch the places that were touched centuries before, I’m somehow a part of the history.

When my cat jumps onto my bed and nestles down next to me and looks back at me purring as if to inform me he has specifically come to be lavished with affection and I should begin the process as soon as possible, I am transported. Perhaps it’s childish, but he is no longer just a cat. In my mind I have tamed some savage beast of a black jaguar that none would dare approach.  He is now a predator of epic proportion that shall be my companion that melts at the touch of my hand.

When I catch the profile of my daughter and the sunlight lights up the blue of her eyes, I can see is the wondrous life she could have, with important positions and a beautiful family. Sometimes instead of looking forward in her eyes I look back wondering if those azure pools are rooted in Scottish or Irish blood. Or perhaps they hailed from the fjords of Norway.

As you see it is a wonder I have ever completed anything. It’s a wonder I get anywhere or get anything done. My mind would much rather be taking its own journeys and creating its own adventures than to put too much stock in reality.  To say that I am a dreamer would be putting it mildly.  And while I have spoken of the challenges that it can cause me to face there are definitely perks.  Who among us has not longed for a departure from the same old?  I suppose I am lucky that an exciting trip or even a good book isn’t necessary.  In my mind, even when it isn’t the most efficient thing, and even amongst the simplest, most everyday things, the wonders never cease.