Mindful of my body...

My friend George Fontana once remarked "this getting old ain't for sissies".

Last night I was acutely reminded of that as I embarked on "Exercises for the Independence of the Fingers". (Time to get back to playing seriously as well as tuning.) Movements I could execute effortlessly in my 20s were stessful. After less than fifteen minutes my hands were so racked with pain I no longer could move them.

With that pain came the realization I'm just going to have to be more patient and work even harder to gain back the physical strength and agility I once had. But I'm determined to play Scriabin once again -- and play his exquisite music even better than I did before.

With age also comes understanding. Six sharps are no longer a problem, but patience is. Our challenge is to remember each moment as a gift and bless the body we do have. It's so easy to focus on the pain; yet it's our attitude toward the pain that makes the difference -- whether we give into it or grow through it.

Thich Nhat Hanh provides a different kind of exercise to help with the mental side of the ageing process.

There are so many things that can provide us with peace. Next time you take a shower or a bath, I suggest you hold your big toes in mindfulness. We pay attention to everything except our toes. When we hold our toes in mindfulness and smile at them, we will find that our bodies have been very kind to us. We know that any cell in our toes can turn cancerous, but our toes have been behaving very well, avoiding that kind of problem. Yet, we have not been nice to them at all. These kinds of practices can bring us happiness.

Well, it's time to go get a shower then off to work -- perhaps with a different attitude.

Ranger's take on flow...

My cat Ranger's accuracy for predicting the alarm clock's cheerful greeting is (usually) within nano-seconds. The first thing I see each morning are a set of inquisitive eyes ready to begin the day's adventure -- at least until the next nap. If I don't make my exit from under the covers quickly enough I'm then gently reminded by paws kneading my chest there are some priorities that need attending. Food for cats now, food for thought later.

With that need met, he then proceeds to instruct me about how to enjoy the day. Every object he encounters in the room is a source of awe or a potential playmate. The laundry basket is filled with wonders -- if only they can be extracted. The spot on the floor I overlooked when cleaning needs some investigation -- pounce. The ball left next to the stove is clearly misplaced. A new game -- leap and roll. And finally, ready for the next nap, the blanket on the ottoman must be arranged precisely.

Each encounter is a study in absolute concentration -- then with mission accomplished he moves on. The joy with which he approaches each adventure of the morning is a reminder that true treasure lies in the ability to seize each moment of life we're afforded. In some ways there really isn't a lot more we need to know.