Why? The long and short of it

THE SHORT 

The lifespan of a daylily bloom is a day. The lifespan of a day, too, is a day. Each beautiful, in its own way. Each vanishing so quickly.

For seven years, off and on, I've paid attention to my days by keeping a gratitude journal and logging "five things, every day," as a friend advised me. I started posting these lists on Facebook, and some people seemed to like them, and to respond to the question, "How was your day?" I decided to rename, redesign and repurpose an old blog to offer these lists in a more public place. I intend to do this daily, for a year, with the official starting date of Aug. 25, 2014. 

Thank you for reading. I hope my lists help you think about your days and find something to be glad about in each of them. I hope today is a beautiful day in your neighborhood. 

THE LONG

Imagine this as notes on a series of index cards. Shuffle them and read in whatever order you wish.

Blue Dog in a Red Cape

     Years ago, a band I was in played a set at a funky festival in the River Market pavilions in downtown Little Rock. We were on a raised stage, with a good view of the whole grounds. As we played I noticed a woman arrive with a blue dog wearing a red cape. The dog was Smurf blue and the cape was Superman's-cape red. After our set was over and we hauled our stuff offstage and regrouped at ground level, I said something about the blue dog.
     "What blue dog?"
     "The blue dog in the red cape."
     My four bandmates looked at me the way you do when someone says something crazy that no one believes. I was the only one who'd seen it.
     I looked around, spotted the woman and her dog, and walked to them. The dog was a white dog, kind of like Dennis the Menace's, which she had dyed blue for the occasion. I asked whether she would walk over to my friends because they didn't believe me. She obliged. We came up behind them and I said something and they turned around. One of them jumped, like one of those loose-limbed toy figures strung with elastic that go floppy when you press the base of the pedestal. "Lordy, it's a blue dog in a red cape!" he said.
     When I started this blog back in 2008, the first name I considered for it was Blue Dog in a Red Cape. Because we see things. And we want to show someone. Or to tell someone later, if no one is there to see.

Carp Diem

   The first actual name of this blog was Seize the Carp. The banner at the top had a photo of a koi pond in Santa Fe, and this is what I said about it:
     Ideas float into the mind and out again, like a fish glimpsed for a moment in clear water. Or a fish suddenly coming into view in a huge aquarium.
     Something remarkable floats into life every day. Into each life. Something superlative, a best of the day, a most of the day.
     Seize the Carp is about noticing the remarkable, dipping the net into the waters of what is witnessed and presenting the catch of the day.
     Seize the Carp is strictly catch-and-release. 

     I'd say that's still true about Daylilies. 

Gratitude Journal

   In 2007, when I was going through a rough patch, my friend Peggy told me to start a gratitude journal. "Five things, every day," she insisted. I obeyed, logging things in a little notebook on my bedside table every night before lights out. Sometimes I had to be creative to come up with five. (There were, there are, always more than five things in a day to be glad about. I just wasn't able to see them.) Then there were days when I could name seven, or ten. Then one day I listed twenty.
     I'm on Volume 9 now. It was one of the best pieces of advice I've ever been given. It makes a difference. You could Google it and spend a whole afternoon reading rationales and testimonials and how-tos. But really, all you need to do is open a little notebook, or take a piece of paper, and write five things. And do it again the next day. And the next.
     There are variations on the practice, various names for it or ways to think about it: giving thanks, gratitude, counting your blessings, a thousand gifts, the joy dare, today's goods, stuff that made you glad, Examen lite. Some folks would call it, and I have even called it, a spiritual discipline. I would stand by that, and if you wanted to know more about what I meant, we could meet at a table with some good food, and I could tell you. But at its simplest, it is a habit. 

Daylilies, and the Dayness of a Day 

     The formal name for daylily is Hemerocallis, derived from two Greek words meaning "beauty" and "day."
     In the last home where I lived, we had daylilies out front. I remember the day a neighbor across the street was digging some of hers up and dividing them, and we went over and got some and brought them back and planted them. They flourished, as daylilies do.
     "Daylilies are rugged, adaptable, vigorous perennials that endure in a garden for many years with little or no care," according to a horticulture professor's article on growing them. "Daylilies adapt to a wide range of soil and light conditions."
     So do we.
     A day can be like a daylily bloom — fresh and tight in the morning, unfolding through the hours, sagging and spent by dark. It closes, and another opens. In some ways, it resembles all the others; in some ways, it is unlike any before or to come.

Spath Lily, and the Yearness of a Year

     I've kept this Spath lily alive for a year now.
     It rode 900 or so miles with me, from my father's funeral to my home, through too much sun and too much heat. Spath is short for its genus, Spathiphyllum. It's also called a peace lily, and I privately think of it as a funeral lily, because in my experience that's its point of entry into a life.
     Peace lilies don't need much. They like to be away from direct sunlight, and to be given water once a week. They're a good plant for someone who is grieving but needs the simple, good work of keeping something alive.
     The one-year mark after the death of someone close to you is, in some ways, an imaginary waypoint. Still, it is a waypoint, a way to mark where you've been and where you are. A year ago I was spending some evenings curled in the fetal position on the end of the sofa nearest the plant. Now when I sit there it's to read. I recently learned that these plants remove some toxins from the air. So it's been taking care of me while I've been taking care of it.
Aug. 25, 2014, was my starting point for this venture because Aug. 25, 2013 was the day I brought the lily home after being away for a month, and began to get reacquainted with my home and my life here. 

Daily News

For 18 years I have worked at a daily newspaper. I like working there, for many reasons. But the news is not always good — both the news we print and the news indoors. These lists are a way to look for and publish the small good news. 

Now. To read the days themselves, please click Home. Thanks for reading.