It's the little things that make us happy

Okay, it's the great big things too.

Yesterday I was jogging and staring at the IPod in my hand when a car passed by.  What he saw--the unseen driver of the unknown car--wouldn't have struck him as anything unusual.  We've all seen it; we see it every day.  The grocery shopper with a phone in one hand, yakking away as he loads up his cart.  The theatergoer with bowed head, doing a last scan of email before the curtain rises.  The table of teenagers in the food court, sharing time and space but each holding their own little world in their palm.

I never expected to be one of them, yet there I was.  In defense of myself, I have to explain that I was trying to figure out why my book was seeming to jump chapters--had it gotten accidentally set on "shuffle"?   Listening to a book with the Ipod in shuffle mode can be unusually challenging.   But whatever my excuse, I was choosing to look down instead of up.  Fixing my eyes on a 2x5-inch screen instead of sun and trees and clouds.  Keeping my brain firmly enclosed in the man-made world while my feet pounded pavement...and even the feet were wrapped up in plastic and nylon.  I was insulated--bound up in my bubble.

I read the other day about how vitamin B-12 deficiency was rare in vegetarians of the old days, possibly because poorer food washing procedures left traces of soil which contains the microorganisms that produce B-12.   It's also true that plants grown in healthy soil will absorb B-12, but I prefer to think that it's the dirt in the eyes of my home-grown potatoes that is bestowing a gift from Mother Nature.  We often treat Mother Nature like the fallen star in Stardust and apply the curse the witch put on--you will neither hear her nor feel her; you will not see her even if she is standing right in front of you.

Not that I want to see dirt.  I can't abide dirt on my food.  I wouldn't buy potatoes with clumps of sticky mud.  I wash spinach in three changes of water to eliminate any clinging sand.  When I bring in a bunch of bean pods carrying cute little "green loper" caterpillars, I banish the livestock to the compost bucket.  I'd rather pop a pill than eat a worm.

But I'm going off-topic here.  The point is, I am just as likely as the next person to banish Mother Nature from my daily existence. I'll turn on a book while driving on a limited-access freeway; text silly messages to my kids when I'm stuck in line at the grocery store; surf the web in my palm when I'm waiting at the movie theater.  But when I'm outdoors, in her world, I ought to be there.  To be looking up and out and around; hearing birds instead of words; seeing the litter at the sides of the road (otherwise how would I think to pick it up?) I should be thinking about the wind blowing against my cheeks and the uneven tilt of rocks under my feet; the funny scuffling noise my shoes make on gravel. 

And maybe if I didn't have the man-made world in my palm I'd spend less time driving on freeways, standing in line, or waiting for the movie to start.  Maybe I'd spend less time killing time.