Relative Something

“It was such a beautiful day!” they said, expressing a level of astonishment over the change. A slow rumble of nearby thunder wafted through the open porch windows. I checked the radar for the umpteenth time to find the orange and yellow blobs covered in lightning bolts were still morphing amoeba-like just north of our lake. That storm cell had been hovering close for the last 45 minutes during which we sporadically received periods of just enough rain to make things wet.

The air was strikingly still.

Is it all that unusual for a thunderstorm to occur on the tail end of a beautiful day? I don’t think so.

In a way, I envy that level of becoming amazed by things that aren’t necessarily all that amazing. At the same time, it defies my sense of reality. I had just finished reading an account of the rescue operation after an incident where four people in two canoes had been swept over a waterfall in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness along the Canadian border in northern Minnesota.

It made me acutely aware of how everything can be completely fine in the moments before the onset of a tragedy.

How do we know when the calm we are experiencing at any given time is a breath away from the unexpected? In a way, it’s much more dramatic and amazing how common it is that nothing unexpected suddenly pops up. (I don’t mean to disrespect people who deal with mental health issues that involve symptoms of uncontrolled anxiety and maybe suffer a constant concern for possible looming calamities.)

People certainly have differing levels of perceptions. I can be embarrassingly oblivious to some scenery that means a lot to others. On our drive up to the lake last Thursday, Cyndie’s mom frequently marveled over the glorious summer views out the window. As we passed through the third or fourth town which triggered repeated amazement over lawns mowed or the floral arrangements displayed, it occurred to me how little I was feeling moved by the views.

From a farm just as we got started to Turtle Lake, Cumberland, and Spooner. They all elicited gleeful wonderment from Marie over the healthy displays of summery blooms. My lack of enthusiasm became increasingly apparent to me as her appreciative comments rang anew. Part of me wished to be equally amazed. The rest of me felt perfectly satisfied just the way I am.

Arriving at the lake, Cyndie’s and Marie’s first priority was assessment and care for the potted plants strategically stationed around the house.

That did not amaze me one bit.

I was much more surprised by the fact that the looming storm last night never arrived. Based on the view of the radar screen, it just lost steam and fell apart. Potential tragedy averted.

This morning, I’m feeling ready to take better notice of how amazingly beautiful our surroundings are here at the lake, rain or shine.

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