Ollie, the beloved camel and resident of the Round Barn Merinos working sheep farm, died on Saturday, February 22, 2020. His presence in the pasture among indigenous sheep always brought a smile to my face as I commuted along US-7 to my Middlebury office. I wasn’t alone. Travelers and tourists frequently pulled over on the roadside and posed for selfies with the irrepressible (two-humped] Bactrian camel—close-ups that seemed to please all the participants in the photo-shoot!
I’m saddened by his death, and only now in his absence made aware of how much fun and joy Ollie’s presence brought me, especially on days when commuter doldrums or weighty personal or professional issues put me in a funk. While speeding by, I often imagined him winking all or one of the four eyelids on his left or right eye, checking out curiosity seekers while maintaining a regal posture—curious and aloof in camel-like fashion.
My iconic four-legged Ferrisburgh neighbor’s death awakened me from the sleep of taking for granted life events and people with whom I cross paths—large and small pleasures, loved ones and friends, patients, acquaintances, and even strangers for and with whom a shared greeting may, for a brief moment, enrich and make a difference in a life. Life is short, too brief for unnecessary “sleep” that seduces me into taking life for granted, and foolishly believing in permanence when impermanence is life’s constant message.
Thank you, Ollie.
Author Denis Johnson states: “Write naked. That means to write what you would never say. Write in blood. As if ink is so precious you can’t waste it. Write in exile, as if you are never going to get home again, and you have to call back every detail.”
Though his words are intended for writers they may also apply to my practice of gratitude, being grateful. May I be thankful with naked abandon, grateful in life-giving word and deed, express gratitude in ways I’ve thought but shunned, too embarrassed, proud or posturing to preserve a self-image but doing so now as if it’s my only opportunity to do so.
During David Marchese’s interview with Sonny Rollins in The New York Times Magazine on February 21, 2020 (“The Jazz Icon Sonny Rollins Knows Life Is A Solo Trip”), the saxophone colossus reflects on a lifetime of being grateful “that he was able to do music,”and “that giving is better than getting.”
Loved ones and family have embraced me with love for which I’m grateful, especially during those times when I’ve been testy and difficult, a distant partner.
Friends have likewise been loving, even in times when they’ve rolled their eyes at “Roger being Roger,” but nonetheless stayed faithful to their love. I’m grateful for them.
It has been a privilege, which I embrace with gratitude, to be engaged in the practice of the gentle art of psychotherapy, to be invited into people’s lives, to share in their sorrows and joy. Thank you for inviting me in.
In the opening scene of Shakespeare’s play, The Second Part of King Henry the Sixth, Henry states: “Oh Lord, that lends me life, lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!” My version, expressed daily but too often by rote goes like this: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, and for your gifts, named and unnamed, known and unknown, remembered and forgotten, I give you thanks.” I often add, like the man who dropped to his knees at Jesus’ feet, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!”
If I’ve tested the love of others by harmful words and flawed behavior I’ve certainly done so with God, whose existence and commitment I challenge, question and frequently doubt. I’m grateful for God’s unwavering love, and though not always showing it in my life, brought to my knees in gratitude.
One week has passed since Ollie died. This morning, as I drove into nearby Vergennes with trash and recycling materials, I slowed to a crawl going by the pasture where he grazed and roamed. Traffic was light and I saw no cars following me. A lone bouquet of flowers had been attached to the post and wire fence that kept the animals safe. The pasture was empty, but I smiled and waved anyway, grateful for memories and my reawakening to gratitude. Ollie’s death occurred as I’d thought about gratitude—and that’s the rub, thinking rather than being grateful–reminding me to be actively open to mystery, to resist the ease of taking life for granted, and stop putting off until tomorrow what stirs in my soul today.
by 
Thank you, Roger. Thank God for Vermont camels and all things exotic and incongruous.
Gary,
Thanks for reading and reminding me that Vermont camels, “and all things exotic and incongruous” abide under and in the same tent!
Roger
Gary,
We Vermonters live under a big tent that includes camels “and all things exotic and incongruous,” most of the time! Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
This post is beautifully phrased and touches me in its commonality in
the many times we bypass gratitude to ask for more. Thank you for pointing out that the simplest of things, many personal experiences and loving acts of kindness can be so powerful when viewed through the lens of acceptance. Great writing.
Mary,
Thank you for your support, reading and commenting–a simple act of gratitude that’s much appreciated from you, a fellow writer who looks through the lens regardless of what’s on the other side.
Roger.
Thank you for the picture and the introduction to Ollie. It brought me joy, a snicker and gratefulness on a bah evening .
Dona,
Snickers are underrated so glad you had a camel-like one on a bah evening. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
Roger
I love your remembrance of Ollie and through your thoughtful descriptions can share in his majestic presence in VT. One question for me … how did Ollie come to reside in your neck of the woods?
Rich,
Flowers are accruing by the roadside. He came from Wisconsin and though I suspect cheese wasn’t part of his diet Badger politics probably suited him in the Green Mountain state. Thanks for reading and commenting.
Roger
Remembering to practice being present to God’s world, I sat down to my lunch and marveled at the contrasting colors of the cottage cheese and tomatoes. Reminds me of the Einstein quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” I find it easy to see life as a miracle, though I too let it slip by under-noticed and under-appreciated. Thanks, Roger, for your share.
Ned,
Thanks for reading and commenting. I can picture the “contrasting colors,” something I certainly would have taken for granted but now provide a mini-portrait into what’s available for wonderment if I’m patient and take the time to look and listen.
Thanks,
Roger
Very thoughtful Doc. I remember him when I went to school with you. You are so reight and so was Sonny. Love you Gary and Helen
Hi,
Sonny and Ollie. Sax colossus and exotic gift-inducing ship of the desert. Thanks for reading and commenting and love to you both.
Roger
Oh, so sweet, that photo of Ollie, and your description of the delight he provided, while living his life in that pasture with the sheep. Surely he was one of God’s creatures meant to bring pleasure, whimsical and wonderous thoughts, as well as deeper searching and awareness, helping you to find your gratitude. I love the simple truths you brought into this piece with Sonny Rollins’ perspective about his gratefulness for being able to do music and that giving is better than getting. How fortunate you have been in sharing the joys and sorrows of those you have welcomed into your gentle art of psychotherapy.
Your writing about all this says to me that you are more of a believer than a doubter. And now, I am rolling my eyes and thinking that’s Roger being Roger. RIP, dear Ollie! Write on, mon ami!
Colette,
Thank you, and Ollie did stimulate “whimsical and wonderous thoughts.” I hope to write on and continue [best I can] “Roger being Roger.”
Roger
What can Ollie teach us about the Creator? Even he is fearfully and wonderfully made. And he, sometimes, does a better job of glorifying his maker! Great story telling. The moral was well received.
Cy
Cy,
Thank you, and your point well received!!!
Roger
Wow Roger,
Your words;
“ Life is short, too brief for unnecessary “sleep” that seduces me into taking life for granted, and foolishly believing in permanence when impermanence is life’s constant message.”
I was on the road when you posted this but now am in Geyserville for three weeks with my daughter who is working remotely. Life certainly looks different today through the filter of fear of the virus.
I have been expecting you to post about our current world situation but see that you already did. I lost a dear friend this month and spent several days in mourning with his wife. It was completely unexpected after a toe surgery. Life is certainly fragile and treating it so frees us to embrace whatever God sends our way with a modicum of grace and faith. Thinking of those dear children of God who have blessed and encouraged me in my journey causes me to rejoice and be grateful
Kay,
Thank you for these words and the thoughts and feelings that are driving them. Keep that faith alive even when it smolders for it will renew it’s flame. We all know the hackneyed phrase “life is short,” but to those of us who can take it into our daily walk–Amen and keep going. I too grieve for the death of your friend.
Roger