A colleague (and friend), Lynda MacGibbon recently wrote a column in our local newspaper about glee. Specifically, it was the glee she felt when a woodpecker came knocking at her door. “It’s an odd, old word…”, she says, “meaning mirth or to express joy”. Hers was a simple story, about one of those meaningful moments, when creation touches us in a profound way. I like how Lynda writes. She sees the world with her heart, not her eyes. And I'm so glad she made me think about glee.
Glee. How often would you say you felt ‘gleeful’? Would you know what glee feels like? It’s bubbly. It’s childlike. It’s a ripple that starts deep and erupts on the surface…and it’s contagious.
Another writerly friend, Gwen, wrote to me about a very solemn conversation she had, through the bathroom window, with a barred owl. I remember how I laughed when I heard her story. And how envious I was. To speak with a barred owl - and have it speak back - is quite special... like a blessing.
One of my favourite memories of Gwen takes place when we were walking through the forest surrounding her home. We stopped for a moment and she called forth a gathering of chickadees and kinglets and sparrows with a “whish…whish…whish…”. They clustered about us in the branches, curious, singing back. I giggled, with wonder.
I tried this myself, one frigid cold winter’s day, with my mother. We were both delighted when a heavenly host of chickadees arrived to serenade us with their gleeful song.
What if we sought more moments of glee in our lives? What if we shared that glee with others?