Essay: An Ode to the Senses

By Edith Gallagher Boyd

In order to combat a tendency for negative thoughts, several years ago I began to write a gratitude journal. I chose an unassuming copy book, one of those old-fashioned black books with white swirls. I didn’t want anything about my entries to become drudgery or just another chore, and  wanted the notations to sing with lightness. My parents’ natural lean into optimism and gratitude didn’t come easily for me.

My early entries spoke of my love for my family and friends. One of my uncles used to say “People are the best scenery.” Early on, I decided there would be no rules about how often I wrote in the copy book, or even if it made a lot of sense. My purpose was to veer to the positive and rejoice in this life I was given. One day, I just wrote about basketball. It was a great love of mine from the third grade until high school, and I spent many hours shooting hoops in practice or in games.

As an avid walker, I began to appreciate the sights and sounds of my tree-lined neighborhood with many rock-lined streams. Listening to the birds singing awakened something primal in me, and I decided to dedicate a portion of my gratitude book to rejoicing about the senses.
    
From birth, I have been gifted with all my senses and I would like to express gratitude to them for the gifts they have given me. Music of all kinds is a reminder of the glorious gift of hearing. Getting through the complexity of adolescence is greatly aided by the chords and sounds of music, however jarring they may sound to adults.

What hearing person has not rejoiced at the sound of an orchestra or a soloist reaching notes that go right into the soul…  How touching is the sound of mournful music played during a funeral service, as the music seems to understand the suffering of the bereaved? How joyful are the sounds of children playing in a school yard or a baby’s laughter?
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 A car horn’s blaring can be a life-saving event, and our ability to hear helps us avoid danger. 

The sense of touch is essential to a baby’s survival. Studies have been done about how detrimental  lack of touch can be in infancy. Touch sustains us from birth through adolescent hand-holding at the movies, to the touch of one’s beloved spouse. As a child, I loved the way my mother felt my forehead when I felt sick, before finding the mercury thermometer for a second opinion. 

After one of my walks, I began to notice the scent of chili I prepared in the crock pot, sparking memories of the comforting smell of my mother’s Sunday roast and my father’s Thanksgiving turkey. Many people have spoken of their grandmother’s cooking in the sense that no restaurant could ever compete. The sense of smell reinforces the nurturance we have received in our young lives.

Serving as kind of a welcomed twin to the sense of smell, is the sense of taste, which is difficult to describe and joyful in so many ways. …the taste of a salted ripe tomato, chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup. Those are some examples of foods I enjoy. The sense of taste for people is alike in many ways, but allows for differentiations. Hot peppers come to mind as something that people may differ on. Or dark beer, or cabernet wine. 

The beauty of vision is all-encompassing. To be able to see the face of your beloved, the white foam of a wave crashing into a jetty, or the sunset casting multi-colored ribbons in the sky are not easily described. The bright orange, red and yellow of fall leaves in New England  are a blessing bestowed to residents before the arrival of the bitter cold. 
The joy of vision can be less dramatic than sunsets or crashing waves. It can be watching a spider at work creating its’ web, or a squirrel scurrying up a tree. It can be watching a butterfly swoop into a garden, or an airplane cut through the clouds. It can be as simple as noticing a new design on a floral rug one has owned for years. 

My gratitude journal gave me a boost in positivity and crystalized my appreciation for the senses. 

Perhaps the next time I  see a palette of color at sunset, hear a bird chirping, or a beautiful  song playing on the radio, I will sing aloud with joy, grateful for the richness of this life, and sing aloud an ode to the senses.