A glorious life?

It's the last day of May and tomorrow the official first day of Winter. I can't say that I'm looking forward to it ~ I prefer Autumn ~ the yellow and brown leaves underfoot. Life is more a struggle in the colder weather - although one could possibly say that life is just as much a struggle in hot weather, either way, the attempt to maintain comfortable body temperature is paramount. I was thinking this morning whether there might be such a thing as a glorious ordinary life? The cycle of life demands that each and every one of us eat, sleep, evacuate and clean our bodies. For most of us work (paid or unpaid) is also paramount to our well-being. Those with power, those without ~ those who are deemed to have risen above the ordinary by their extraordinary actions are still slaves to their bodily needs. So, what then is a glorious ordinary life? Is it possible that the ordinary is in itself magnificent? Surely not, you might say, for the ordinary things that I have mentioned have little merit in themselves. Why would eating, sleeping, defecating or washing ourselves be at all splendid? Banalities could never be exalted! And yet the predictable is necessary. Without the commonplace and certainty of our desire to keep the body alive we would succumb to fatigue, illness and possibly death. And speaking of certainties, death itself is banal, trite in this sense of the ordinary life. Isn't the wonderment of bodily processes themselves something to praise, be seen as glorious? But, is this really what I was speaking of when I asked is there such a thing as a glorious ordinary life. I suppose that what I was really trying to get at was, could just living, working, seeing others, contributing in the way we do (and we all contribute in different ways) be enough to be considered glorious. Even fame is short lived! Heroes and villains alike must eventually return to commonplace ~ everyday activities. There is a beggar in the city who sits or stands for most of the day outside a department store. There's an old hat on the ground in front of him for coins. Everyday, Summer or Winter he wears the same clothes and warm mittens. He sways back and forth muttering - I assume that at some point his words were audible, but he has repeated them so many times everyday over the past years that they have become an imperceptible jumble. His work and life repetitive, his glorious, ordinary life!