I’ve always tried to embrace simple pleasures. They’re cheaper, I’m more likely to find them, and I feel a little closer to being the person I’m supposed to be when I engage in that type of joy vs. highfalutin joy. And the past two days have delivered in a big way on simple pleasures.
In honor of simplicity, I’ll try to be brief:
• In a freakish and miraculous occurrence, my son slept until nearly 11:00 am yesterday. This is absolutely unprecedented. It is the latest he’s ever slept, and probably one of only 4 or 5 times this year that he’s slept past 8:00 am. He just doesn’t sleep late. But he did. I had time to watch the "Today" show, drink my coffee while it was still hot, get online for more than 2 minutes at a time, and do chores. Ah, blessed chores. I first scurried, then slowed a tad, and finally savored the laundry, the bed-making, the loading of the dishwasher, all performed at a leisurely pace and without guilt. Why would I normally feel guilt? Because typically, as I complete these daily tasks, there’s a small voice near me saying, “Mama, come play! Mama, let’s read this. Mama, come build a tower with me! Mama, come ON!” And I hurry to do the minimum amount of duties as quickly as possible so as to sooner satisfy that insistent little voice. As I meandered about the house in silence, I kept thinking, “This is how the other half lives. All those parents with sleepy children, this is what they get to do every day.” I was momentarily irked, but it was such a blissful time that I couldn’t stay irked for long. Then the little guy awoke, and my quiet retreat ended. However, we were both truly refreshed.
• In the midst of summer, when you’re overrun with tomatoes, you forget that a day will come when the tomatoes are gone. We had several grape tomato plants that flourished last summer, and for weeks, perhaps months, we had lovely little grape-sized fruits on them every day. We cooked them, sliced them, ate them like grapes (hence the name), put them in salad, grilled them on sticks, even shared some. But we wearied of them. We took them for granted. They were so plentiful, you see—we couldn’t imagine a world where the wonderful little red and yellow gems would be a distant memory. Still, I did organize myself on some less than stifling days, and I gathered large amounts of them and cooked them down for several hours to freeze. I stashed them in the freezer and thought no more of them. Until today. Today, I pulled a bag and thawed it. I mixed it with little bay scallops and garlic and a sprinkling of Romano cheese, and I plunked a large amount of it over some thin spaghetti. And you know what? It was divine. The rich, sweet, thick tomato blobs were not of this world—they made my mouth sing. They brought back all those hot days, standing in the son with my little boy, both of us picking from the prolific plants and tossing our loot in a big tin bucket. Those dear tomatoes honestly made me forget, if for a moment, that I’d shivered my way across a windy, snow-covered parking lot earlier this morning. I’m so, so thankful that I made the boiling effort last summer.
Go find some simple pleasures, people. They’re out there for the taking! Well, they are if your early riser sleeps in, or if you took the time to boil last August. Maybe you’ve had some of your own simple pleasures of late. If you can share them here (tee hee—family friendly pleasures only, please!), then feel free to do so.