Small Pleasures

I stopped for ice cream at our local ice cream shop a few days ago.  There was a line, and I chatted with friends as I waited my turn, enjoying watching several kids studying the front of the display case.  It was serious business, choosing a flavor and deciding between cup or cone and what kind of cone.  Wouldn’t it be great if that were the most serious decision kids had to make these days?  Wouldn’t it be great if that were the most serious decision any of us had to make?

I ordered my ice cream, paid my ticket and left the shop, heading for my truck.  As I walked down the street, licking drips to keep them from running down to my hand, I thought about how many times over the years people have walked down the street savoring the cold sweetness.  It’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all.  A small pleasure.

One of the best afternoons I ever spent was during an intense week-long horse show.  It had been a grueling 3 or 4 days in early August and I had a free afternoon with no classes that night.  I was staying with relatives in their upstairs bedroom and it was raining, a gentle summer shower that sometimes graces us during that time of year.  I lay across the bed, content in the knowledge that I didn’t have to hurry back to the show grounds.  I could not have moved if I had to – it was one of the most peaceful, restful afternoons I have ever enjoyed.  Lying across a bed listening to the rain with no place to go and no time to be there.  A small pleasure.

I remember hot afternoons floating down a meandering creek on a large inner tube, watching the patterns of sunlight through the trees, trailing my hands in the icy water and thinking about nothing in particular.  A simple pleasure and a feeling of contentment I wished would never end. 

I once watched two small boys poke a long stick at a bonfire for 30 minutes. My friend, who was also watching, looked at me and said, “Give a boy a stick.”  Simple pleasures.  I have no idea if they still remember that night and that bonfire and that stick.  But I do.

The first bite of a fresh tomato, from a garden you have tended.  Or the first corn on the cob, picked from the garden, shucked right there and rushed inside to a boiling pot of water.  A small pleasure that make the planting and hoeing worth every drop of sweat and every bug bite.

I remember a lunch break in the mountains, sitting with a sandwich on a rock beside a rushing stream, listening to the water and the birds.  Not in a fancy restaurant, and I have no memory of what kind of sandwich or whether the bread was fresh or the filling tasty.  But it was one of the best lunches I can ever remember.  A small pleasure. 

I have enjoyed laughter and love around a table so many times in my life, first with family and later with good friends who make even a quick lunch break special.  Even better are the long leisurely meals when time is limitless and the conversation makes even the most mediocre food taste like manna.  Late night after-horse-show meals are better than the ribbons we won during the show and help cement old friendships and make new ones.  There is just something about talking things over around a table of food.  One of my favorite songs is Crowded Tables, a song that captures my feelings perfectly, feelings about bringing us together when the day is done.  Simple pleasures.

There are simple words that can warm the heart, or in some cases, set a fire going in a heart.  A teacher says to a child, “You are a writer,” or “You are a real artist.”  And a dream is born.  Not just a small pleasure, but a small declaration that can change a life.  I try to remember how those words have changed my life so I can use them myself – children need to hear them.  Not to puff up an ego, but as an affirmation of who and what they are.

I have heard some great speeches and some inspiring sermons.  But more times than not, it’s been the smallest phrases or simplest words within those discourses that have touched me and stayed in my heart.  Simple words – simple pleasures.  The great songwriters – John Prine, Kristofferson, Dylan, Willie, Leonard Cohen – they understand the importance of simple words.

When all is said and done, there are great things in life, big events that impress and bring joy.  But I think it is the simple things that can, if not erase, at least hide in the back of your mind a hard day or an unpleasant job.  I think I will call the dogs, make an ice cream cone and sit on the porch now.  I feel the need for some small pleasures.

 

 

 

The Dragon's Head

 

One of my favorite books from years ago was The Hero and the Crown, by Robin McKinley. The plot of the book involves a quest by a young female misfit, who had to save her father’s kingdom by retrieving the lost crown.  By the time she returned from her adventures with the crown, her father’s army was losing the battle with the evil enemy.  She delivers the crown to her childhood friend and her father’s chosen heir in the nick of time, but not soon enough to save her father from his mortal wounds.

The scene that follows involves discovering why the kingdom’s fortunes had gone so wrong in her absence.  Why the mysterious miasma that permeated the kingdom and caused the hopelessness?  They trace the tendrils of darkness to a storage room in the castle, where the head of Maur, the defeated evil dragon, had been stored.  Even in defeat, the evil dragon had continued to infect the kingdom and its people with an aura of dark hopelessness. 

This was, of course, a fantasy book.  There are no dragons, at least in our world.  Not flesh and blood dragons.  But I think we all sense a fog of darkness over our world today.  Our modern dragons are more subtle and speak to us with deceptive voices.  “See that guy over there,” they say.  “He’s different.  He’s trying to take your stuff.”  Or, “She doesn’t believe like you do.”  As if practicing her belief somehow diminishes your belief.  “Those people,” they say, “are poor.  It’s their own fault.  They are coming to take what’s yours.  They don’t deserve what you have.”  Their voices are loud.  “Your rights are more important than their rights – it’s all someone’s else’s fault.”  And maybe even more insidious, “The end justifies the means.”

In the story, the hero and heroine roll Maur’s head out of the castle and down the road away from the castle gate, where it explodes into a fireball and changes the landscape into a vast desert.  Getting rid of our dragon head is not so easy.

Who will track down the source of the fog of fear and anger and hopelessness that infects so many of us today?  And how will they remove it?  A few brave souls try to shine their light brightly enough to overcome the darkness.  Musicians still write and sing songs, artists still paint, writers still write stories of hope and healing.  And some people just forge doggedly ahead, feeding the hungry, visiting the lonely, growing a garden, volunteering in the community, teaching the children - despite the forces that seem determined to undermine every source of light.

We don’t have a magical crown or a supernatural hero to rescue us.  All we can do is strike our small sparks of light and take a step or two forward into the darkness.  The flame may sputter, but we can cup a hand around it to protect it from the winds of hate and fear and greed. We have to remember that light will always be stronger than darkness.  We have to believe that love will always win.

 

Scout's Redemption

 

Not that he really needs it, but Scout has been busy lately redeeming himself.  For all his mischief and misconduct, his personality shines, especially when children are around.  Both he and Sophie love kids.  Sophie is very maternal and gentle, even with the smallest ones. 

Scout is a little more rambunctious, much to the delight of my young cousins, who are just the right age to enjoy his favorite games and to tolerate tumbles and dog kisses.

Their grandmother and I had a ring-side seat from the porch for the Olympics of Children and Dogs for several days this week.  The main event was tug-o-war.  The equipment was simple – a remnant of an old braided rug Scout had demolished last week.  The rope-like piece looked for all the world like a snake and had already given me several scares lying on the front porch, or in the grass in front of the porch.  It’s sort of a brownish/goldish color, just about the color of a rattlesnake and just about that size.  Just yesterday it almost gave a visiting friend a heart attack.  But it makes a grand toy for the dogs and their children.

Between rounds of games, both Sophie and Scout spent time begging to share the kids’ oreos, which are off limits because chocolate is bad for dogs.  The dogs believe that to be fake news, made up by their enemies.  I distracted them with their own treats, which are kept in a cabinet by the swing.  The kids think it’s funny that they know where the treat jar is and that they have to sit to be rewarded with a crunchy treat.  The funniest part is when I return the jar to the cabinet and say, “All gone.”  Both dogs know perfectly well that the treats are not all gone and both of them stare fixedly at the door then back at me.  I give Scout just about another week before he figures out he can open the door and get the treat jar out.  He’s been inspecting the handle carefully.  And he has great deductive reasoning skills.  I think he would make a great detective.

Scout has also taken on morning pasture patrol, even if the other dogs are otherwise occupied.  He has found the pond, with its muddy edges, and comes back with stinky mud halfway up his pretty white legs.  And so far (everyone knock on wood) he has not dug up anything in the garden.  During the hot part of the day, he and Sophie take up residence inside the house and only leave if an interesting car, truck or 4-wheeler appears.  Scout has just recently realized that he can bark.  Up to now, he has left that to Sophie, who is an expert.  She is especially good at barking at my bedroom window in the pre-dawn hours.  I keep explaining that I don’t care what’s out there as long as it doesn’t try to get in the house.

Bear has a high-pitched bark that pierces the ears, especially when he is asking to come inside.  No one can ignore his demands unless they have earplugs.  He has spent much of the last two or three weeks barking and staring at a tall nandina bush in front of the porch, where some unfortunate finches built a nest and raised a brood.  Once he discovered that there was a nest there, Bear kept a laser focus on it.  He couldn’t reach it and he never caught a bird, but he was determined to try.  Thankfully, the brood fledged successfully and are making a new home in the crabapple tree.  Bear’s obsession with birds at least gives me confidence that I will never be successfully attacked by a crazed flock of robins.

Bear also has a running feud with a lizard who lives under the concrete planter on the porch.  When Bear gives chase, the lizard scurries under the planter and Bear scratches and whines until he is distracted by a bird in the yard.  It keeps him busy.  Sophie watches with disdain. 

Sophie has always had an endearing habit of coming to my side when I am working on my computer and laying her head on my knee for caresses.  This may be why I don’t get as much writing done as I could – I cannot successfully type with one hand.  The other night, I felt a furry presence at my side and a familiar nose on my knee.  When I glanced down, it was not Sophie.  It was Scout.  I guess I will have to give up typing when they are in the house.  Because I am going to need two hands for collie loving.  As a matter of fact, I just noticed a nose on my knee.