The Big (and More Importantly) the Small of it All

“Leroy bet me I couldn’t find a pot of gold at the end, and I told him that was a stupid bet because the rainbow was enough.”
~Rita Mae Brown

I hear people talk about not bothering with the small things, instead, focus on the big things in life.
But I love the small stuff, to me, that is the GOOD stuff.

Most everything that I find enjoyable is little.
I don’t care about big parties, extravagancies or big vacations. (Been there, done that, 
bought the t shirt.)

I prefer the conversation between Dave and I taking a ride in the country on a Sunday.
A cup of coffee before anyone wakes up, on the porch.
The way my daughter smiles in relief at me when she recognizes my car at school dismissal.
How good it feels to be welcomed home, even if only by the dog.

Those small things, those daily gifts are precious.
To me, the big things, are the unimportant things.
Because they’re fleeting.

My mother used to say, “Big and fast, won’t last.”
She was right.
It applies to just about everything, from snowfall to relationships.

My kids repeat those words to me, whenever there’s a flash thunderstorm or a heavy snow. It calms us, because it’s true.
Her words of wisdom transcend time and her presence.

Those Big plans seem to lose their stamina. While family, coffee and a sunrise seem to hang right in there.

Lately, I feel like I must be the opposite of most people. I think that this summer really changed my perspective about a lot of things. Mostly about how the world sees me and what I’m putting out there to be seen, by the world.

Am I leaving a positive presence? Am I taking care to see that the people I love, know it. Is there enough emphasis on the “now” of it all?

I used to be compelled to get as much done as I could in a day, a week, a year. But now I find that by going slower, by taking a moment in the time I’m being afforded, to appreciate just being present… that, is where peace lives.

Because anxiety, fear and anger like the big stuff. They love the mayhem of it all.

Give me the little.
The seemingly insignificant.
I’ll treasure it.
And I’ll even buy the T-shirt.

 

If I Could Save Time, in a Box

“Instead of deadlines and dread, my home now smells like strawberry-apple bread and joy. I should bake more often.”
~Dr. SunWolf

I love our dining room.
Unfortunately, lately, we haven’t spent enough time here.
Taking time.

While scrolling through my news feed I noticed a lot of online food subscriptions for pre-planned meals. I am sure they are delicious, in fact a friend of mine makes them quite regularly with aplomb and applause.

But it made me wonder why they are so popular and it got me thinking…

I think that home cooked meals, the idea of cooking for your loved one or loved ones, has always been a sign of affection. It means something to make something for someone, even if it is simply a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Over the years, we have tried everything to make our lives more convenient, by adding drive thrus, delivery, cell phones and computers and gadgets to streamline our efficiency.

But somewhere along the way, we lost something.

I think we long for the nostalgia of the dinner table, the carefully prepared roast and potatoes, a house that echoes with the aroma of familiar, hearty, meals. It makes us feel comforted, like a hug from the past.

We started filling in that dinner time prep with scheduled sports, social activities away from the house, online shopping or simply a two income working family that just doesn’t have time to get the food to the table and we have in many ways, forgotten how.

And I think collectively, we realize that we miss it.

We watch series reminiscent of the 1970’s and 80’s because those times were quite simply, simpler times. There was no Facebook, Twitter, Netflix, or Internet. Our social time was friends or family in person, or not at all.

Growing up, dinner was our family board meeting. It was a time when we gathered, passed bowls, talked about our day, shared school troubles, last minute requests for school project supplies (that were due the next day) and we watched as our parents, communicated successfully, across a floral tablecloth and a tub of Country Crock.

Deep down, I think we need that connection and we just can’t master it with a pizza box and a Chick fil a sandwich.

We need ceremony.

Even something as easy as a ceramic plate and a real fork change the conversation, create a mood and remind us of our days when family, was all we knew, and naturally, undervalued.

These past few months I have been trying hard to rekindle that spark of familiarity within my memory and add it to my everyday life.

Because I too, lost it somewhere.

But I am finding it, a little bit more every day thanks to my Express Cooker and shutting down a lot of my social networking online, getting back to meeting friends in person and dedicating more time to meal planning when I can.  I am definitely determined.

We need to recognize the fluff and nonsense in our lives and rid ourselves of it. Practice the art of conversation with friends and family and gather and laugh in the comfort of genuine relationships.
And make food.
Real Food.
Even if it is something as simple as a peanut butter sandwich.

Whatever it takes, to get loved ones gathered around dinner on a semi regular basis, I am going to do that.

Whether it comes to the door in a box or arrives in bags from the grocery, I will take the time to sit and enjoy the food and the conversation.

And I am going to make it last as long as I can.

Happy, healthy, and homemade tastes delicious!

Bon appetit!