Simple Pleasures

In the big pie of life, simple pleasures are probably the best slices.  They don't cost a lot of money or require hours of preparation.  Simple pleasures don't usually fill us with copious amounts of exuberance like when our favorite team wins the big championship game.  Or bring us jubilation like the birth of a child, or excitement like a wedding or other joyous celebrations.  But they inspire quiet moments of happiness in our every day lives.  For me it's the good feeling I get when I go to bed on a Friday night and realize when I wake up in the morning it will not be by that nagging alarm clock.  It's the sense of accomplishment I gain when a finished craft project turns out how I envisioned.  It's the delight of finding that incredible sale on just the item I was looking to buy.  It's the wonder I sense sitting outside on a summer night watching fireflies or gazing up at the moon and twinkling stars.  It's the tenderness I feel brushing my granddaughter's hair, or letting her put makeup on my face or polish on my nails.  Simple pleasures can also come from difficult or awkward situations.  Like the comfort I feel with a hug from someone who cares when I am troubled.  Or the reassurance from saying no when I really can't or don't want to do what is asked of me and the world does not come to an end.  It's also the relief I receive when I am forgiven and the release I experience when I forgive.  Every day comes with it's own unique assortment of simple pleasures.  Enjoy a slice or two.  

My Father

We sat looking over our menus, searching for the most appealing entree to order for lunch.  I looked over at my father.  His once dark brown hair is now thinner and nearly white, and his soft brown eyes reflect the wisdom and integrity of his soul.  He does not look quite as big and strong as in younger years, but he is far from frail.  His smile is sweet and at times a little ornery.  He sometimes wears his hearing aid that mom strongly encouraged him to buy, all the time insisting that it doesn't make a difference.

My dad and mom married over 50 years ago and he loves her dearly.  Some evenings they sit at home in the office face-booking, playing games or checking emails.  Inevitably Dad will start playing his polka music, he especially delights in listening to "The John Deere Polka."

He is a spiritual man who loves The Lord.  He is kind and generous.  When I visit him and Mom, I never go home empty handed.  He says, "take this home and use it." Or, "I got these on sale, take them home and give some to your kids and grand kids."  Dad enjoys a good meal.  Travel has always been a part of his job, and he looks forward to dining at his favorite restaurants while on the road.  At home he often dabbles in the culinary arts.  We are all quite fond of his beer bread, chili, and muffins.  He is also talented in woodworking and gardening, and has blessed his family with gifts of vegetables, birdhouses, squirrel feeders, benches and chairs.

The father of five children, he was smart, sometimes strict, and a good provider.  We had a nice home, plenty to eat, toys and clothes, and all that we needed.  His children brought him joy, and at times, frustration and heartache.  He was always there for us.  He is still there for us.  He is my rock.

We ordered lunch, and as we dined together we talked and Dad told a joke or two.  I thought about his life.
His great grandparents had migrated to the United States from Czechoslovakia, and settled in a farming community near Deweese, Nebraska.  I knew that my dad was born to a single unwed mother in 1937, and that he never knew his father. Pretty scandalous stuff for that era.  My dad, Joe, lived with his mom and his grandparents in Hastings.  His mother's sister, Chris, better known as Gracie, lived and worked on the family farm with her husband who was also named Joe.

At the tender age of 8 he lost his mother.  She died of bone cancer.  His grandparents and his aunt and uncle all petitioned for custody of little Joe.  The case went to court and the judge asked the young boy who he wanted to live with.  What an enormous difficult decision for an eight year old child to make.  The determination was made, and he moved to the farm with Joe and Gracie.  Maybe that is when they started calling him Junior.

I had seen pictures of my dad as a young boy.  I remembered some photos with him dressed in little sailor suits.  Others portrayed images of a typical childhood, with toys, bikes and kittens.  Most of the photos were from birthdays.  Dad and his mom, or Dad and Gracie standing outside in front of a tree, holding a birthday cake.  No elaborate parties on the farm, I guess.
 
Gracie did not have any children of her own so I imagine my dad worked pretty hard as a kid.  Probably gathered eggs, gardened, dressed a few hens, slopped pigs, plowed fields and harvested crops.  Dad has worked hard his whole life, and even though he is semi retired now, he is always doing some kind of work.

I remember when I was a child my dad was "always" making us work.  We had to clean the garage, pull weeds in the yard, pick up the dog poos, and do "general clean ups."  Although I thought I had it tough as a kid, I am thankful that dad made us work.  My brother and sisters and I are all hard working individuals today.  Okay, I admit, I still hate pulling weeds and my garage is kind of a mess, but I'll get it done, soon. Love you Pops!

Feeling Froggy

Facing an uncertain situation is tough.  I kind of feel like "Frogger" trying desperately to get back to my lily pad where my world is comfortable and familiar.  How do I navigate through this?   Do I try to force a resolution?  Attempt to swiftly maneuver across the highway and hope to succeed without being trampled? Frantically dodge in and out of obstacles coming from every direction?   If I move slowly and with caution I might make a miscalculation and be smacked by an unforeseen speeding truck.
How will I cross this perilous river?  Will I be able to land on a floating log that will help carry me to safety, or will I jump into the mouth of a crocodile who will devour me?  Riding it out on the back of a turtle may seem to be advantageous, but what if he suddenly vanishes and leaves me sinking?  What if I safely reach the riverbank only to be bitten by a snake?  The simple truth of the matter is that I can attempt to influence others by gentle persuasion, but in the end all I can really do is control my actions and reactions.

Everything Is Beautiful (In It's Own Way)

What a world we live in, there is beauty all around us.  God is an exquisite creator.  Look at the delightful colors and patterns in all of nature.  The striking black and white stripes of a zebra, the gorgeous blue and green feathers of a peacock, the unique markings of a calico cat, or the magnificent towering giraffe. Consider also the delicate white snowflake, the brilliant turquoise waters of the Caribbean sea, the vibrant green forest, and the bright twinkling stars in the night sky.

There are also numerous things that might not be considered beautiful at first glance, but if you look closer you may see something interesting or wonderful.  Observe the enchantment of and old weathered farm house or barn, the charm of a rugged brick road, the awe inspiring intensity of a twisting tornado, or the fascination of an intricately spun spider's web.

Of course it is true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  A chef might find a big steaming pot of jambalaya to be beautiful.  A scientist marvels at the beauty of cells and bacteria viewed through a microscope.  There are folks who find tattoos to be beautiful, sometimes the more body inked the more beautiful.

Me?  I see beauty in all sorts of things.  For instance I love old beat up mismatched cars and trucks.  What you might refer to as a bucket of bolts, a clunker, a hoopty, an ol' jalopy, or a POS.  The finish lacks luster, rust is everywhere and maybe the hood, back fender and door are all different colors.  I am intrigued by the sort of whimsical charm and curiousness they possess.  What is their story?  What situations have they endured? What fate has carried them to this extent?  Maybe the appeal is that I can relate somehow.  Events and struggles in life may have dulled a bit of my shine and some of my skills have become a little rusty.  I do not have the body I would like to have, and through the miles I have lost some speed.  But I would like to think that I still have some appeal and value.  I'll keep rolling along with determination and reliance on the "Great Mechanic."

A Gentle Rain

As I sit in my office tonight I can hear the sound of the rain gently falling outside.  Looking out my window I see occasional flashes of lightning.  Flickers of light revealing the yard for just a second or two before the cloak of darkness returns.  Droplets of water sparkle as they splash and dance on the solar lights.  The house is quiet except for the sound of the rain, and the periodic snorts and shifting noises coming from my two napping dachshunds.  Tonight my soul is quiet as well.  No berating myself about failures or issues I have yet to overcome.  Faint whispers of worriment and uncertainty come now and then, but I manage to keep them at bay.  I do have some goals that I would like to accomplish this week, and I am contemplating starting a new craft project, but tonight I am just focusing on the rain.  Just focus on the rain...  

Troy's birthday

On May 11, 1981 a baby was born in Wichita, Kansas.  He was given the name Troy Thomas Smith.  This adorable boy with big blue eyes and curly blonde hair was much loved by his family.  As he grew he was always on the go and had a knack for getting into trouble.  Troy did not enjoy school much, but he did love participating in many sports such as soccer, baseball, basketball and football.  Over the years Troy proved to be quite a challenge for his mother.  A couple of memorable exploits included piercing his own ear and shooting a neighborhood dog with a BB gun, however the later was never actually proved.  Troy grew up to be a handsome hardworking man who shows appreciation to his mom not only with his words but also by bringing her an occasional 5-pack of beer.  Today Troy enjoys the country life with his beautiful wife, Heather, and their dapper young sons, Kaleb and Keaton.  His favorite college football team is the Nebraska Corn Huskers and favorite NFL team is the Indianapolis Colts.  To say Troy gets a little worked up watching a football game is an understatement.  Troy loves to ride his motorcycle and often rides along with his dad and his brother, Shawn.  He really has a good time when his biker babe, Heather, accompanies him.  Troy would like to be Superman.  His entire family thinks he is a super man.  Happy 30th birthday Troy! 

                     

If I Could

I wish I was a songwriter.  I would blend clever lyrics with an unforgettable melody. Maybe something bold and bodacious or something smooth and captivating.  Sure to become a classic!

I long to be an author, word slinger, originator of word.  I would inscribe a best selling novel or a collection of short stories, or maybe an acclaimed newspaper column.  The scoop!

Oh, if I could paint.  I would brush on, slather, stipple, smear and spread paint all over my canvas.  My paintings could hang in a gallery and be none too shabby!

I dream of performing.  Maybe an actress, eloquent and accomplished.  Or a comedian, offering a diversion from everyday plight with hilarity and wittiness.  Funny business! 

Imagine me a top rate cook, a culinary artist.  I could blanch, braise, fry and fricassee to my heart's content.  I could open a restaurant and my patrons would line up outside and wait just to dine on the divine cuisine.  Bon Appetit!

Sometimes I make up silly little songs and sing them with my grandchildren.  I love to compose little snippets, not unlike this one.  It helps me release my inner creativity.  In my craft room I paint and scrapbook and none of my work hangs in a gallery, but paintings done by my grandchildren hang on my walls.  At times I act as if everything is okay when it is not.  I always enjoy a good laugh with my friends.  My son raves about my meatloaf, although to me it's just meatloaf.  My children come and dine with me and it fills my heart with joy to see the wonderful people they have grown to be.  How sweet it is to spend time with my parents who are still sweet on each other. Some days are good some days are bad.  No matter the day, always be glad for what you have!