Happy in the Little Things

The brass decorated door slot—yes, it’s old-fashioned—opens nosily. The mail carrier slips a pile of postmarked goodies into my open palms. So exciting. Well, most of the time. I’m always hoping for that special well-wish, or an invitation to something … or at least an expected magazine. Perhaps winnings from some contest. Ugh. Nothing good. But then an odd shaped envelope falls to the side and I catch it. Heart thumping, it is quickly turned over. On no, a bill!

Yet I am grateful for kindly post workers who stomp through the snow.

My home is established with many wonderments that are so usual they become invisible. A knob turned just so creates a giant stream to soap the dishes, wash the clothes and flush the toilet. There is many a glass to fill and enjoy. Turning the dial in the wall outlet, warm air gushes forth, pushing aside the chill. And with flick of a switch, darkness is instantly banished. Plus, there is all the other gadgetry sitting in every corner that makes life easier. No need to detail, except that morning toast and fresh coffee are a favorite.

Good thing Thomas Edison didn’t stop until he got it right.

Daily, I strive to be a good steward of these modern-day essentials. Or comforts, some would say. But moderation is the way. My Dad taught me this well. Growing up we would travel from room to room following Dad with a flashlight. He would gently turn out the bulb from one lamp and carry it—oh, so carefully— to the other room. In moments, a warm glow would emanate from a single table lamp.

Moderation not only helps to maintain the world’s goods but also saves on the monthly bill.

Until it’s Christmastime.

A yearning to decorate beckons. Boxes are eagerly dragged up from the basement and my head tucks into them with childish glee. Piles of greenery, ornaments and holiday décor beg for a right place on the mantel or on the tree. The twisted mound of assorted lights … how they got this way I’ll never know … are untangled and straightened. Then they are carefully trimmed on the outside evergreens, door pillars and roof. Whew. There’s more to do, but the ache in the small of my back is yelling at me. Hmm, the kids can do the rest. But I can’t wait. Extension cords are hastily plugged in. I take a deep breath and hope.

Instant illumination.

Dad would probably have pulled the circuit braker.

Placing a pillow in the rocking chair, hot chocolate in hand, I rock to soothing Christmas melodies. Musing on how many on the planet will decorate with light to celebrate this special day. A world brightly aglow in a singular moment to remember and appreciate.

… and that’s how I live it.