The Happiness of Small Things

I bought a vacuum cleaner today.  It’s a newfangled, lightweight machine that is a 2 in 1 — an upright cleaner and a handvac.  No dust bags.  No cords.  No cords!  It comes with a rechargeable battery, so no more tripping over the cord, running over it and nicking the wire, or having to plug and unplug from one room to the next.  No.  It will not make housework fun.   Easier is nice, but it doesn’t equate to fun.

One tiny crocus has managed to push its way into the world to offer a moment of happiness.

Crocus; Photo:KFawcett

Things are not always as they seem/appear — the walls are not gray; they’re blue.  The Mexican lantern is not blue; its glass is clear.  The sun through the window has given me something to ponder…

Kierkegaard wrote:  “To become again a child, to become as nothing, without any selfishness, to become again a youth, notwithstanding one has become shrewd, shrewd by experience, shrewd in worldly wisdom, and then to despise the thought of behaving shrewdly, to will to be a youth, to will to retain youth’s enthusiasm with its spontaneity unabated, to will to reacquire it by valiant effort…yes, that is the task.”

It is a small thing that often takes great effort — to see the world, again, through the eyes of a child.  Sometimes the elephant and the mouse are both small.

At the feeder: my boys (goldfinch) are now getting lots of yellow feathers; grackles are just blackbirds until the sun hits them and their iridescent blue/green heads sparkle; the wet ground beneath the feeder makes for good worm-hunting for the robins.  Through this dirty kitchen window…they congregate at the watering hole for happy hour.

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After hearing the sad news from Britain today, I googled a number of countries around the world looking for good news.  No big headlines.  I guess folks in the news business don’t profit much from reporting the good stuff.  If you’ve read an uplifting story worth repeating, send a link.  On paper the world looks small and colorful and…connected — as if the puzzle is complete, no pieces missing, no challenges to face.

At the coffee shop:  Latte.  Whole milk.  Lots of foam.  At the next table, two old people talking: “When did it become silly to hold hands?” she asks, giving him a look he’s likely seen before.  He shrugs, sips his coffee, stares out the window.  They are quiet.  She breaks off pieces of a chocolate chip scone — a bit for him, a bit for her.  When they get up to leave, he takes her hand. 

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