on trying to be easily pleased

The first time I volunteered at Tuck's school I sliced my hand with a box cutter.  I did my best to wrap it with gauze and packing tape and stayed till the bell rang and my duties had been fulfilled.  I sat on the couch that evening while Andy cleaned the wound and cried a little as he threw seven stitches in my middle finger.

When we got home from Iowa, with approximately eighty nine loads of very muddy laundry, our washing machine would not work.

I hopped in the Jeep yesterday to head to an appointment, Tolliver strapped in the back, and it would not start. Rod came over to try to help, but a quick jump did not get it running.  The garage door came off the track as it closed, leaving his vehicle stuck next to mine and rendering the opening mechanism useless.

As fast as my heart balloons with joy, with gratitude, it deflates with frustration, exhaustion, defeat.  My problems are minuscule though, my job to fix what I can and ignore what I can't.  To pay attention.  To keep coming back to the good stuff, like hot chocolate and happy boys.  I am most content when I let myself be easily pleased -- by small things, simple things, surprises.
I spent a week looking out windows -- from the car and the train and the bunkhouse -- at the changing leaves, fall's truest delight.  We shined flashlights to find deer grazing at night, multiple sets of curious, glowing eyes.  We created habitats for all sorts of insects in an empty mayonnaise jar.  We looked for turkeys and spotted hawks.  We noticed the way our friends' kids had grown in a few months and laughed at all their knock-knock jokes.
The earth overflows with miracles that require only our attention.
I spent most of the afternoon raking leaves, realizing that the colors I'd been admiring have turned to dull shades of beige.  Realizing that moments, the ones that feel good and the ones that don't, have a tendency to rearrange themselves rather quickly.

The stitches are out.  The washing machine works.  The garage door's been fixed.
The fridge is full of soup and our home is full of love.  All of my boys are well.

1 comment:

Poppy John said...

Jenni Baby,

Leaves changing color...
1) Wounds needing stitches
2) Strange acting washing machine
3) "Locked" in the garage

Sounds like the plot of a scary Halloween movie.