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A Woman's Journal

Yellow Tulips

A Day of Small Pleasures 
By Maggie Turner  


Monday, May 8, 2000

A Day of Small Pleasures

 

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It is now 10:10 p.m. For the last two hours, I have been sitting in the growing darkness on the back deck. It is a lovely night. The breeze is strong and the trees sway. The lilac blooms and the sand cherry blossoms scent the yard. A raccoon stares at me from between the deck rails, then makes a bold escape to the bush when he thinks I am not looking. A bat swoops and flutters through the open spaces between the tree branches. I can hear the wind. It should rain in the next few hours.

The day was spent on small things. I baked a loaf of seed bread. I walked to "The Village" and back. I picked up my sandals from the village cobbler. The new soles on my walking shoes were such a success that I decided to resole my walking sandals. I returned a library book before it was overdue. I picked up a prescription. I catalogued all my archived images on the computer. I cut an iris to take the place of the tulips that had been on my desk. I planted nasturtium seeds in the front garden bed and ground fresh pepper over the area to discourage the squirrels from digging them up again. I felt happy all day.

I did stare at the computer screen a little too long today while cataloguing images. It was much like going through an old photo album. I found pictures of old friends whom I have not seen for years. I found pictures of my aunts, grandmother, and grandfather. I had forgotten the scanned images of my great grandparents and great great grandparents. A great deal of the time I was lost in thought. Unfortunately, rather than staring off into space, I was staring at the monitor. This is not good for the eyes.

A few minutes ago "The Teenager" came rushing into my office in a panic. She could smell something burning. She wanted to know if I could smell it. Well, yes, I could smell it. Off we went on a tour of the house, checking all the possible sources. As we passed through the kitchen, I noticed a glint in Attila's eye. He did not make eye contact. After we checked all the rooms of the house, including the basement, it came to light that Attila had two of the burners on the stove on high to sterilize jars for some preserves he is rustling up. I laughed, "The Teenager" justified her panic in the face of the rational explanation, and Attila just grinned.

Soon Attila will have finished bottling his sauces. He moves quickly; he moves constantly. When it is time for bed, it is instantly time to stop moving. He proceeds from full speed to a full stop in a matter of minutes. He falls asleep almost at once. It usually takes me by surprise as I wind down slowly through the evening. I can hear him finishing up in the kitchen. I had better close for this evening and post this before he starts snoring.


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