Weekend Coffee Share | Simple Pleasures

Weekend Coffee ShareIf we were having coffee I’d ask how you define “simple pleasures” in your life today.

Since my mom died almost two years ago, I started feeding the birds. It was something she always did. I also started doing it as a way to entertain the new cat that adopted me while Mom was in declining health.

We have ceiling to floor windows in the den that look out at a small side yard. There are large arbor vitae trees that provide a home to many birds. I placed several feeders, as well as a bird bath in this area.

I then put a cat tree near those windows and enjoyed many happy hours watching Miss Kitty stalk and “attack” our feathered friends from inside the glass. Even the squirrels would climb up onto the feeders and taunt our poor feline! I’m not sure who was more entertained, the cat or myself.

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I lost my mom first and then my kitty. I gave the pet items to my son who has two cats of his own, but the bird feeders remained; a constant reminder of what I’d lost.

I considered getting rid of them because watching those little feathered creatures was painful at first. But, I slowly realized that they came to depend on me. Kind’ve like my Mom and Kitty did. 

Sure, my furry friends managed without my help before and could again. But, winter was coming, a season when freezing temps and snow make food and water scarce here in the northeast.

The menagerie of wildlife isn’t limited to just birds, but also includes rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, opossums, raccoons, and the occasional skunk. Knowing that my efforts improve their quality of life makes me feel really good inside.

 There was no way I could let them down and it was a win-win for all of us. So, I continue my ritual of going out every morning to fill the feeders and put out fresh water. I also offer up a variety of fruits, vegetables, and peanuts. As the weather turned cold I even invested in a heated birdbath to prevent the water from freezing.

There was a time when I good-naturedly laughed at my Mom’s concern for the outdoor critters. It was during my busiest years, working and raising a family, and I couldn’t imagine devoting any of my precious time and energy to the wildlife; there just wasn’t enough of either.

But, times have changed.

Cardinal on bird feeder in winter

With the kids grown, my parents gone, and a semi-retired lifestyle, I now have the time. And I consider my caretaking of the backyard animals one of my simple pleasures. I get a tremendous amount of joy looking out the window and seeing them feasting on the goodies I put out. 

I have lots of simple pleasures these days: the occasional bubble bath, good books, walks in the park, playing photographer, writing, lunch dates with friends, and so much more. 

And, of course, spending time with my family. We don’t even have to be doing anything special; just hanging out is best. No deadlines, no expectations, no dress code. Just being comfortable in who we are and making memories. 

Time seems to be the common denominator. We spend so much of our lives working and hurrying to the next thing that we don’t really have time for simple pleasures. It’s all we can do to manage the basics. 

I’m proud of all that I accomplished so far. It took a lot of hard work to raise the wonderful family that I have. It wasn’t easy getting the college degree as an adult. There were heartaches and tears along the way, but that’s life.

And, as with most things in life, there are trade offs. Apparently, the tradeoff for gray hair and creaky knees is time spent doing the things we want to do versus what we have to do.

At this stage of the game, I think it’s well worth it.

What about you?


 

 

 

How to Think About the Legacy You Leave Behind

A road through the forestWho would’ve thought that a mundane spreadsheet I’m creating for my mom would get me thinking about life, death, and what remains when we’re gone?

Certainly not me; however, that’s exactly what happened.

But, first I have to go back to 1983. After a brief, but excruciating battle with lung cancer, my father-in-law passed away at the age of 48.

I was only 22 at the time and didn’t have much experience with death. We had just returned from the hospital grief-stricken that a strapping, six-foot-five-inch man, who “hadn’t been sick a day in his life” was gone.

I remember my mother-in-law asking me to get a sweater from her bedroom. When I stepped through the doorway something caught my eye. It was his work boots. They sat next to the bedside table quietly insignificant other than their dark color, which contrasted against the blue pastels of the room.

Then the realization struck me; these boots stood for all that was left of the man we knew and loved. They represented his legacy and the core of who he was. These well-worn, beaten Wolverines spoke to all that he accomplished over the years, including a successful construction company. 

Sure, there were lots of other possessions: clothing, toiletries, sporting goods, tools, books, paperwork, memorabilia, and so much more. Years later we were still finding his belongings, tucked away in boxes and drawers.


It was then I understood how death is a great equalizer. It shows no bias or favoritism. Death doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve acquired in life. It takes our most valuable possession and leaves the rest behind. 

As a young adult, I’d always felt that death was too far away to worry about. However, that jarring discovery enlightened me. With the passing decades, I’ve watched the gap between my youth and old age slowly shrink and I’m aware of it now more than ever.


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My mom has a list of phone numbers written on a lined sheet of white tablet paper. The front is covered and it continues onto the backside.

There are notations in the margins, old numbers crossed out, new ones written in, some unidentifiable smudges, and a faint coffee ring near the bottom. 

It consists of family, friends, neighbors, favorite restaurants, doctors, and the skilled nursing facility that became my dad’s last home. I’m not sure how long she’s had it, but it has definitely seen better days.

I decided to type it all into a spreadsheet, sort it alphabetically, and make it easier for her to read with a larger font. As I entered each name and number I crossed it off on the paper. 

Glancing down the list I noticed how her handwriting changed as it grew longer. The script slowly became shaky over time and reminded me of the notes my grandma used to write. 

Suddenly, that tattered paper took on new significance. I stopped crossing out the names so I could salvage something that was uniquely hers. Instead, I started putting a check mark next to them. 

The entries themselves told a warm and familiar story: Patty’s Clippers & Cuts, Dr. Jill, Plaza Pizza, D’Onofrio’s grocery delivery (Tues. & Thurs.) and Vets Fish Fry, among others. Each name and number signified a small slice from the lives of both my parents. 

Then there are the intangibles; those things that can only be felt. The love, kindness, and life lessons given from the heart. The funny nicknames and the faint sound of laughter if we close our eyes and concentrate. A special song or dish at Thanksgiving; the fragrance of a certain cologne.


It’s funny what we leave behind. There’s a wealth of physical items that are easily identifiable and some that baffle the survivors.

We don’t recognize as we accumulate our stuff that it tells a small part of a larger story. These are things that are packed up for charity, passed along as mementos, or kept for the connection they provide to our loved one.

Unsuspecting things, like a handwritten list that can never be duplicated or a voicemail that relives the past, if only for a few moments.

We leave much more behind than what’s stored in the basement or in our bank accounts. We leave memories of who we are and how we lived.

What kind of memories will you leave?