There she stood in front of me on the stairs - wispy blonde curls; little hand on her jutting hip; immensely over-sized, black-framed, unnecessary glasses; and a re-gifted mug painted with ducks held high in her hand.
Oh my goodness, do you, like, like my mug? asked my cousin's four-year old daughter, Ruthie, perfectly mocking the nasally and annoying accent we refer to as "Valley Girl" or "Californian".
That Saturday afternoon, my dad's side of the family had gotten together for Christmas. My family must like me or something, because they shifted this year's Christmas get-together to the afternoon of January 2 so that I could attend during my visit to 'Merica. As annual tradition would have it, after the meal and many souls braving the cold for some quality ice skating time, it was time for the Dice Game. You know, the game in which, once all the wrapped presents have disappeared from the middle of the circle into the possession of those who were lucky enough to roll doubles, a timer is started and in those few short minutes, family becomes enemies as gifts are stolen from each other, but only by those who are, again, lucky enough to roll doubles. Such a loving and fun-filled Christmas activity.
Of course, we always make sure the little ones have at least one present at the end (we like to keep the peace that way). Ruthie happened to be so lucky to unwrap an old mug once the game had concluded. I immediately recognized this mug from when I was a little girl - yup, it's old. Ruthie was so proud of her mug. She adored it. She carried it around the rest of the night, presenting it to others as if it were one of the crown jewels. The joy she found in sharing with others this mug was sincere, pure, undefiled. She bubbled with happiness at her newly acquired treasure.
And so, she stood in front of me, asking me about her mug, holding it up with pride and joy. Where she picked up this accent is beyond me, but I threw on my best valley girl accent, cloaking my voice in slightly disinterested and majorly nasally tones, and we proceeded to converse in this way for a good two to three minutes. I complimented her on her mug, asking where she got it and telling her how "like, totally awesome" it was. We volleyed compliments back and forth until I finally stumped her by telling her the jacket I was wearing wasn't mine and she proceeded to tell me instead that she "like, really totally like[d] . . . ummm . . ." my fingernails. I suppose it was safe to say that because I couldn't tell her that they weren't mine.
I know that I have previously written posts about simplicity. Maybe I sound a bit like a broken record. A girl and the aged, well-used mug she had acquired just made me once again realize how much joy the simple things in life can truly bring. Cold iced tea on a hot day; the sound of children's laughter on a playground; finding your favorite book among the mountains of written works at a used book store; adding the last piece to the puzzle you've worked on for weeks; the silent reassuring presence of a beloved friend - each can bring a smile to our face and joy to our hearts. Life can easily overflow with the stress and chaos that get poured on us day in and day out. Take a moment. Breathe. Find the simple things. Pick them out of your day like fragrant flowers out of a garden. Slow down and let them help you remember what joy is. We have this one life to live. Fill it with simple joys rather than get stuck on the daily problems we face. It makes the already difficult road we travel just that much easier.
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