Small Things

Coleslaw! 

It has been a long, hard week and I hit Friday night, when I am writing this out by longhand, with no reserves. Zero, nada, nil. Warren is also worn down from his own hard week.  

Our home life is transitioning again; Warren will be teaching Music Appreciation at our local college, Ohio Wesleyan University, two afternoons a week starting next Thursday. As for me, I am pressed up against a wall all too often, not because of Warren's commitments (which extend far further than the upcoming class), but for lots of reasons, including still recovering from June's hospitalization.

So here I sit, a baseball game playing on Warren's iPad (he's a Cincinnati Reds fan; I am not but I enjoy listening to baseball), and I am telling myself "Focus on small things tonight, April. Small things count too."

I can do that. Here is a small handful of recent small things.

Thursday, I picked one of the three small red cabbages that have managed to grow in the Hej Garden. Well, you don't "pick" cabbages, you break or cut them off their considerable stems. Back in the kitchen, I pulled off all the outer leaves, cut the stem off, then chopped the head into small pieces. I made a quick oil/vinegar/sugar/water mix, poured it over the pieces, and put it in the fridge to marinate for the day. Coleslaw, anyone?

Thursday late afternoon we drove down to Columbus to see the annual silent film of the CAPA Summer Film Series. We'd been down the week before to see "Arsenic and Old Lace" (which I had never seen on stage on on film) and had enjoyed a brownbag supper on the Statehouse lawn, which is directly across from the Ohio Theatre. So we did the same thing this time for the silent: a brownbag supper on a bench by the Statehouse. We ate, we talked, we just sat and enjoyed not being on a tight schedule, not being on call. 

Afterwards, we strolled on the Statehouse grounds. Even though Warren and I enjoy and purposely make stops to see state capitol buildings, I have never been in the Ohio Statehouse or even walked much on its grounds. So Thursday was the first time ever for me to see the large monument to President William McKinley, as well as the various war memorials. (Yes, yes, I am planning on touring the Ohio Statehouse this fall. I mean that.) We then crossed the street to the box office, only to learn that Clark Wilson, the nationally renown theater organist, had fallen ill. As a result, they had pulled the silent and substituted the 1997 "Titanic." Did we want to buy tickets for that? No thanks. So we drove home slowly, congratulated ourselves on making the most of our Statehouse supper (eaten leisurely, outside, and free), and finished our evening at home.

A small evening, by many standards, but a good one. 

Friday itself was particularly hard on larger family fronts. Stressful, demanding, numbing: pick any of those words. Thank goodness I'd had a long overdue call with my friend Katrina to start the day, as well as a planned break midmorning with two neighbors. Independent of me, Warren had his own demands and busy schedule. Because of the family matters, which were expected but not so abruptly (I'm sorry; I am being vague intentionally), I skipped lunch because I needed to talk with my father in person before keeping an appointment downtown that could not be moved. By the time Warren and I reconnected mid-afternoon, I was worn out. He'd had the lightest of lunches; I'd had none. We should eat early then. Okay. We have a gift card to Panera; should we just get takeout? I leaned my head on my hand, too tired to sit up straight.Yeah, that would work. Then I straightened up. No. Rather than drive there, order, drive home, then eat, we had leftovers here from earlier in the week that we could warm up. And don't forget the coleslaw!

"And then let's go out to get ice ream," said Warren. 

"Yes, let's."

Supper was delicious and we didn't have to leave to get it—it was all right there. The coleslaw was superb. Afterwards, we drove the few miles to the Midway Market, our preferred ice cream destination. Warren got a scoop of caramel oatmeal cookie ice cream in a cup; I chose a scoop, also in a cup, of dark chocolate raspberry truffle. 

We sat with our respective choices and savored every single spoonful. Mine may have been the best chocolate ice cream I have ever had, and that is saying a lot. A. Lot. 

It is now late morning on Saturday and between writing these lines last night and finishing them this morning, I ran into two more unexpected obstacles—nothing major, but the second one, which came up this morning, brought me to tears. I looked at Warren: "I just want something to go right." 

And then I thought back to what I wrote above: small things count too. Warren and I took a walk this morning while it was still cool. I got the towels and the sheets washed this morning; the sheets are drying on the basement line, the towels just came out of the dryer and are already back in their respective places. We just went out to a local sweet corn stand and brought back ears to cook and ears to cut the kernels off and ears to share with our neighbors. All small things, and all important in their own small way.

And that is enough. More than enough.