03/27/2024
Jefferson Weaver
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Between politics, being pulled in multiple directions on a myriad of axes, the perpetually offended and confused world around us, and Santa Claus’ invasion and subjugation of Halloween, I figured it was time to remind myself, and you, dear readers, not to forget the simple things.

You remember simple things, don’t you?

Things like being awake enough to enjoy the first cup of coffee in the morning.

Singing along with radio, even if you are out tune, don’t know the words, and stuck in traffic.

Waving to people you have never met, and will never meet, just to watch their reaction (most will smile).

Riding a bicycle down the street in a quiet neighborhood.

Sitting on a front porch listening and watching as the sun sets and the evening rises.

Watching a parent hold a child for the first time.

Watching a grandparents hold their first grandchild for the first time.

Telling your friends a joke they haven’t heard before — or laughing out loud at one you’ve heard a hundred times, but still enjoy.

Remembering the first time you saw the perfect symmetry of the combination of a cane fishing pole, a faded orange cork, an angry bream, and an excited child.

Seeing the blind, innocent, almost savage love in the eyes of a newlywed couple.

Watching a six-week-old puppy toddle after a six-week-old kitten, intent on mischief.

A new suit. Old jeans. Comfortable shoes. A disreputable hat.

The sound of a coonhound baying for the first time, a child saying the Pledge of Allegiance, a young girl singing, and an old man praying.

Eating a watermelon, home-made ice cream, or birthday cake.

The feeling you get when you drive a car with too much horsepower, plenty of gasoline, and a long, straight road.

The satisfaction of looking at something you’ve created — whether it’s a blueberry pie, a poem, a painting, a book, or a well-groomed yard.

Knowing you can trust your children.

Knowing your parents trust you.

Realizing that even though you could have gotten away with it, you never even considered doing the wrong thing.

The comfort of a purring, contented cat in your lap on a cold winter’s night.

Seeing your mother smile.

Shaking your father’s hand, and hearing him say he’s proud of you.

The smells of biscuits, woodsmoke, roses, pine trees, Ivory soap, and newly-mown grass in the morning.

Holding hands with a child.

Holding hands with your spouse (unashamedly and in public, yet).

Finding a book that was a favorite, but you thought you’d lost years ago, and discovering you like it even better now.

Watching little kids play baseball.

Watching little kids watching a semi-pro baseball game, where the players are still young enough to love what they’re doing.

Walking down a path in the woods, up a dirt road, down a quiet street in a small town, or beside any body of water.

Eating a pear, an apple, or any fruit from an old abandoned farmyard, and realizing how different that fruit is from anything you can buy in a store.

Watching a calf learn to stand, then nurse, then run and play.

Waking up before dawn because you want to.

Counting meteors, shooting stars, and fireballs in a cloudless night sky.

Knowing that you are loved, and loving someone else.

Realizing that sometimes I have to write a column about simple things, so I don’t worry myself to death over all the not-so-simple things that, in the end, really isn’t that important. At least not when children sing, your dog loves you, and your wife still holds your hand in public.

There are so many more, but I don’t have enough space, and the rest of the world is howling like hungry hounds for another chunk of flesh, time, money or all three, but you get the idea.

Sometimes, you need the simple things to make things right.

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