They say that the little things in life are all that matter, but what are those little things? For me  they always occur in a fleeting moment that surprises me and takes my breath away. Such memories are rarely planned, they just happen and become forever unforgettable. There are countless ways that someone or something can make life special and most of them don’t cost much, if anything. 

I remember those nights that I awoke to feed my daughters when they were first born and I was so weary. In the dark I gently rocked them and dreamed of what their lives would become. Not even my wildest imaginings equaled reality for I did not yet know just how wonderful life with them would prove to be. Sometimes it seems as though I sat with those infants only last evening. There is very little that I have done or accomplished that even begins to compare with those precious moments. 

My mama loved ice cream. It was a special treat for her because when she was growing up there was rarely extra funding for such extravagances. Every Friday evening after we had visited my grandmother in east Houston we often passed right by the Rettig’s Ice Cream Parlor on Telephone Road. My brothers and I would hold our breaths in anticipation wondering if she was going to make the turn into the parking lot and allow us to get a scoop of our favorite flavor. There was just nothing better! I almost always got butter pecan which is still my ice cream of choice. Back then it only cost a quarter for a cone filled with a huge mound of the delicious mixture, but to me it was as wonderful as a million dollar gift. Mama never lost her love for an ice cream break. On Fridays when I visited her once I was grown she almost always suggested that we end our evening at the Baskin Robbins near her home. Of course I still requested butter pecan.

One evening when my daughters were still in school my telephone rang. It was one of my girls’ teachers. My heart momentarily skipped a beat because I feared that perhaps my little one had done something wrong. Instead the teacher wanted to tell me what a wonderful student she was. The entire conversation lasted under five minutes but that exceptional educator had made my day. I tried to remember how that phone call had made me feel and when I became a teacher I sometimes surprised parents with similar positive messages. We all want to think that the world sees our children as being as wonderful as we do. A simple gesture from a teacher is so incredibly meaningful. I suspect that it made that teacher feel as happy as it did me. Sharing good news is always better than having to talk about something bad.

My grandfather was a storyteller. Whenever I began to feel a bit blue I would go to see him. I never spoke of my sadness. All I really needed from him was his presence. I’d spend an hour or two listening to his wisdom and tales of his remarkable life and I always began to feel one hundred percent better. Everything about those times was a feast of the senses. The sound of his voice was soothing. The smell of his pipe tobacco was relaxing. The sight of his big hands gesturing as he unfolded his commentary added to the excitement. The feeling of the squishy couch into which I sank was so comfortable. Most of all there was the wit and familiarity of his oft told stories that always chased away any problems that were brewing in my head.

My grandmother always walked around her home in her bare feet. I rarely saw her in a pair of shoes. Her careworn feet were tiny, wrinkled, and calloused. She wore her hair in a long braid that ran down her back. She was chubby after birthing ten children. Her English was hopelessly limited. Only her smile communicated the love that she had for all of us. She always served anyone who came through her front door a cup of coffee from the big enamel pot of that brew that always sat at the ready on her stove. It was so thin that it had more of a light amber or caramel color than one of a dark roast. For children she added several spoons of sugar and enough milk to almost disguise the coffee flavor. My cousins often spoke of hating that concoction, but I loved it. It came to represent Grandma’s generosity and her simple elegance as a hostess. She had so little to give but she did it with such feeling. I miss those evenings at her home and those enamel cups that held her humble offerings. 

My father loved books to the point of fanaticism. I can’t even begin to count the number of times that we stopped at bookstores or libraries wherever and whenever we traveled from home. Our house was filled with a potpourri of titles that he constantly purchased and read. If I have one image of him it is with his head turned down to look at the pages of his latest acquisition. From him I learned the joys of reading and books have never once let me down. Reading is still a way for me to feel my father’s presence in my life. 

A quiet walk with a family member or a friend is priceless. Those are the times when I feel the closest to someone. We are freed for a time from life’s distractions. Our hearts are pumping and our minds are alert. The union of body and mind on such occasions is exhilarating. It seems that on walks we are all more willing to share honestly and draw just a bit closer to one another. I’d love to have a walking partner for every single day of the year. 

I adore tangerines! They are undoubtedly my favorite fruit. Sadly they only come at one time of the year but luckily that time is very near my birthday. Tangerines have an aroma and a taste that tells me that there will soon be cold nights with warm fuzzy blankets and fires. They promise parties and gatherings. They fill bowls and scent the air. When I was a child my uncle stuffed big enamel tubs with tangerines and nuts. I still have one of those containers and I like to go to the Farmer’s Market on Airline Drive to get a bag full of my favorite form of citrus to put in it. While there I hear the clatter of the pecan crackers and the laughter of people planning celebrations for Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and, of course, my birthday.

I enjoy watching the birds in my backyard. Most of my flying visitors are doves but sometimes an occasional bluejay comes to chase them away. If I am very lucky a tiny hummingbird flits among my flowers along with the dragonflies and bees. It is my little hideaway and I do everything I can to encourage the lovely creatures to share my space and entertain me with their antics. I have a bird feeder that my twin grandsons, Ben and Eli, constructed for me. It has held up well season after season and the birds wait hopefully around it for the treats that I leave them. 

I so love visiting with good friends when we just sit around a table and laugh and sometimes even cry together. We ask nothing of each other but understanding and unconditional love. We may not have been together for a very long while and still we click as though our last meeting was only yesterday. The hours just slip away as we share our stories, our hopes, our dreams, our joys, and our disappointments. 

I could go on and on. It doesn’t take much to bring a smile to my face. I enjoy stopping at Antone’s for an original po’boy. I love digging in the dirt to plant a new bulb that will bloom in the spring. I like eating popcorn and watching a scary movie in the dark. There is nothing quite as fun as roasting marshmallows around a campfire while sharing stories. I become oh so peaceful listening to the sound of rain on my roof while I’m snuggled in my bed. I get a kick out of knowing that I have somehow helped a young person to learn something that was daunting them. I like the smell of pumpkin candles and the taste of pumpkin pie. I cry tears of joy when my grandson does such a masterful job of acting that he has the entire audience in the palm of his hand. I smile when I see an athletic medal around another grandson’s neck. A kiss or a hug from Mike makes my day. 

It’s really true. The little things in life are the best and they make all the difference in the way I feel. It doesn’t hurt to have money or titles or honors. Those things are quite wonderful but the reality is that the small moments are the ones that I will always remember and treasure.