 |
| One of life's simple pleasures |
Now I've got nothing against country music. In fact, it's the only thing I listened to every single morning for 18 years growing up. Mama would have the radio blaring country music as she flapped our jacks and poached our eggs, so I knew all about Lucille leaving 4 hungry children and a crop in the field ... and the day Billy Joe McGallister jumped off the Tallahachee bridge (sorry about any spelling errors).
Anyhow, as I gripped the wheel to focus on the narrow, twisting mountain road, the gal on the radio warbled on and on about wanting to do something crazy. About chucking her simple life and trading it all for a wild night on the town drinking and carousing with her friends. What fun, she said. Living a little, she called it.
And then I recalled the only two invitations I'd received during the five days I'd been in town - both involved bars and music and drinking.
Um. How do I say this nicely?
No. No thanks. No way.
I don't consider myself a prude; I like to have fun as much as the next dude. But perhaps my idea of fun is tempered a bit because of exposure to what alcohol can do to a person and ultimately to a family. It ain't pretty. It ain't fun. And it ain't living, even a little.
Give me the simple pleasures. That's fun for me. Walking in the early morning woods, chasing fireflies at sundown, feeling the tickle of a pony nuzzling my palm, cuddling with someone warm and fuzzy, good conversation with friends over a quiet dinner table, enjoying great music, dancing my brains out, reading a book I can't put down, making chocolate crack and eating the whole pan (this stuff is to die for; the recipe will be in my cookbook coming out this fall).
These are just a few of my personal pleasures. Simple but not shallow. High on life but not intoxicated.
So what's your idea of a good time, BBFF? What simple pleasures of life do you enjoy?
*BBFF = Best Blog Friend Forever
2 comments:
Amen and amen! 💞
Love Love Love the simple pleasures.
Being on the sidelines as a reporter and hearing the word "mama" come from one of the giants in helmets and pads. And then a side-hug.
The request for a bedtime prayer and a song from my baby girl who is old enough to drive.
The coffee cup gift from my junior high daughter who thought of me on a class trip.
I admit a time when I would dread the late-night conversations that started with "mama...." Another glass of water, another potty, another snack, another bad dream. Another night of sleep deprivation for mama.
Now I cherish those late night conversations and phone calls that start with "mama."
Post a Comment