One truth about myself that I'm learning- more and more- is it's the little things in life that stick.
It's the small moments I remember instead of the big ones, the quiet tender gesture rather than grandiose theatrics designed to make you swoon. Big and blown out- for me- simply fizzles and dissipates. There are gaps in my memory that reveal this proclivity to live off to the side, observing the small and overlooked, wondering what all the mainstream fuss is about. So much of what parades by as important strikes me as a lot of loud and self conscious whistling in the dark.
It's the small moments I remember instead of the big ones, the quiet tender gesture rather than grandiose theatrics designed to make you swoon. Big and blown out- for me- simply fizzles and dissipates. There are gaps in my memory that reveal this proclivity to live off to the side, observing the small and overlooked, wondering what all the mainstream fuss is about. So much of what parades by as important strikes me as a lot of loud and self conscious whistling in the dark.
I prefer and savor the simple pleasures in life. Hot water and soap. Holding hands. Opening a new book. The unlauded bite of a new recipe that works- especially if you missed a certain taste- a condiment taken for granted, a spoonful most Americans plop onto their turkey sandwich, or stir into crab cakes, potato or tuna salad with no more thought or effort than simply reaching into the fridge and opening a jar.
Yes, I'm talking about mayo.
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