Simple Pleasures

What ever happened to the simple pleasures of life…those that cost little if anything and readily supply a plethora of lovely memories in our semi-golden years?? Now days, everyone is in a rush to buy the latest marvel of technology, to be the included in the stream to be one of the first thousand to view the latest Hollywood’s productions, or to own the largest and fanciest car or house money can buy…………….even if it means signing your next lifetime’s worth of hard earned paycheck over to someone else? I simply don’t understand the logic. How can it be pleasurable if you have to suffer to enjoy it?
Pleasure, to me, means something that one enjoys, either the doing of or the feeling it sensations it causes you to feel. It isn’t about money, or how someone else perceives you. It should be about feeling happiness and serenity……..not a constant race to one-up anyone. I remember simple joys from childhood. Things I still enjoy today, that are free for the taking if your imagination is up to the challenge. If you are daring enough to dream …
Growing up, life was simple, we worked when we were told to, we played at every opportunity, and we enjoyed most all of it with an enthusiasm I would give anything to have back. Chores shared became the simplest of tasks. Rarely, if ever, were we given a job without one or both of our parents involved to hasten the undertaking along. And with Mom, we sang together as we worked, be it the current Rock and Roll tunes blaring from the radio, or the golden oldies that Mom heard growing up in the 40’s and 50’s. Even church hymns. We sang them all, loud, off key, and with elation and exuberance in our voices and hearts. The chores were soon done, with little squabbling or fuss. That was a pleasure, because when the jailers are happy, the inmates tend to be as well.
Pleasure was home made ice cream…..rich in flavor, laden with eggs and milk and vanilla. We had an old ice cream churn, the wooden bucket and discolored with age and salt brine. Hot summer afternoons, Mom would whip up a big bowl full of this mixture and we knew what was coming. Layers of crushed ice and large flakes of salt would, after an hour or so, turn into heaven melting in the mouths of us kids. But only if you worked for it….if you didn’t turn the crank, you didn’t get any. That was the law. Every neighbor kid would soon come over to take their turn at the crank for just one small helping of the ice cold cream. I miss it. Oh, not the turning of the crank, but the rich taste of the ice cream.
Pleasure was wading the creek with my Sis. Knee deep, with the cool water rushing past our bare legs, the bottom slick with mud and fish darting about as we violated their sanctuaries. A deep thrill we enjoyed without Mom’s knowledge or consent. Neither of us could swim a lick. And the creek bottom was littered with craggy rocks, both large and small. If we fell, we could drown. ( The voice of doom………errrrr rather Mom). That was contentment, both in the doing and in the secrecy of the adventure.
Pleasure was tromping through the woods, the air icy and laden with snow. Barren grapevines hanging from trees, just begging to be used to propel ourselves across branches. All around was a stillness, the only sounds the rasp of our breaths as we climbed our way to the top of the ravine we had decided to explore. There was a cedar tree, surrounded by honeysuckle vines long stripped of their leaves by winter’s frigid air. And under these vines was a cave…..dark and dank, but just right for 2 girls to curl up in. It was our lair, a clubhouse of sorts. One we told few about.
Today, pleasure costs money or involves travel, possessions or other people. I am still a simple soul, much preferring a beautiful sunset to going shopping. My Grandchildren are going to benefit from my memories, I think. I plan to take them walking as soon as it is cold enough. I want them to hear the silence of the woods and see the beauty of that silence. To know peace and inner happiness comes from within ourselves and can’t be bought at the local Wal-Mart for any amount of money. Our parents taught us that. For that I am thankful.