The old man wraps at the door it is time to rise. His black dusty shoes shuffle on the linoleum as the morning light breaks through the ruffled blue and white plaid curtains over the metal sink. His voice clears the golden silence of slumber before the rooster crows.
I stir from the sweet dreams of summer light kissing my skin as I stand with flowing sundress dancing on a hilltop. In contrast, the air is cold in the shadowed bedroom. The heater has been turned down to save money. "Wear two pairs of socks to bed," the Old man’s voice rings in my ears. His correcting tone is always directing my every move. Unhappily I break from the comfortable warmth of my dreams to answer his bidding.
One foot on the cold wooden floor, then two. "I’m up" I call out, "and yes I didn’t over sleep." Mentally going through the to-do-list: two loads of laundry to fold, lunch to make and throw in a crockpot, and study time to attend to before everyone else wakes up. "Yes, Yes, I hear your throat clearing. I can smell the Listerine on your breath," Self-reproach hangs in the air as I admit I should have done more. But the year is finished, I cannot go back.
From the kitchen, I can hear the scrape of the wooden chair pulling away from the table. As I turn the knob to investigate I enter expecting to see the Old Man’s scowl, but instead I find my child quietly feasting on the last piece of lemon meringue pie.
Old Man “Should” evaporated like the “Wicked Witch of the West” in a puddle of water as the mischievous grin spread wide upon my son's rosy cheeks.
“Mama I left the marshmallow part for you. I know it is your favorite.” He said sliding the plate toward me.
I sit down next to him as he watches me take the fork in my hand. He licks his lips with anticipation as I bring the white foamy topping to my mouth. With little giggles he studies my satisfaction as I steal a bite of the heavenly pie.
“You are right, that is my favorite part,” I say as I stretch my free hand out to tousle his golden colored hair. Letting out a sigh I realize I feel full. Not with pie but with love as I stare into the small face that looks somehow like me and his Father mixed together.
Life is more than to-do lists, and self-improvement goals. It is all the little moments that could fill the pages of a sketch book if we cared to take the time. It is the hopes of the dawn spreading light through the cracks of drawn curtains announcing a new day, a new year, a new chance for happiness. It is the rosy face of a child on the first morning of the year enjoying the last slice of pie.
I tend to let the Old Man rule me with all that I think I should be instead of allowing the wonder of the small things to inspire me. In the foamy sweetness of meringue, I finally remembered. As my hand touched the soft fine locks of my child's hair I could see clearly again.
With a smile, I realize I have accepted the invitation to simply enjoy.
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