It was a great holiday yesterday. The turkey was delicious, cooked right on time, crisp and juicy. Our family is blessed with fabulous cooks, so we had three kinds of stuffing, fresh beans, squash, fantastic potatoes and more desserts that you could ever imagine in one place. Everyone had a good time, conversations were interesting and funny, and we managed to avoid talking politics for a whole afternoon.
The best part of the day, though, came in the mid morning, a couple of hours before company arrived. Everything was pretty much ready, and we were all just sitting around the living room. We had opened some champagne, and everyone had a mimosa in hand. And nothing special happened. Paul read the sports page, the kids played music on computers and iPods, sharing new discoveries with each other. We talked about school, music, food, Christmas, the weather. It was a couple of hours of nothing much. No stress, no worry, no big emotion.
Last night, just before I went to bed, I was talking the day over with Paul, comparing notes on little moments. And we talked about how much we enjoyed that little chunk of time together in the morning. I struggled to put words to what had made it seem so……good. It left me feeling content.
“It was great,” I tried to explain, “Because it wasn’t anything big. It was just normal.”
Its a normal that used to be regular, everyday and overlooked. Its a normal that we now see as unexpected, rare, and all the sweeter for its unremarkable pleasure.