By: Cia Huston-Dreves
When I was a child, there was a song, popular with the “old folks,” like my parents. It was titled “Little Things Mean a Lot.” A piece of that song jumped into my mind, out of nowhere, today as I was feeling especially dowdy. “Touch my hair as you pass my chair. Say I’m looking good when I’m not. Always and ever, now and forever, little things mean a lot.”
It almost brought me to tears as a flood of the little things that my husband would do or say came to mind. They added so much to my life. But in the midst of missing him, I began to take stock of the little things that continue to mean a lot in my little world.
There’s the checkout gal at the grocery store who always smiles and calls me “sis” and without fail says, “God bless you,” as I leave. She lifts my spirits to such a degree that it’s almost worth the trip to the store.
Then there was the man in the passenger seat of his car in the Walmart parking lot last week. I smiled to see him patiently waiting there as I remembered my husband who so hated shopping that he would also wait in the car, though on the driver’s side. At any rate, this elderly stranger offered to help load the many bags from my cart. What a kind gesture. It made my day.
Last week my seven-year-old grandson stopped from his play, looked at me squarely and said, “I love you,” then returned to his activity. It was a little thing, entirely unexpected, and it did mean a lot.
My oldest daughter phones me every Monday without fail. Another daughter phones for minor medical advice and another for recipes. The lady who delivers my mail knows my name and stops to chat whenever she catches me outdoors. The man at the lumberyard always asks about my latest project.
Since my husband passed away, it’s very easy for me to think of myself as alone and my life as empty. But that is so very far from the truth. No, I don’t have much of a social life, but remember: I live in the middle of nowhere. There are no theaters, not even any restaurants short of a couple of fast food places near the interstate. There are no museums or malls, no spas or sporting events. To do anything or be any place, I need to drive an hour or more, and what do I have when I get there? Just me…me alone at the beach or me alone at a restaurant. No, thank you. Occasionally, a fellow widow and I will head out to the nearest real city for some shopping and lunch, which makes the drive worth the effort. But basically that’s it. I do live in my own little world, and it occurred to me today that my little world is one of those “little things” that really does mean a lot.
In my corner of nowhere, people seldom lock their homes or their cars. There are only three traffic lights in town, and four cars in a row constitute traffic. When we are plagued with heavy spring rains or the annual influx of yellow flies, everyone is having the same problem and complaining in unison. The teenagers know the police by name and vice versa. Any hospital visit will bring you face to face with at least one member of your church. And, believe it or not, “hunting” is an acceptable excuse for school absence, and “gone fishing” is an acceptable sign to find taped to the “closed” sign at any local place of business.
My lifetime in the working world of advertising required creativity and deadlines…always deadlines. It was hectic, ulcer inducing and rewarding. It was also consuming until, after 37 years, I felt completely used up. But I wasn’t and I’m not. The only differences between those days and these days are dress and deadlines. Now I can stay in my pajamas all day if I want, and if I don’t get some project completed, oh, well, there’s always tomorrow. I continue to write. My soon-to-be-completed studio will house my abundant supply of art materials. For years my yard has been my canvas as I create little destinations and pretty places.
I’m still learning. I think continued learning is especially important at my age. I’m finding out that much of my “natural” grass must be considered weed by the makers of Weed & Feed as I struggle to replant last year’s damage. I’m finding that Florida sun is not actually taken into consideration by those who label some flowering plants as “full sun.”
I’ve also learned to choose my battles. When it came to growing tomatoes, the moles won so I now grow them in planters. That led to a battle with the squirrels who thoroughly intended to sow their acorns in those selfsame planters. But thanks to a hefty sprinkling of cayenne pepper, I won that battle.
So, this morning I cut down a recently dead tree, edged the walk and reset some concrete blocks. The shade disappeared too quickly and the heat arrived too soon. My freshly showered self and clean clothes were rendered ready for a complete do-over. And that little recounting of my morning is a cluster of “little things” that do mean a lot. I enjoyed turning the garden hose on my face and feet. The coolness of the water was like a special, just-for-me blessing. Having no deadline, nothing pushing me to hurry, allowed me to sit awhile in the shade of the porch long enough to enjoy the cardinal splashing about in the bird bath. And as that long-ago song came to mind, a mental image joined it at the phrase, “Say I’m looking good when I’m not.” It caused me to laugh out loud as I sat there barefooted in half-soaked jeans with dripping hair. God is good and I am truly blessed in all these “little things,” laughter among them.
Focus on Fabulous Magazine contributing writer, Cia Huston Dreves enjoyed a 37 year career in Advertising as artist and writer before retiring. She has also written, directed and produced documentaries, published the How-To book “Find Cash in Your Kitchen” and maintains the blog, “Still Finding Cash” at blogspot.com.