You can put a
woman in an elegant gown on New Year's Eve, but she's just as beautiful pulling
weeds in a summer dress.
You can have a wonderful dinner at a fancy
French restaurant or sit on a bench outside a hot dog stand with mustard
running down your shirt.
You can board a jet and fly to the Orient or
hop on the CTA and spend the afternoon wandering through Chinatown.
You can live in a penthouse overlooking Lake
Michigan or on the third floor of a three-flat overlooking the Divorced Dad
District.
The older I get, the more I realize that
comfort usually beats elegance.
Flowers are beautiful and they can
brighten a room. They tell someone you are thinking about them, but flowers
fade after a few days.
A bowl of dumplings feeds
you and gives instant comfort.
Today's chalkboard says, "Life isn't always flowers. Sometimes it's a
bowl of dumplings."
To me, that isn't settling
for less. It is learning to appreciate what is practical.
Today happens to be
National Hammock Day.
When Terese and I got married,
someone gave us a hammock. Looking back, it may have been the best wedding gift
we received. It certainly got more use than the Waterford crystal candle holders or the fancy wine decanter.
That hammock became
part of our family.
We spent quiet evenings cuddling
in it. We took Sunday afternoon naps in it. Then George showed up and took naps
with us. Before long Fritz was climbing aboard, and eventually Hazel made it
her spot too.
Every once in a while, PopPop would wander out, ease himself into that
hammock, and close his eyes for a bit. I can still picture his shoes sitting neatly side by
side underneath the nylon webbing while he relaxed in the shade.
That hammock wasn't
expensive. It wasn't elegant, but it was practical. More importantly, it was
comforting.
I have brought flowers to hospitals,
funerals and birthdays more times than I can count. They are always appreciated,
but if I showed up carrying a pizza or an ice-cold six pack of beer, I would
usually get a bigger smile.
People remember the things that make them
feel cared for. Maybe that is another one of the little secrets to getting
older.
You begin choosing substance over appearance,
comfort over ceremony and dumplings over flowers.
Because in the end, very few of us remember
the crystal decanter.
We remember the hammock.
We remember the pizza.
We remember the people who sat
beside us while we ate dumplings and somehow, those simple things become
the finest things we ever owned.
