The Joys of Simple Pleasures

The best ones don't cost a dime

I’m fascinated by these colorful, low-growing shrubs amid rocky outcroppings at the top of mountains. Photo by author

My father was a distinguished-looking man with a tendency to make awkward comments in public. He served as the quiet center in our family's turbulent storm. I could have used his protection and emotional support but looked out for him instead. For the most part, Pop was a cautionary tale for me, but he also gave me the life-long gift of savoring simple pleasures. I was attracted to his peace and noted how he achieved it.

Pop was a thin man with a much larger one inside. He took deep pleasure in eating, equally savoring meals at home and fine cuisine restaurants. He ate so slowly, that most evenings he was still on seconds and thirds when the rest of us had left the table.

On winter weekends, I watched him approach lunch like a formal Japanese tea ceremony. It was just the two of us, each with our favorite foods. Mine was a ham sandwich with mayo. That was all I ever wanted as a kid, other than sweets. I was expensive, but easy. Pop opened a can of sardines and one of peeled tomatoes. Once he polished them off, the finale was his bread ritual. First, he broke off the heel of a loaf of Italian bread, preferably a bit stale. Then he soaked up the remaining tomato juice with it—a contented man.

Next to food, Pop’s favorite simple pleasure was to listen to a major league baseball game on the screened-in porch. On weekends, I’d find him out there by himself taking in a Yankee game on his transistor radio, sipping a beer. I don’t think it was just the ball game, either. It was being part of something. One with the fans in the stadium. The excitement of the announcers when a player hit a homer, or the disappointed groans of fans when an outfielder missed a fly ball. The camaraderie of the crowd singing Take Me Out to the Ball Game during the seventh-inning stretch

As the announcer said at the beginning of the TV show, The Wild World of Sports every Sunday evening, Pop was part of the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat at Yankee or Mets stadiums. All on his own quiet, safe screened-in porch, the excitement pouring into his ear via a tinny voice emanating from his transistor.

  I was well aware that a house with all the modern conveniences in an affluent neighborhood in no way made my family happy. In some ways, the pretense of all being well, added pressure and prevented my family from getting help with its problems. If money didn’t bring happiness, as our ad-driven society kept reinforcing, then what did? I took note that my father had figured out some part of that puzzle. If not the elusive, nebulous happiness, he’d achieved contentment.

Pop had found ways to enjoy small moments, and most of what pleased him didn’t cost anything.

He'd point to an interesting-looking cloud and say, “Reet, do you see the eagle?” He oriented me to the head, eye, or wing and I saw it. At dinner, he might gesture toward his steak or a pork chop and ask if I saw the shape of a buffalo or a state.

Pop didn't know it, but he showed me how to look at the world like an artist. I've read that part of creativity is seeing connections between seemingly disparate things that others don't, like an animal in a cloud or part of your dinner. Pop would never have considered himself artistic. He grew up one of the older kids in a large family in a coal mining town. No one had encouraged him to develop his creativity, but he had an eye.

Crocodile eye? Alligator? Hippo? Now I see another eye to the left of the first one. Maybe there's a frog in that log, or a turtle! Photo by author.

As a kid, I found peace and comfort in reading. In adult life, my everyday simple pleasures take many forms. Those noticings and savorings are an art form in themselves. Following my curiosity is a favorite pursuit. If I take one route to a place, I’ll choose a different way back. If I usually walk on one side of a street, I check out the other side. When I’m driving and spot an interesting road veering off to the right and have time, I explore it. 

Pop often took the scenic route, although not on purpose. My mother got upset, but I thought Pop enjoyed his spontaneous detours. I know I did. In some ways, he’d discovered Zen on his own, taking life as it unfolded, rolling with changes, and finding the good.

Photo by author

As an adult, I found joy in transforming discarded or worn pieces of furniture into treasures. I love soft fabrics and interesting combinations of colors and textures. I will walk across an entire floor of a store to touch a blanket or throw pillow, a chenille bedspread. There’s nothing like a fluffy robe and slippers in winter or a soft rug underfoot when getting up at night. I appreciate a warm towel to wrap myself in after a shower every time.

I love to slide into a bed with crisp, clean sheets and adore objects that are both beautiful and useful. The feel of nice paper and pens, and interesting wood grains are delights. Dual-purpose items, like a reversible jacket, make me happy. Well-designed objects, where every aspect was thought through, are a pleasure to use.

A deal! I get a charge out of getting a bargain or scoring just what I need at a yard sale or junktique store. I enjoy the dance of fair haggling at a flea market. I’ve found treasures like nice wood picture frames, a cool old lamp, or a mahogany side table that's also a magazine rack. Recycling, reclaiming, and upcycling bring me joy and fulfillment. Keeping good quality household items out of a landfill and giving them new life feels good.

These are a few of my favorite things… A cup of hot tea and a good book on a rainy day, mosaics on floors and murals, the sound of kids laughing, unique old wood doors and patinas on metal, green mossy socks on tree trunks in the woods, tiny trees and flowers growing out of cracks in rocks. . . people displaying hidden talents.

Photo by author

Simple pleasures last, and I can always find them.

It brings me joy to appreciate the fine old craftsmanship that few people value now. If I pay attention, these delights are present almost everywhere. There are the little metal and ceramic statues I've collected on a shoestring, meaningful books, and the shadow cast on the wall by the decorative grate in a window. A blue feather, branches of bittersweet, and yellow lichens on old wooden fences, and rocks. They all pique my interest and lift my spirits.

Don’t get the wrong idea. My days are not comprised of a string of delightful noticings. I’ve dealt with chronic low-level depression since I was a kid. I'm pretty good at keeping my head above those waters, and simple pleasures are part of my success with that. They are moments I can create for myself throughout my day and life. I’m attuned to small pleasures that delight me. I feel fortunate to have that balm in this uncertain, ever-shifting world

I think Pop dealt with low-level depression as well. When I was 16, he was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease and told he'd probably had it slowly moving in him my entire life.

Seed pods for you

If you haven't read Ross Gay's wonderful Book of Delights, it’s full of his small pleasures. Maybe you'll start a list of your own. If you do, I hope you'll share some of your favorites in a comment. I'd love to read them.

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