Simple Pleasures
Clichés come cheap. The idiom currently making the
rounds is, “…get my arms around it.” Expressive to the edge of
overuse, it serves to make a point. Especially with the small things of life,
which includes most everything.
Recently a slick ad graced the
cover of the Wall Street Journal magazine section. It was one of those studio
conceits. You know, those fabrications concocted by Mad men to create needs
they purport to satisfy by selling you something. The icon for the ‘something’
was a gorgeous teenage girl, or transgender boy (who can tell anymore?). Wonder
what it was selling?
The model stood aloof,
evocative, wearing a clingy white silk blouse, open front, with white pants. A
Cote d’ Azure classic. The caption read, “Simple Pleasures.” It
should have read, “Expensive Merchandise.” Getting one’s arms
around a siren is difficult.
While it was pretty to look
at, it was hard to envision anyone taking the ad seriously. Certainly not
women. They know that the way is hard and the gate is narrow that leads to this
look. It’s not simple, and surely not a pleasure. It requires a reduction of
things, including age, starvation diets and avoidance of all things chocolate,
all unpleasant pursuits.
Maybe the intention was to
stir some smoldering, latent passion in men, especially old ones, who tire of
looking at Dow Jones stock stats. The ones you see drooling at manikins in
Victoria Secret windows. Finance will hold one’s attention only so long.
But moving on. There’re
simple pleasures far less complicated than those pimped by provocative
advertising. Take dogs, for example. Who can deny the simple pleasures derived
from such loving creatures? They’re easy to get your arms around.
Predictable and loving. Plus, they forget your faults.
Feed them anything, they’ll
never leave. Unlike children, they’ll even feed themselves, consuming anything
associated with trouble. Sometimes I think our dogs are so lazy they’d be bed
ridden if served food on a tray.
Outdoor showers…now there’s a
super simple pleasure. Add ambience with tropical plants, a stucco wall and
enjoy the epitome of an au natural experience. Luxuriating in the
sunlight under a huge shower-head is as close to heaven as one can get on this
side of the grass…naked we come, naked we go. To compliment a man’s excessive
hubris and narcissistic nature, add a mirror. Men are well-known for hugging
themselves!
I would like to hug Mrs.
Smith. She bakes cherry pies. Swimming in butter, slathered with Crisco
and saturated in sugar, there’s no simpler pleasure on earth. I’ve often
expressed deep devotion, my arms wrapped around a plate of her hot pie, vanilla
ice cream melting on top. A sensual, epicurean delight even gastric juices
applaud.
Fire pits…a primordial but
simple pleasure you can get your arms around. Figuratively, of course. They’re
reminiscent of romance. Conversation is superfluous. Staring into the flaming
orange coals is mesmerizing. Their heat beats back the blackness of cold,
lonely nights. Like love itself, hot and fiery, they pulsate, gasping for
breath, consuming themselves into cold ashes. A good reminder to keep ones home
fires burning.
Who can hate a rainy day?
They’re ripe for simple pleasures. Find an old photo album, thumb through it,
laugh at yourself, your children and the old days. Memories, like
ghosts of the past, emerge from hidden cranial caverns into vivid
recollections. Old polyester suits live again!
Simple pleasures are
less about longevity than relevance. Remember the freedom of riding bikes on
the silent dirt roads of our youth? Unmitigated delight. Try that today…you
will be despised, cursed, or crushed. Avoid people. Buy a spin
bike.
Unfortunately, simple pleasures,
like expensive ones, are fleeting. Take songs, for example. My
favorite for years was “The Dance”
by Garth. I lived its words and literally wore it out. Nothing lasts
forever.
Come to think of it, maybe
nothing beats a slow dance with your lover for simple pleasure. Bodies merge,
cheeks meet, lips touch, arms encircle, hearts tingle, worries disappear, time
stops. For an brief, ephemeral moment the moon will be yours.
Bud Hearn
February 10, 2014
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