It's those unexpected moments in life that provide us with memorable knowledge. Oftentimes it's a refresher course in the basics because so much happens during our days that we forget more than we retain. A fine example of which I discovered today; you only find out your nearly new pair of shoes has a hole in them when it rains.
Our feet are much better sensors than we give them credit for. That instant when the wet creeps in from the bottom and suddenly your toes become damp via sodden socks is a dead giveaway. It's much like the radar our bare toes have for locating the hairball the cat hocked up during a midnight bathroom run. Yeech!
I believe that our basic senses have been dulled or put on hold unless they get a taste of shock treatment, something out of the ordinary. That reawakening may not always feel just fine as pie, but it's a start. There is so much that needs and demands our attention elsewhere that we no longer heed our instincts and lose touch with our baser selves.
We no longer seem to recognize our most basic comforts; food, water, shelter, clothing, and love. For most humans edging beyond the poverty level, we do take those things for granted, but perhaps with the exception of love. No, we reach and struggle for the brass ring. There's nothing wrong in reaching for the ring, but do we know what to do with it once it is in our grasp?
Save only a few sage, old souls, many of us don't know what to do when the prize sits in our hands. Just as with an owl-eyed child who had never seen the inside of a toy store, when given free reign will go into overload. The child knows not what it reaches for but feels the urge that whatever "it" is must be good and "more" is even better. When will we learn that "all that glitters is not gold?" Moreover, gold is nothing more than a piece of rock. Can we eat it? Can we drink it? Can we wear it? Will it love us and keep us warm? No, the rock in itself is nothing. It is merely a symbol for what it can be traded for which could do nearly everything but love us.
Simple pleasures are the best, though frequently overlooked. The flash of a new toy or gadget gives little warmth to the soul. A sudden cool breeze on a hot summer's day and a cool draught of water placate us like nothing else. When the weather is cold and blustery, we seek our indoor havens. That special we've waited so long to see on television would be nothing at all without our cozy flannels, our comfy chair or couch and the warmth of our family to enjoy it with. Even better can be the silence around the room as the day draws to a close with our bellies puckered from dinner and the quiet pervades as each is absorbed in a thrilling book. Our senses are absorbed into our story but there is an overall feel of contentment as we periodically survey the room and offer a comment or two on the story we are involved in.
We never lived the "Leave it to Beaver" life, nor the "Father Knows Best," or any of the others. Even with our ups and downs, growing up was mostly fun. We learned a lot, worked a lot, and yet still had time to play in the sense that kids really know how to play. It was eons yet before Nintendo and videos. If something special were to be watched, a VCR wasn't even dreamed of—plans had to be made and if you missed it you couldn't rewind it and see it again. Therefore, it was imperative that you didn't open your mouth and spoil it for everyone else. That dirty deed happened often enough to earn me a title and lots of grief as with what used to be that once a year showing of "The Wizard of Oz, Gone with the Wind, and White Christmas." One perk of today's times is that I now own those movies and can comment on them as much as I like and still play them over and over—without retribution.
Still, it's the evening crickets that sing their songs that I listen to on the back porch as the rest of the world spins by. Glitter is not for me, nor is gold. I already have my brass ring. I live, I love, and keep those I love sheltered and warm. Life is too important to fritter away. And to think this all started with wet socks . . .