The Simplest of Pleasures: One Good Thing That Is

Redeem The time. Redeem the unread vision in the higher dream. . .


- T. S. ELIOT

Some days are shaped by simple pleasures, others are redeemed by them.

Today-a beautiful summer's day at the beach-was shaped by joyful simplicities. Idylls on a screened porch, roaming in interesting shops, an after-­noon on the shore with family and friends, irresistible reading, confidences exchanged while the waves lap at ankles, an ice--cream cone for lunch, strolling the boardwalk, playing amusement park games, winning a prize. Then back to the house, a refreshing outdoor shower, cocktails and conversation, the conviviality of cooking dinner with a dear friend, an abun­dance of delicious food, delightful wine, laughter, and good cheer-and so to bed, happily.

An Irish proverb tells us "Better one good thing that is, rather than two good things that were, or three good things that might never come to pass." Today there was no need to glance wistfully at the past or project anxious­ly into the future because the present was fully lived and simply abundant. Today was rich with one good thing after another until it literally over­flowed with pleasure.

But not all my days are beach sojourns. Not too long ago, an eight A.M. phone call announcing a major change in plans sent my day careening out of control. I hung up the telephone, my heartbeat accelerating. In one stroke, my carefully arranged coping strategy was out the window and my host of commitments had been made almost unmeetable. This was too much, I thought, as I paced back and forth, muttering and moaning under my breath. I had three choices before me, but only one real-life solution:

Scream with rage at the top of my lungs, put my head in the toilet, or take a deep breath and redeem the day with Plan B.

Since I have an understanding in my home not to do anything that might alarm children or animals, screaming was out. The toilet bowl was out as well. If you're really going to drown yourself, you can't do it in a bucket of water. So 1 poured myself a cup of tea and recalled the Hasidic prayer, "I know the Lord will help-but help me Lord, until You help."

The reality was that the day would be as hard as I made it. Or as pleas­ant. There was nothing 1 could do about my circumstances but accept them. "It's always my choice," I reminded myself. Not necessarily to like whatev­er life throws at me, but to try to catch the ball. After all, success in life is not how well we execute Plan A; it's how smoothly we cope with Plan B. And for most of us, that's 99 percent of the time.

I considered Plan B: redeem the day with simple pleasures, some good things to look forward to. At first, learning to smoothly shift gears to Plan B takes some attitude adjustment, but, like driving a car, it becomes an automatic reflex with practice.

First I took my tea out into the garden to calm down. I pulled a few weeds, picked some flowers. After arranging them, I looked at cookbooks. Should I prepare something new for dinner tonight or a comforting favorite? I decided to stop off at the farmers' stand for fresh produce on my way home and see what appealed to me. Why not pick up a good movie as a treat after supper? The peaches on my table were perfectly ripe, so I decided to make dumplings when I got home. In the meantime, I had an hour to work uninterrupted before I had to leave the house and decided to make the most of it. Better a golden hour that is, than two that were, or three that obviously will not come to pass today.

The day stretched before me-not as I had hoped. But not, thank heav­en, beyond redemption.