The Little Things
By Jason Marshall
Here I sit at the cottage on a cool September morning, coffee in hand, staring out the window at the lake below.
I’m the only one awake on a day designed for sleeping in.
There’s an earthy smell as rain pelts the pine needles. The drops are tap-tap-tapping on the tin roof as the waves hypnotically paint the rocks on the shoreline.
It’s serene. And heavenly.
It’s a symphony for the senses and a therapy session. Compliments of Mother Nature.
We don’t realize how much time is spent in front of the TV. Or the phone. Sifting through videos. Facebooking. Texting. Netflixing. Googling. Getting lost down a digital rabbit hole.
At our little oasis there is no internet signal. Our phones are relegated to cameras.
No need to plug in to recharge batteries. Being unplugged is what’s needed for mind, body and soul.
Quiet moments at the lake provide a jumpstart for a brain in need of a boost.
Speaking of brain, mine is wide awake this fine morning. Could be the country air. Perhaps the caffeine. Likely the combination that has synapses firing.
I think of fall and trading shorts for long pants. But never playing in my “good school pants” because I didn’t want to face the wrath of mom should I get them covered with grass stains or rip the knees stretching a single into a double.
Off the bus and into the house. Change my jeans. Scarf down a Laura Secord tapioca pudding cup and a glass of grape Freshie, then out the door. I play until the sun is all but gone and moms across the neighbourhood yell for kids to come home for supper. Lord, please make it a Swanson TV Dinner. The one with the brownie. I’ll never be bad again.
With another sip of coffee comes the stark realization that autumn fun means summer is over. No more trips to the swimming hole to dive for treasures with my swim goggles or look for the perfect flat skipping stone.
Then out of nowhere I’m five years old and mom sends me to the store for a loaf of bread. My first trip down the block by myself, with an extra quarter in my pocket for a treat. A bag of penny candies including wax lips, Swedish berries and licorice babies? Or a foil bag of Hostess potato chips? I go with a stubby bottle of Coca-Cola from the drink cooler.
I can still see that cooler. The glass bottles sitting in a few inches of icy water. I take out a bottle of Coke and dry it with a towel hanging close by. Then pop the cap off and peel out the liner to see if I won anything. Then merrily march home, as proud as could be, only to meet my mom on the front step. She tells me Mrs. Black called the house because I forgot the bread on the counter. Oh well, a return trip means a nickel deposit on my empty Coke bottle. And more treats.
Then my brain darts to our old phone. Black. With a rotary dial. And we were on a party line. Two short rings and one long meant a call coming into the Marshall house. Then I run through all the phone numbers of my circle of friends from back in the day. Amazing that I recall most with such vivid clarity. I called them countless times. Asking if they were ready to come and play. And if they weren’t, I’d hop on my bike and drive back and forth in front of their houses until they’d finished dinner or homework and were freed from their parental prison.
I’m at the ball diamond. The playground. Then the fishin’ hole. Then it’s raining, and we’re inside playing with Matchbox cars and removing the wish bone in a game of Operation.
Speaking of rain, I hear a voice from behind my rocking chair. It’s my son, heartbroken that it’s raining out and he can’t go in the boat with dad.
I tell him to grab his cars and the board games while I grab another coffee, because dad is going to show him how to have fun even when it’s raining.
The smile on his face is one I won’t soon forget.
The brain is a wonderful thing. Especially when it reminds you of the little things. Because they make all the difference.
Jason Marshall has been a writer and journalist for more than 30 years and is an on-air host and station manager at Valley Heritage Radio just outside of Renfrew, Ontario. And he’s truly a big kid at heart. You can email him anytime at jason@valleyheritageradio.ca
