The Little Things

by RebShang

Fret not, this is not yet another post promulgating my tiny yarn friends or elaborating upon my obsessive octogenarian tendencies (although I wholeheartedly believe that a world with more grandmothers would be a much better place indeed.) No, tonight I intend to express my deep thankfulness for the little things in my life that give me great joy.

Thing One. My little brother, Mikey. He likes to smile. He is a gentle soul and a courageous companion. He indulges my oddities (he purchased Trolly!) and willfully accepts the title of being my crazy twin. I like him times infinity.

Thing Two. My little brother, David. He is an Imp, a Philosopher, a Nerd, and one of the greatest Listeners I know. He writes letters to me. In cursive. Be impressed. He is my favorite kid in the world.

Thing Three. My small block of organic Gouda cheese that is one of the few dairy ingredients that costs less here than in the States. Its smooth, nutty goodness combined with crisp apple slices and saltine crackers melds into a fusion of delightful meals. And makes for one happy Reb. (Regretfully, my cheese soon met its demise in the staff lounge, but I shan’t lament it here.)

Thing Four. The wee hours of the night when I am sound asleep.

Thing Five. The wee hours of the night when I am not asleep. It is during these times that I am most poignantly drawn nearer to my Maker.

Thing Six. The tri-fold emotions brought about by the few, sparse pages left to read of a classic novel: the anticipation of a resolution, the dread of an end, and the satisfaction of a completion. I currently have fifty-eight pages left of “To Kill a Mockingbird”. I can barely contain myself.

Thing Seven. My mini, red flashlight which I use to illuminate book or journal every night before I sleep (or not sleep.) In the past few weeks, I have been so struck by its affects that I wrote a little poem. Quite honestly, I feel a bit thoughtless to have given an inanimate object more focus and attention as to have written poetically about it rather than, say, my beloved brothers.

Thing Eight. They’ll forgive me. That’s what widdle brudders do. Okay, said feelings gone. :-)

Enjoy and criticize as you feel so inclined.


A Flashlight

What is might
but a ray of light
piercing fallen darkness?
What is strength
but infinite length,
yet falls short – luminous
Upon storybook pages
of a child’s voyages
read beneath a blanket fortress?