It was Wednesday, and at eleven in the morning I served my grandchildren their second annual “Beach Trip Ice Cream Lunch:” a buffet of blueberries, strawberries, bananas, chocolate chips, cracker candy, M&Ms, peanuts, trail mix, chocolate and caramel sauces, sprinkles, whipped cream, and of course, the traditional cherry, plus three kinds of ice cream, including one non-dairy concoction for the lactose intolerant. (Decadence does have its limits: that package of Klondike bars in the photograph was returned to the freezer before the ravenous munchkins attacked the buffet).
My preparations for this coastal luncheon—pouring out candies, breaking up cracker candy, washing fruit and slicing bananas—caused a mini-riot among the younger set. Carolina, the three-year-old, circled the island table begging for sweets and scrambling after spilled blueberries. The seven-year-old twins, Maggie and Annie, ooohhhed and aaahhhed every time I poured out more ingredients, and snatched crumbs of cracker candy from the table. Fortunately, some of their cousins were still in the pool, or the kitchen would have turned into a zoo of pandemonium.
With the picture taken, I declared the ice cream lunch bar open for business. The moms helped limit the portions, doling out M&Ms and whipped cream, while I stood by and observed. A friend had suggested this idea two years ago, and this summer’s feast was an even bigger hit than the last one. Had I been an ancient Roman general and the eight grandchildren Roman senators—the five others were too small for the ice cream and sweets, though three did munch on the fruit—I have no doubt the youngsters would have ordered a triumph in my honor and proclaimed me a demigod.
As I watched these little ones digging into their hillocks of ice cream and toppings, it struck me how simple it is to make most people happy, at least for a moment. Think about it. Nearly everyone wants positive attention. The clerk behind the counter of the Emerald Isle coffee shop where I am writing these words warmed to my smile and my memories of visits to the shop over the years. The owner of the Emerald Isle Book and Toy Store brightened when I complimented him on his selections and took two copies of my novel, Amanda Bell, into his inventory.
These same assets—kindness, patience, a willingness to listen, an openness of the heart—are even more important in our relationships with our family and friends, spouses and children. In some respects, I am one of life’s slow learners, and I required decades to understand and practice these things. Time acted as a gem-grinder, wearing away my sharp edges, polishing my dull surfaces, and consequently I am not the man I was in my younger days, when I was quick to take umbrage, often impatient, and sometimes slow to offer kindness when it was most needed. Mishaps that once roused my ire now scarcely rouse my interest. When a window was shattered at the beach house this week, my daughter said to me, “You took that well.” After many years, I have finally learned that accidents happen and that shattered glass can be easily replaced.
A shattered heart is something else. When meeting others, I wish I could always remember that they may be suffering the cruelties that come with living: the death of a loved one, a divorce, a friend’s betrayal, the loss of a job. I wish I could always remember that from birth to death we all undergo those small daily trials that are a part of the human condition. I wish I could remember to offer a smile to the sullen grocery-store clerk, to extend to others the respect I want from them. I wish I could remember and practice the truths in those age-old adages like “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” “If you would be loved, love” and “To have a friend you must be a friend.”
I’ll keep plugging away. It’s so simple really, bucking people up, extending the gift of encouragement, making others feel a little better about themselves and their day.
Heck, sometimes all it takes is an ice cream lunch.
With the picture taken, I declared the ice cream lunch bar open for business. The moms helped limit the portions, doling out M&Ms and whipped cream, while I stood by and observed. A friend had suggested this idea two years ago, and this summer’s feast was an even bigger hit than the last one. Had I been an ancient Roman general and the eight grandchildren Roman senators—the five others were too small for the ice cream and sweets, though three did munch on the fruit—I have no doubt the youngsters would have ordered a triumph in my honor and proclaimed me a demigod.
As I watched these little ones digging into their hillocks of ice cream and toppings, it struck me how simple it is to make most people happy, at least for a moment. Think about it. Nearly everyone wants positive attention. The clerk behind the counter of the Emerald Isle coffee shop where I am writing these words warmed to my smile and my memories of visits to the shop over the years. The owner of the Emerald Isle Book and Toy Store brightened when I complimented him on his selections and took two copies of my novel, Amanda Bell, into his inventory.
These same assets—kindness, patience, a willingness to listen, an openness of the heart—are even more important in our relationships with our family and friends, spouses and children. In some respects, I am one of life’s slow learners, and I required decades to understand and practice these things. Time acted as a gem-grinder, wearing away my sharp edges, polishing my dull surfaces, and consequently I am not the man I was in my younger days, when I was quick to take umbrage, often impatient, and sometimes slow to offer kindness when it was most needed. Mishaps that once roused my ire now scarcely rouse my interest. When a window was shattered at the beach house this week, my daughter said to me, “You took that well.” After many years, I have finally learned that accidents happen and that shattered glass can be easily replaced.
A shattered heart is something else. When meeting others, I wish I could always remember that they may be suffering the cruelties that come with living: the death of a loved one, a divorce, a friend’s betrayal, the loss of a job. I wish I could always remember that from birth to death we all undergo those small daily trials that are a part of the human condition. I wish I could remember to offer a smile to the sullen grocery-store clerk, to extend to others the respect I want from them. I wish I could remember and practice the truths in those age-old adages like “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” “If you would be loved, love” and “To have a friend you must be a friend.”
I’ll keep plugging away. It’s so simple really, bucking people up, extending the gift of encouragement, making others feel a little better about themselves and their day.
Heck, sometimes all it takes is an ice cream lunch.