It was Monday afternoon and I was sitting at my desk in our fourth floor New York City apartment. I would be heading downtown soon, but in the meantime I had mail to open, papers to file and other really important things to do. Fortunately, my desk has a nice corner view of the park across the street and the view was particularly appealing this day. It had snowed over the weekend, but the storm had blown through leaving a clear sunshiny day with wispy clouds and a bright blue sky.
My wife came in to get something off the desk and my three year old son, Indy, followed her wearing his coat but no shoes. "Go get your shoes on," I said. He had to be dressed before my wife could take him outside. If he got his shoes on that would speed up the process and get him out of my hair quicker.
I continued working. It was Monday afternoon. I had a lot of important things to take care of.
A few minutes later my wife called from the living room, "Okay, he has his shoes on."
What? I wasn't quite sure what she was getting at.
"Now you can take him outside..." she explained.
"Oh. No. That wasn't what I--" I started to think in my head.
"That's why you told him to put his shoes on, right?"
"No, I thought you were going to take him outside," I thought, but didn't dare say out loud. But even so, it looked nice enough out there and I had just gotten to a good stopping point with my work. So I made a quick decision:
"Okay, I'll take him," I announced. "Besides, I can do some writing while he plays." I knew I was going to win major points for my paternal benevolence, so I figured this would all be worth it in the end. I got my coat and boots and grabbed my notebook. I was kind of looking forward to it.
"I want to go too!" one of our younger daughters, SJ, piped up. Hmmm. Two kids? I wasn't so sure.
"Sure why not," I said. I was just as surprised as they were by my response. I must have been thinking about more "points." I didn't catch the look on my wife's face, but I'm sure she was at least a little stunned. After all, I love to keep busy and work hard just as much as the next dad trying to provide for his family.
More coats. More boots. And we were all set. Out the door, down the elevator, across the street and into the park. But first, I made one very important stop: the mini-van. I'd just reparked it on the right side of the street for street cleaning and it happened to be right by the entrance to the park. Perfect.
Plus we'd decided a few years ago to keep our two beach chairs in the back of the mini-van. That way we'd always be prepared for a quick beach get-away should the occasion ever arise (like that was ever going to happen), plus our apartment was really crowded (the real reason). Nevertheless, it worked out perfectly for my little expedition with two of our kids. I pulled out one chair, grabbed two light blankets out of the kids bench seat and headed into the park with my son and daughter.
I went straight to the sunniest spot at the top of the slanted meadow where kids and grown-ups sled whenever there's snow. Tall, leafless trees framed the scene. I planted my beach chair in the snow, wrapped my legs in the blankets I'd brought, cinched the flaps on my hat down around my ears and pulled out my notebook and pen. Ahh! Bliss. The sun reflected up off the snow and warmed my face. It was perfect.
Indy ran around with two toys clutched in his hands; some sort of armored robot and a small red car, but mostly he ended up puttering around inspecting stray branches lying on the ground, watching squirrels scurry up tree trunks and listening to the snow crunch under his feet. SJ scampered around finding logs and sticks and laid plans to build some kind of survivor-esque shelter. Every now and then she would call from where she was and say, "Hey, Dad, look at this," and then come show me something she'd found.
So there I sat, warm, comfortable and peaceful, my kids running around and playing while I had a chance to be still and put some my thoughts down on paper. The buses growling past on Broadway were muted by the snow and I could even hear the birds sing from high up on the brittle, bare branches. I felt as though my twenty dollar Costco chair was a vintage Adirondack and I was sitting on some sun-drenched patio built out on a ski resort ledge in the Alps with a blanket from the lodge taking the edge off the cold as I scribbled notes and thought things through.
And then it occurred to me: simple things can make us happy…if we let them.
I can't remember the last time I'd felt so contented. Yet it was so easy and so unexpected. But when was the last time I just said, "Sure I'll take the kids outside," even though I wasn't planning to. I had important things to do. Someday I do plan to make my way to the Alps and perhaps sit on a patio with a blanket and a notepad in a big wooden chair with the Matterhorn in the distance. But until then, I'm grateful for the park across the street, my lawnchair stowed in the back of my mini-van and my kids.
Maybe they could learn how to yodel.
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