Last weekend my brother, sister-in-law, and I took their boys to Flagstaff for the day. We ate lunch at Beaver Street Brewery, home to my absolute favorite hamburger (My brother and I have a friendly “agree to disagree” about this.), and had a snowball fight, which I would like to say I won, but then I’d be lying. After I surrendered the snowball fight, we turned the car home toward Phoenix. On the way back, we stopped at Rock Creek Café for pie. If you question the need for this detour in our sojourn, you either have never had the pie at Rock Creek Café, or your taste buds are faulty, my friend.
So, we sat there in the historic waystop, pie and coffee on the table, silence befalling our party except for the occasional sigh of contentment. I believe it may have been a collective pie stupor. Then Auz, my 10 year-old nephew, did the unthinkable; he pushed his pie plate away announcing he was “full.” We adults stared at him aghast, but Z, Auz’s 6 year-old brother, practically shimmied with excitement.
“Can I have it?” Z asked.
This was unprecedented. Someone, anyone, could not finish their amazing pie? And it was chocolate cream pie, at that, the holy grail of pies. We, the grownups, looked at each other. Could we, in good conscience, allow a 6 year-old to consume two pieces of pie? Ahhhh, but there was a bigger issue at stake. Could we permit a perfectly good piece of Rock Creek chocolate cream pie to go unfinished? The decision was clear. My brother and his wife exchanged that spousal look that says “You know you know what I’m thinking, or at least you better pretend to know,” while I nodded my approval.
My brother cleared his throat. “Z, you may have the pie.” (Please don’t judge us. It was chocolate cream.)
Z reached for his brother’s pie. “Come to poppa,” he exclaimed gleefully.
I looked at my sister-in-law. “Did he really just say that?”
She smiled at me, nodding. “Yes, yes he did.” We both dissolved into laughter, but Z was oblivious to our mirth as he, literally, double-fisted his pies. His right hand dipped a fork into his own blueberry pie while his left hand scooped up the heavenly chocolate cream with a spoon, enthusiastically alternating bites.
I loved seeing Z attack his pie with gusto, and it occurred to me while I watched him assail that pie, that Z approaches much of what he does with that same level of joy. Oh, I know that he’s only six, and has yet to be sullied by disappointment and regret, sullied by cynicism and bitterness, but what if disappointment and regret , cynicism and bitterness, are all choices? I’d like to choose not to be “that” person. I’d like to choose to live like Z in my approach to situations and people. I’d like to see the world through the eyes of a little child.
Now, I’m not ridiculous or unreasonable. I know that the more you live, the more difficult – the more tangled – life gets. How I approach those tangles is what matters.
When I was a little girl, I used to sit for hours at a time untangling my mother’s necklaces. I never encountered a knot I couldn’t work loose, but as an adult, I’ve found that that just isn’t true.
I have a favorite, delicate white gold necklace with a pink sapphire and yellow diamond butterfly. It was a gift many years ago from someone who loved me then. Just today I took the necklace out of storage , and wouldn’t you know, there was an enormous knot right at the clasp. I worked on that tangle for hours, patiently wiggling, jiggling, pulling at the knot. I’d think I had it worked loose then, nope, it would go right back to being a tiring mess. After those hours had passed, I finally admitted that only a Master Jeweler could fix the problem, maybe even to the point of cutting the knot out of the chain completely, then carefully, expertly replacing the links. The necklace would never be the same, but it would go on with its life, different but still beautiful in its own way, still serving its purpose.
So, for my New Year’s resolution, I’d like to approach life like Z does pie, and when I hit a tangle that I just can’t work loose, I’m going to (try to) hand it over to the Master Jeweler to do with what He will.
Happy New Year! May you enjoy your own version of pie and tangled necklaces in 2014.
The Unexpected Life 