When your loved one arrives home from work, you are full of the significance of the events of your day, but as they rise to the tip of your tongue to share, you realize they are…ordinary. So ordinary that to verbalize them seems ridiculous, even to a sympathetic, if tired and distracted, listener. There must be something–you search your mind for it, the event that was special, unusual, touching, surprising enough to bring out to the “How was your day?” It was a good, good day, but why, again?
No, you are not being sarcastic–not at all. Nor are you trying to glorify the ordinary, elevate basic labors to significance that, at least in a finite time frame, they do not have. But–was it only a daydream, or something from further back, before you woke, a dream? Something elusive and delightful wants to be told, but every drafted line that comes to your lips betrays only one thought each, and is that enough?
You completely cleaned the coffee drawer and lined it with beautiful solver contact paper, and it looks wonderful after months of dust and crumbs.
The chickadees in the cypress are out of the nest, perching on the smaller branches of the plum tree and vocalizing in chorus, looking unjustifiably confident.
You thought of a new idea for the parody magazine you have in the works, at least in your mind–an advertisement for lawyers specializing in prosecuting parents who allowed their children (now grown) to quit music lessons when they complained too much.
Your son, now fourteen, is playing in the big pile of topsoil like he used to when he was eight.
You heard the two young adult children discussing budgets and life goals.
The new berry bushes are in the ground and placed just right according to the permaculture plan, and you can visualize a small pond nearby where the lawn is always soggy anyway.
You joined an online local gardening group and have shared lots of tips already.
Of course they care, and would not mock or belittle you for mentioning such things, but still, the feeling is that these items of news really are special, yet only when left unsaid. Cherished in the heart, so to speak. So you keep trying to remember the thought of something larger than all that. But it doesn’t really matter, because of your secret delight.