Little Things Can Make Me Happy

All day, I watched the dark sky for a predicted storm. For the first time that night, I hoped to go to our congregation’s annual picnic and Sabbath service, hosted by our friends Aurelia and Julio Pelsmajor in the back yard I’d heard so much about over the years. Luckily, by evening, the air remained delightful.  During 30 summers living beside Rt. 394 in Chautauqua, my three flower gardens, full of bees and butterflies, greeted me each morning. My ‘Giverny’, I declared to family and friends. Gallery visitors and passersby enjoyed the view, grandchildren cut flowers for bouquets, and I snapped photos for pastels and paintings.

Now, walking into our friends’ back yard far from Chautauqua’s splendid surroundings, I found myself in a hidden paradise.

Neighboring yards were neat as golf courses—green grass mowed low, a few young trees, and open sky. On the Pelsmajor grounds, a wall of greenery featured mature trees, all sorts of bushes, apple and other fruit trees, and near the ground, perennials and wildflowers, some in bloom, others waiting to flourish and entertain. As people arrived, one by one or two by two, I savored a private walk through a lush garden path.

Our short outdoor prayer service was brightened by Rabbi Steve’s guitar and my friends’ voices singing ably in Hebrew. This was the 50th anniversary of the morning my father Sidney had died suddenly at the age of 64, the day after my birthday. I stood to recite the prayer of remembrance with my daughter and goodhearted friends. Delicious vegetarian food followed.

As we began to leave, Aurelia urged us to pause and notice a small plant with a single green bud. We watched silently as the narrow bud opened in a minute to reveal a cuplike yellow flower.

In two days, I would see the tremendously exciting musical ‘Hamilton’. But on this bittersweet occasion, the little show of that evening primrose brought me tears of joy.

Gloria Plevin