Simple Joys: Tiny Bubbles

Since we got rid of most of our dishes over a year ago I do most of my dishes by hand.  It's a more pleasant experience.  The warm water.  The suds.  Instant gratification.

And the tiny bubbles.

I don't remember seeing these before.  I've done dishes by hand many times in the past.  I think it might be the bottle.  Nearly every time I pick up or set down the bottle of dish soap, tiny bubbles shoot out of it and float around the sink.  About the size of my fingertip.  And it makes me happy.

Bubbles are one of life's miracles, if you ask me.  They're just magical, no matter how old I get.  Watching them float.  Wondering if they will survive the landing.  Trying to catch them without popping them.  They are a wonder.

They take me back to a simpler time with my children.  Every time I see them I remember the summers spent blowing bubbles so my children could chase them.  I remember helping my children learn to blow them.  I remember when the magic of bubbles was enough to solve most unhappy days.  Long before dating woes, driving stress, and worries about grades and graduation and college.  Just me, the kids, bubbles, and sunshine.

They also take me further back in time.  Every time I see them I hear the song "Tiny Bubbles" in my head.  I remember the first time I heard that song.  It wasn't Don Ho.  It wasn't on a ukelele'.  It was an old man on a guitar.  With his partner on a banjo.  I went camping with my grandma to an annual gathering called The Blackhawk.  As the summer evening was winding down, people were socializing and relaxing.  People were playing music together, rocking in lawn chairs by their trailers, singing.  And these two old men created heaven.  A moment that still brings me peace when I think about it.  Just a still, quiet summer evening filled with the beautiful harmony of two old friends.

A time when I had no worries.  There was nothing left for the day except to enjoy the company of those around us until it was time to go to bed.  I was with my grandma, my angel on earth.  And with people who had all the time in the world just to be.

Washing my dish makes me happy.  It brings me joy in a most simple way.  (And just in case it is the bottle -- it's Dawn and it works best when the bottle is mostly empty.  I want you to find happiness washing your dish, too.)

Simple Joys: My Bowl

My posts have been heavier lately because my life has been heavier.  And while nothing has really changed, I need a little bit of light.  Just some light writing about things that bring me joy.  So I decided now would be a good time to begin a series I've been pondering.  A series about simple joys.

A while back I wrote about finding minimalism and feeling like I was finally home.  Since then I've written about not liking stuff, getting rid of hundreds of books, only keeping one set of dishes for each member of the family, and what to do with all the trophies.  In my efforts to minimize I have taken thirteen trailer loads to the dump or the thrift store.  It's felt great.  And, yes, there is still so much to do.

But one of the best things about getting rid of stuff is what I keep.  Deciding what matters to me and what doesn't.  Letting go of emotional attachments that are more guilt than love and everything kept just in case.  The things I intentionally keep bring me joy.

One of these things is my bowl.  It's ceramic.  It has about a three cup capacity.  It's deep.  It's good for a small bowl of cereal or a big bowl of stew.  It's the only bowl I use.  And it brings me so much joy.  Every time I use it.

There is something about the heft of it.  It's kind of heavy.  I like that.  It feels solid in my hands.  It has a wonderful little chip in it that serves as the perfect place to rest my thumb as I hold it.  It is kind of a dark blue with a snowman head -- wearing a hat and a scarf and a big smile.  It also has white dots scattered sparsely around the bowl.  Raised dots.  I love texture.  The added texture of those dots on my bowl makes me happy.

One day it will break and I will have to fall in love with another bowl.  That's okay.  I've found that the fewer things I own the easier it is for me to love them.

For now I have it and it brings me a ridiculous amount of joy.