Unexpected pleasures abound

Sometimes in my life I have looked forward to some event so much that I was disappointed when it finally happened and it wasn't as fantastic as I thought it would be. It might have been great, but I had imagined it to be even greater. I am trying to think of an example of this that I can tell without hurting someone's feelings. One example I remember had me hurting my sister's feelings.

In our family, birthdays were always recognized at supper time with presents under the birthday child's plate, and favorite foods served. I always looked forward to these times even if it was another sibling's birthday. There was a lot of jokes and teasing. One year my sister Ellen had planned a surprise birthday party in the afternoon for me with the kids in the neighborhood. This was held outside with a blanket on the grass for our table. She had some games, cake and ice-cream and the neighbor kids behaved themselves nicely. When it was over, she asked me if I'd had fun. I started crying and said, "I'd rather have the family birthday like always." Of course that hurt her feelings and it still bothers me 83 years later. Of course, the family didn't forget me even though I had a few gifts from the neighbors already. It was Ellen who was disappointed after thinking ahead about how happy I would be to have a party for me.

The party should have been one of my unexpected pleasures. It was until it became close to supper time and I was afraid that the usual birthday routine would be skipped. Then I had the unexpected pleasure again when the family came through for me. These are small examples, but similar to ones I enjoy each day when I take time to acknowledge them.

Last Sunday I was "busy" working a Free Cell puzzle. I saw a way to win and was getting ready to make the winning move when the telephone rang. I hoped Lester would pick it up, but he was asleep and hadn't heard the phone. I answered it but not with as cheery a Hello as usual. The unfamiliar voice at the other end of the line identified himself by his name. It took a minute for me to realize that this was my one and only cousin still alive. We had seen each other through the years at big occasions -- marriages of siblings, anniversaries of grandparents, and one time a visit from our family just to see his in Florida during Christmas vacation.

I was the youngest of my family as he was of his. He was nearly two years older, but still we were the 'little kids" in the group. So when the whole crowd went to the beach, there wasn't room for us in the cars taking the older siblings on each side. So we were left with our mothers and went to pick oranges in a nearby orchard. I think that was the only time that the two of us actually "played" with each other. The rest of the time we watched and followed the older siblings.

So, last Sunday when I heard him give his name, my thoughts didn't quickly go to the 10-year-old boy I played with that Christmas. No, it went to a good looking older gentleman who was seated with Ellen, Harold and me at the "old folks table" at my brother Harold's 100th birthday party.

How ironic. At one gathering we were "too young" to go with the gang. In another occasion, some 70 years later, we were "too old" to table hop with our children and grandchildren. But we did get to catch up both at the 100th birthday party and on this so welcome telephone call. He and his wife, now living in an Atlanta, Ga., retirement village, were preparing to go to a tea dance in the middle of the afternoon. I was obviously relaxing at my computer and Lester was relaxing in the lounge chairs. We were not exactly having similar life styles, but we could enjoy with relish our genealogical roots and knowledge, rehashing memories and rejoicing that we did still have one living cousin left out of that larger group that didn't have room for us to go with them to the beach.

Maybe someday "up there" I will have the unexpected pleasure of being just the right age for the occasion. Perhaps John will also be there.