Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.There’s a trick surviving the simple pleasures in life: if I only knew what it was. By J. G. Fabiano There is nothing nicer then sitting out on a deck at 6:00 in the morning enjoying the sunrise while soaking in all the fresh smells of a nearby ocean sipping on a cup of fresh brewed coffee. I did just that last Saturday as the morning sun felt warmer than it has since last summer. Or it could have been the summer before that! Gazing out at my neighborhood I enjoyed the deep greens of the manicured lawns and the deeper emerald colors of the newly leaved trees and bushes that stood in their places as if they were meant to by some almighty force to do just that. Taking another sip out of my favorite coffee cup that was more like a pot then a cup, I slowly closed my eyes to soak in more of the scents the morning had to offer. Then all of a sudden I felt an intense sting on the back of my neck. Since I was in an almost transcendental state I jumped up forgetting I was holding what used to be my favorite cup, spilled the contents on my bare legs and a lap that was covered only by my combination bathing suit, shorts, pajamas, and visiting garment. I don’t know which hurt worse; the sting on the back of my neck, the burning caused by the coffee soaking everything south of my waste, or the knowledge that my favorite coffee cup was now smashed across the base of my deck. Trying to figure out which pain would cause the most chronic damage I reached out and grabbed what I hoped would be nothing from the back of my neck. Actually I hoped I did find something because if I didn’t I was destined to suffer through many tests at my doctor’s office but, I did find something. In fact, I found a big something. Ripping a pterodactyl sized monster off the back of my neck and foolishly holding it in my hand, at which time I now had another pain to worry about. I threw the invader out in front of me only to have it fly a couple of times around my head, give me the insects symbol copied only by a persons use of their middle phalange, and flew off to another neighbor who was just about to enjoy his or her first cup of coffee. Sweeping up my favorite coffee cup before the larger pieces decide to implant themselves into the bottom of my foot I smiled knowing with all the simple pleasures in life there are always a few simple disasters to go along with them. The first day of summer usually finds me walking to the beach for the first time of the year. I grab my old faithful dilapidated beach chair pull on my favorite sandals from the year before and start my trek to the beach where I hopefully will find no one I know so I can sit waste deep in the water and contemplate nothing more important then myself. This is always a great time in my life to observe the newly summerized houses that line the trail I take to the beach. The air is filled with sun and warm air. The people I pass all smile knowing they are finally doing something they want to do and even the dogs and cats of our fair town keep their distance knowing any disturbance to this traditional trek would simply not be appreciated. When I get to the beach my legs are a bit tired but I don’t care because my soul has been recharged and my psyche is thrilled with the thought this will be the first of many adventures to the beach. I walk down to the water, place my chair in a place it has been over the past decade or so and slowly sit down in an ocean that has always been there and probably always will be. Shock invades two very important parts of my body. First of all the waters of the New England coast line never keep up with the warm airs of early summer. The temperature cannot be more than 32 degrees and that sends a distress signal to other parts of my body telling it to get up before I cause permanent damage. My feet also join in on the fun because the walk to the beach in sandals I once trusted ripped all the skin off the sides and bottom of my feet. Anyone who has ever had the misfortune of putting a part of their skinless body in the Atlantic Ocean clearly understands the intensity of the stinging that sweep through my now throbbing feet. I then rip my chair from the grips of the sand and limp up to the softer sand where I cover the stumps that I used to call feet in my shirt hoping I would once again be able to walk. Even though the intensity of the pain has lessened by the ice cold shock of the ocean water it still hurts. Hell, it hurts like hell. The story continues because now that I am on the soft sand part of the beach with my shirt covering my poor feet I am left alone to look up at the sun feeling its warmth attempt to take the pain away. Since I am tired from my walk and excruciating pain still throbbing in my feet I slowly fall asleep. This is one of the more enjoyable parts of the beach. Its sun and air have an intoxicating effect on all who are fortunate enough to enjoy it but then I have to wake up. What seems like minutes turns into hours with me looking up at the yellow globe we have all been waiting since last October to re-appear. At first I smile feeling totally relaxed but then I try and change the expression on my face. It is as though someone has poured hot wax on my face because I couldn’t move a muscle without feeling as though my face will crack off. Then it starts to hurt. Not as much as my crippled feet but enough to have me realize I will become a gooey mess of creams and lotions as soon as I am able to find someone to drive me home. There are many other instances where the concept of enjoying the hell out of something is always coupled with the art of surviving what you just enjoyed. Watching a great sporting event is an example. In New England we have been fortunate to have two championship teams. It was great fun to have friends and family come over for the title game. They brought food and drink and since the team’s league wanted the whole country to enjoy and watch the advertisements with the game they always started the game at 8:00 or 8:30 at night. This meant the festivities would go on deep into the next morning. After the game we all had to celebrate the victory by having one last piece of pie or one last glass of beer. The problem was waking up the next day with less then four hours of sleep. Your stomach was full and your mind was still a bit intoxicated. The next day was never a weekend day but rather a working day. Experts tell me that June 21 is the longest day of the year. I have to correct the experts by stating the day after the Red Sox and Patriots won was definitely the longest day not only for me but for most of the people I work with. In my life I clearly understand with all the simple pleasures in life there are always a few simple disasters to go along with them. I prefer to use the expression: "Enjoy the hell out of the good times and survive the bad ones that are sure to follow." In reality the good times far outweigh the bad ones. I just have to buy a better pair of sandals! The End.
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