Cardamom & Cranberries

Sunday morning....my favorite morning of the week. I awaken naturally with the sunrise, without having to fret over setting an alarm clock. The glow of sunlight gently peeks between the slats of the old Venetian blinds, an accompaniment of birdsong softly rises from the tulip tree below the window. I close my eyes and quietly listen to the melody; I discern the trill of a mockingbird, two cheerful chickadees, and a jubilant male cardinal. I love the respectful way in which birds display their appreciation of the dawn. A gift of joyous song in exchange for a gift of sunlight....

As I rise up amidst my sea of twisted sheets and soft covers, I think to myself, "In what way should a human show appreciation for the gift of a new day?" I stand up, stretching and yawning, reaching up toward the ceiling with my arms. A loud "pop!" echoes through the room as my left shoulder prompts me with a reminder of my childhood days spent climbing trees. When is the last time I climbed a tree? I try to remember....last spring? Wow, I really need to find a good tree for climbing. I love the perspective from a perch in the uppermost branches of a tree, the feeling of the wind rustling through the leaves, the gentle swaying of the limbs. Even the occasional scrape from the rough bark of the tree reminds me that I am alive.

After a hot bath, I quickly dress and pile my tangled mess of curls onto the back of my head, securing them with a smoothly carved stick. I plod down the squeaky wooden stairs, turn the corner and walk into the kitchen. Removing a saucepan from the cabinet, a metal lid clangs onto the floor. So much for being quiet! From upstairs comes, "Mama?! Is that you?" I giggle, knowing that Mason has been waiting to hear a clue that I'm making breakfast. "Yes," I answer, "would you like some oatmeal?"

A rapid flurry of footsteps flutters down the stairs, and two seconds later, Mason stands beside me at the pantry. His cherubic little face reveals dimples on either cheek, halo of golden curls in disarray atop his head, dark brown eyes sparkling with the anticipation of his favorite meal. "Are you gonna put the cardamom in there? And the cream, Mama?" I smile, and finish gathering the items from the pantry. "Yes, Mason, I will make it just like I always do. But in mine, I think I'm going to put some dried cranberries today. Would you like some in your oatmeal?"

Mason folds his face in thought, then crinkles up his nose in disgust. Typical of many children, he does not readily try new things without a little prodding first. "Mason, part of being a human is the willingness to try new things, to keep an open mind. When you are unwilling to try new things, you become stagnant."

I can tell immediately that he is concerned with what I just said. "Mama, what is 'stagnant'?"

"To 'stagnate' means to stop growing, to become stuck in old habits and thinking patterns. Being 'stagnant' is what happens to people when they do not wish to learn or gain new experiences," I reply. "It is a very sad thing."

A brief shadow crosses Mason's face, then a little smirk dances at the corners of his mouth, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I know someone who is stagnant!", he exclaims. "My Dad!"

I know this snippet of conversation will probably cause strife for me in the near future, when my former husband finds out that he is 'stagnant'. Still, I think that Mason learned a valuable lesson about life. Perhaps that is how a human shows appreciation for the gift of a new day? Smiling, I sprinkle a handful of dried cranberries into Mason's steaming bowl of oatmeal.