The Little Things

I am a bit of a “noticer”. That is the name I’ve given myself- a noticer of the little teeny pieces of life that get lost with each sunset. A Life Spy. Detail Scientist. I’m passionate about details-specific colors in somebody’s eyes when they are moody, the hollowed dip at the bottom of a neck, the way people turn their heads or don’t when somebody calls their name, how puppy legs have a funny rhythm when they run beside their owner, the way a couple holds hands or the twitchy, blinking eyes of a squirrel resting on my fence. As a kid, I would obsessively write details like this down. I would fold them into the pages of my notebook before they got lost- like an odd little shopkeeper trying to hurriedly restock canned thoughts on shelves before closing. I cut out descriptive newspaper articles and carried them around, creased and soft, in the pockets of my Lee jeans. I was so scared about these juicy little gems being tossed away to the darkness of night.

Now as a mother, this skill of “noticing” is not only innate, it is quite useful. I can tell by the way my teenage son grabs the Oat Squares from the pantry what kind of day we might have. Crap- he rushed it, prepare for sarcasm and moodiness. I hear the particular foot falls of my 5-year-old as she comes down the stairs, and I have already determined whether or not I should say an instant “good morning” or give her a minute before engaging. Let me just add here, should you ever find yourself in my home, always give her a minute if you want to stay alive. My oldest chews her avocado toast with extra vigor when she is about to share a secret. And Bodey, well, if you ever need a case study in the way someone’s eyes twinkle and dance when they are mischievous and happy, he’s your Santa Claus.

As an adult human in the world, detail-obsession maybe has a few drawbacks. I’m not always so great with the bigger picture. (Could this be the reason I’m so very terrible with meal planning?) In fact, I inwardly cringe when somebody says “well, let’s look at the big picture!” Uuuuuuuuugh- does this mean we have to talk about finances and retirement accounts and pretend these newspaper articles in my pockets aren’t important? Yawn. I often feel like the “bigger picture” just means not really getting to know one another and glossing over the best parts of the story. Like living in a movie preview- we get the catchy highlights but never really fully understand WHY she chose to leave her job as a stockbroker in the city and buy the cottage in the country and become an organic cookie baker. Another symptom of my detail disease is I often pretend I exist inside a movie musical. Yep. It’s true. It is why one can often find me dancing when I think no one is looking. I put my headphones on and my favorite Broadway show soundtrack and walk the street noticing every single delicious bit I can find- like how many creases are in that gorgeous homeless man’s face, and the way that lady lifts the cigarette to her mouth with the sadness of 10,000 lives lived and how that slip of a woman walks down the street in her white dress with the shiniest black hair I’ve ever seen, how the little cherub boy in the back of the double buggy reaches his chubby hand to his Mama for just a moment, the color of the gum wrapper under the outdoor patio table. All of these little melodies make the best kind of life to me.

A few weeks ago, my family was driving home from a short stay at a lake cottage (it’s a Canada thing). Now, typically, a road trip with 4 kids, a dog and a spouse is when my detail-brain shuts down and the simple survival mode kicks in. Self-preservation. We made a stop in a little town at a gas station and the back seat flew down, car doors swung open and heads got stepped on so my entourage could run inside for Skittles and a bathroom break. I let them all go in without me so I could actually take a full breath without needing to say “please stop hitting each other”. And as I unfolded my legs out of our overly-packed car I glanced across the street and saw them and I could not take my eyes away……

A man and woman each slowly brought their motorcycles to a halt in front of the low, brick restaurant. I think you could play bingo there and drink cheap beer. She got off her bike first- glorious with black leather boots- and shook her thick tangled brown hair free from the helmet exactly like I would want to shake my hair free if I rode motorcycles. She steadied herself against her monstrous padded seat for a few moments before slowly slipping the straps of her black top down to mid-shoulder to expose her collar bones. She was slightly sunburned but radiating freedom. Her beau, well in my story he was definitely her man, was sweaty and worn with thin, grey hair and a grizzly, unshaven face and intensely dark sunglasses. He was angry I think. He kept pacing back and forth with his helmet jammed under his arm and his face twisted in confusion. They might have just had a disagreement about when and where they needed to stop or about whether or not they should even continue on at all. She was a badass- soft and hard at the same time, and she just stood with her legs slightly apart waiting for him to look at her. I could not wait for that man to lift his sunglasses from his eyes and when he finally did and stopped his leather-booted pacing, it was like electric bolts flew in the air and crisscrossed through the universe. I think I audibly gasped and was glad a huge truck was passing through the intersection to cover me. He stood directly in front of her and reached up with a tattooed hand to touch her freckled shoulder. Oh my. One touch told me exactly why those two are “ride or die”. Good god, I could have stared at them, sucking in their details, for the rest of my days.

Then my little skittles came bounding out to the car while punching each other on the back, and we were off again.

Life is just better in the weird little, jean-pocket details. Creativity and the stories that save us and the connection of humanity is all in the little bits of light tossed around between us, I think. So, I’ll keep dancing and noticing and jotting things down to never forget- one little piece at a time, let the big picture just sort of settle in around me.

I see you and I hear you and I love your details.

Ride or die, babes. xoxoxoxoxoxox