A few minor details
April in Glenwood
The older I become, the more I’m paying attention to life’s intricate details. And I don’t just mean typos on a menu.
I’m usually inclined to find those no matter what my age.
By intricate details I mean those fleeting moments in life that come and go quickly, returning to us later as memories. They can last a lifetime, remaining with us during all stages of life. Or they can be a simple observation passing after a short period of time.
I hope I always remember how to edit a menu.
Life’s little details are all around us, looking to help us smile or motivate us to change the world, and it’s up to us to acknowledge them. They can be heard in the joy of a baby learning to talk and walk while waiting at the airport. Or the familiar call of an orange-bellied bird outside a window after a fresh spring rain. With all this talk of life’s precious moments, I think I might be turning into my grandparents.
I wouldn’t mind being a little wiser for my age.
As we get older, we continue learning that minor details such as Precious Moments figurines, babies, birds and birds having babies are the cream-cheese icing on life’s extra-gluten-carrot cupcake. They’re all fun to appreciate as we age and ponder life pre-nongluten. What I really get the most enjoyment out of in life are the silly moments that directly or indirectly cause laughter. That can include gluten. The silliness doesn’t always have to be at my expense, too.
Somehow I’m always involved.
If I could think of any cliché in the world to describe my fun-loving, menu-editing zest for adventure and orientation toward details, I’d say I get a kick out of life. I mostly want to run into the street and jump in the air screaming, “Wahoo!” because I think life is so grand, and I really get a kick out of it.
Especially with carrot cake.
I only stop myself from celebrating in the street because I have a fear of fast-moving vehicles striking me at pain-inducing angles. Also, with my luck I’d be ticketed for being a jerk in traffic, like with road rage.
Maybe I should try it in a crosswalk.
I need to remember this: More stopping to notice life’s cute details and less risking too high of a kick out of life that I hurt myself.
There’s always the potential of falling down or pulling a tendon in an area of my body vital to my mobility. That could be anywhere for me. My life definitely does not need a groin pull in it right now.
It could use some excitement, though.
The most memorable details of my life are not surprisingly the most exciting, embarrassing and traumatizing. And they typically fall within my tween years up to the present. These have often involved me being ridiculously infatuated with someone completely out of my league, leading to hilarious decisions even a rock would get a kick out of.
I bet pet rocks from the ’70s have seen it all.
In terms of proper etiquette, I’ve been classically flubbing up life’s most intricate dating rituals for some time now. Now that I’m chronically single, it’s only fitting I start taking a more detail-focused approach to my relationships. I see no reason not to go way back, like elementary school. Some girls knew how to flirt with boys during lunch. I did not. I usually took the chasing route. One day I traded this kid Ryan 10 cents so he’d call me his girlfriend and give me his extra corn on pizza day. And I never lived it down. The corn is my favorite detail of that especially strange childhood memory. I might also note that this minor dating detail of mine does hint of my potential to become a sugar mama in my golden years.
These are times of my life I hope I never feel that way again.
Instead of gracefully floating above a crowd in Patrick Swayze’s durable hands at summer camp, I’m falling down the stairs in my freshman year of high school while classes were changing. I wore a frosted denim skirt, and all I really remember was a flurry of white fringe, a metal belt and my cowgirl boots toppling over my head as I plummeted down the stairwell.
John Hughes, eat your heart out.
Hughes knew that in his teen ’80s movies the details — down to the pretty dresses, awkward braces and bad crushes — were what mattered most to the kids. And in the end, they did.
I think I know that life story.
— April E. Clark remembers all the details of her prom, and she didn’t wear pink. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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