Simple Pleasure


“I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex.”- Oscar Wilde.

Aura tries to be a touch giver in workplace, in the volunteer programs, in the meetings and she does in her own way. She loves the gracious act of decoration and transformation.But sometimes she is a bit bewilder as to how one can perform pretty miracles to make a huge difference in the world of a house. Today is July 4th, off from work. She has plenty of time at hand. Aura looks around. She walks towards the mantel, lifts the beautiful hand painted vase, the one she painted in her second painting class. It turned out good for a new learner. Her husband and children do not say any negative which concludes her doubt. She looks at it closely. “Sure it looks pretty.” She decides to keep that in between the two white elephants which she purchased last time from India. She moves the wooden giraffe from there. According to Aura giraffes must have been made by someone talented but distracted.

The wooden bookcase caught her eyes and gratefully Aura crosses the hall. Her husband and children like to collect books but they just pile them in the book case.To relieve the congestion she takes up the framed photographs of her last visit to the Yellowstone National Forest and sets them on the top of the piano. Aura steps back and surveys her innovation. “Wow! It is Amazing!” The doorbell rings. Aura opens the door at the first bell. Her husband returns from his long morning walk with the dogs, still lots of energy to smile brightly at her. They sit on the beige sofa with two glasses of lemonade on hands. “ Well, it seems like you have rearranged the room again?” He says with a small smile taking a sip from the glass.Aura moves forward on cushion excitedly to tell all the new things she has done.She does not talk too much but a little to break the monotonous time. But at that time her husband has already opened the newspaper and hid most of himself behind the paper. Aura moves back on the sofa with the fashion and art page of the newspaper on her hand but she gets bored. She puts the paper down on the small end table. She wonders how he could get so much enjoyment out of a newspaper. She wish she could. Aura looks around to get her husband’s attention. “ I love these flowers,” she says arranging the bright yellow roses in a long neck glass vase. Her husband does not answer. He sighs and continues his reading.

In the late afternoon Aura drives to the elderly care home. She walks upstairs to the room to the right of the hall. The room is bright and comfortable furnished with pristine bed,  a small sofa. The old man, a friend of Aura sits on the chair, his eyes towards the door. Twice in a month Aura visits him and lifts the curtain on his creativity,helping him in the music lessons.This is the greatest pleasure for Aura when her blind friend plays passionately with great care pausing for emphasis, shaking his head at certain notes as if  he walks in a rainbow.You  will just breathe hard and listen to him mesmerized. After the practice Aura leaves to meet another woman in the same building. She knocks gently on her door and not expecting a response anyway she enters. Her other friend is in the bed. The yellow blanket is pulled up to her chest. Aura arranges the fresh picked flowers from her garden into a small glass vase and places on the wooden table close to the bed. Her name is Ivy and she is ninety years old. She does not have any family member so Aura visits her to give her company. Aura wraps her warm fingers around Ivy’s delicate hand. Ivy opens her eyes and smiles.

The last faint colors of the sun are gone. Aura returns home.

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