I love the fall season. The last of the sunny, warm days becomes more precious. The trees drop their gold before becoming barren. I admire the vibrant row of red geranium flowers in my front yard one more time before digging them up and bringing them inside for the winter. I’m posting a musing that I wrote in the summer of 2004 that speaks to savoring the riches in our lives.

I love my life. It’s Wednesday afternoon in June and I’m sitting on my patio. The skies are clear blue with a few cottony clouds in the western sky to remind me that the sky is not painted on. Every minute or so, there’s a slight breeze—the kind that makes the aspen leaves whisper and wakes me up to the fact that I am outside, not inside in my home office in the basement. The temperature is cool enough to be comfortable in a short sleeve shirt and silk pants. It is warm enough to not have to notice what I’m wearing outside. It’s a lovely afternoon.

My husband has taken our sons to the neighborhood pool. I’m alone with my laptop. Mike, the boy next door, just called looking for my sons. Okay, so I’m not completely alone. I have all afternoon to write about whatever I want. And there is chocolate in the house. Good chocolate, not the kind that kids get as birthday party favors, but the rich stuff—Godiva. It’s the bounty from Father’s Day that my husband has so generously shared with the rest of the family. He has every right to hoard it all to himself. After all, my sons give him chocolate as a gift because they know he enjoys it. But he’s too nice of a father and husband to accept the riches without sharing them.

My older son had given his father a box of four Godiva truffles. He was proud that he had bought it with his own money. We agreed that when my husband opened the box up, each of us would get one truffle. Last night, when I came home from a meeting in the evening, the rest of the family had already indulged in their individual truffle. I could see the satisfaction on their faces. My 9-year old son encouraged me to finish off the box that held the last truffle. He listed the flavors of the other truffles that were now readily digesting inside sweetened stomachs—dark chocolate with lemon filling, dark chocolate with nuts, milk chocolate with more milk chocolate. I was curious as to what mine would be. All I knew was that it would be good. I poured myself a glass of milk and sat down next to the box with the lone truffle. I took a small bite. My tongue felt the creaminess of the inside melt and transform into a nutty taste. Milk chocolate with hazelnut. Bingo. I had hit jackpot.

My 11-year old son looked at me and with the wisdom of a yoga guru said, “Eat it slowly.” I knew what he meant. It occurred to me that we should eat all of our food slowly to savor the flavors. But it was especially important to take in all the smells and tastes of rich, refined chocolate. And then he added seriously, “That cost $1.75.” He
smiled knowing that he had spent his money well. It was rich in more ways than one.

What would happen if we stopped to savor all parts of our lives, not just the special occasion chocolates?