A study done last year by Mintel Research Consultancy that’s been making the rounds this week indicates that most people aren’t worried about high fructose corn syrup (HCFS). 2005 grocery shoppers were asked about what they searched for when reading labels:
What the what?
On ne voit bien qu’avec le cœur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.
One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.
-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
Beyond the obvious: food, shelter, air to breathe. Companionship. What could you not go without?
For me, it is the quiet moments with my kids, especially out in nature and in our home. Places that nourish and join our spirits beyond our blood ties.
These are the times that they will carry within them forever. They will remember the silly, loud, boisterous times too, to be sure. But when one day I am gone, it will be the times that they are quiet and the voices inside them are still, that they will feel how I am forever a part of them.
I know this because I experience it. I sit in an open field or an empty room and I remember what it felt like to have my father sitting next to me, reading or just being, silent but there. Comforting.
In a rushing, busy, saturated world, I think silence is the most essential gift we can give to our children. Not all the time. Treasured sometimes.
I treasure the time we spend sitting at the creek or lying down in the yard or lolling about on a Sunday afternoon, doing absolutely nothing.
I treasure the moments I spend standing at their doors, after pulling their blankets up to keep them warm, one last time before I go to bed.
I treasure the fact that they leave silly pictures of themselves on my phone, knowing full well I’m going to post them on the internet.
I treasure and document these moments, knowing they are fleeting. They grow up faster every day.
These are the times that my heart shouts out, you are mine. You are wonderful. You are beautiful. You are safe. You are loved.
I say it silently, into the stillness, and yet I know they hear me.
That which is essential is invisible to the eye.
That which is said silently is heard by the heart.
This post was inspired by my entry into the Nordic Naturals® What’s Essential™ Contest (as always, brevity is not my strong point).
Let Nordic Naturals® know what’s essential to you in 200 words or less: One Grand Prize Winner will receive a trip for two to Santa Cruz CA, including airfare, car rental, hotel, spending money, Nordic Naturals award winning omegas and more. Six Second Prize winners will receive a Canon® Vixia HF M400 camcorder and a one-year supply of Nordic Naturals award winning omegas. Twelve Third Prize winners will receive a one-year supply of Nordic Naturals award winning omegas.*
To enter, submit your What’s Essential story and accompanying image on Facebook or on whatsessential.com. Good luck!
There is no way that this winter is *ever* going to end as long as this groundhog keeps seeing his shadow.
I don’t see any other way out. He’s got to be stopped. And I have to stop him.
-Bill Murray in ‘Groundhog Day’
February 2nd was Groundhog Day, and usually on that day I am lamenting Punxsutawney Phil’s prediction that another six weeks of winter remain to suffer through. Sure, the calendar already says that, but having a rodent rub it in my face is generally more than I can bear.
Except, this year on February 2nd I was running around in a tank top and capri pants. Heck, I’ve only had to break out the heavy gloves a handful of times this season, and I don’t think Jeff has fired up his battery-operated socks even once. I can’t remember a single day where I sat in a just-started car and could see my own breath.
Part of that, admittedly, is because I spend a lot of time inside, but that doesn’t change the fact that this has been the mildest winter that I can remember, and frankly six more weeks of this is no big deal.
Except that ecologically speaking, it sort of is a big deal. Winter serves a purpose in the grand scheme; it’s a time for life to lie dormant and prepare to burst to life when warm weather arrives.
Trees don’t ‘harden off’ properly to protect themselves from the random cold snap. If we get a sudden cold snap close to spring— which pretty much always happens, usually the day after I’ve bought Cass and me light spring dresses— those trees will be damaged.Damaged early buds mean no explosion of spring flowers, no showers of petals from trees, no “blooming most recklessly,” no “April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.”
It means a diminished chorus of spring peepers.
It means no “spring has sprung,” more like a “spring kinda sauntered in while we weren’t paying attention and it wasn’t all that interesting.”
Don’t get me wrong, there are about eleventy million posts on this blog about how much I love spring. But this year I hope the stupid groundhog is right and we get a few weeks of for-real winter. Because as much as I love this…
it just means more when we’ve been through this.
