Flippy floppies and a fedora
By Sharla Gorder
KISS. Keep it simple … Sharla. My lesson du jour.
I love a life that keeps offering me opportunities to grow. I have so much to learn. And, to quote poet Mark Nepo, “The quiet teachers are everywhere.” Sometimes they’re two years old.
My classroom for this lesson was nothing less than idyllic. Every year since 1971, my husband’s family has gathered for a family reunion on the shores of a lovely little lake in eastern Washington. His sister Connie lives in a house that sits atop a grassy slope angling down to the crystal-clear waters of Diamond Lake.
This year there were 30 of us — four generations of Gorders ranging in age from 2 to 92. We’d rented cabins, all in a row next to Connie’s, for the reunion festivities.
My little grandnephew, Rio, and his parents were our next-door neighbors for the weekend, and every time I’m around that kid, I’m just smitten. I have never in my life met a more charming toddler.
His mom, Hannah, and I have been friends since she was three. She is the youngest old soul I know. And watching her interact with Rio is like watching perfect parenting personified. She is genuinely fascinated and intrigued by her boy — as is everyone who meets him.
He is unusually confident, curious and affable for a two-year-old. The whole weekend he ran naked on the lawn — except for his beloved “flippy floppies” (a kid-sized pair of scuba fins) and, in the evenings, a tweed fedora. Quite a sight! He interacted easily and enthusiastically with everyone. He rarely fussed.
The second night we were there, it was my turn to cook for the crowd. All 30 of us sat down around a long picnic table on the lawn as the sun set over the lake. Little Rio was in his own little chair in the grass, happily eating his gumbo.
Hannah sat next to him eating hers. I looked over at them and heard her quietly say, “Rio, Sharla made the gumbo.”
He took another bite, swallowed, made eye contact with me, and said, “Yum, Sharla.”
My heart just melted. I don’t know if I’ve ever been complimented so sincerely, so sweetly and so succinctly. Two words — yum, Sharla.
I carried that compliment with me for days. It really came in handy on the flights back home. Weather delays and canceled flights had us overnighting at the airport in Atlanta. To break me out of my crankiness at 2:00 a.m., I conjured Rio’s face, his spoonful of gumbo, and his sweet little voice. “Yum, Sharla” became my mantra. It still makes me smile.
I shared this story with my yoga class last Thursday — a little “Dharma talk” of sorts — the point being that expressing appreciation to others doesn’t have to be an elaborate or contrived ordeal. We needn’t be shy about telling people why they matter to us, what they have contributed to our lives and how good their gumbo is. Be generous with your praise — and stingy with your criticism.
Yoga was especially cushy that morning, slow and flowy all the way through to the final resting pose, “savasana,” where we all recline motionless on our mats and simply breathe for a few tranquil moments.
At the very end, I suggested the group revisit their “intention” for their practice that morning.
“How do you feel?” I quietly asked.
From several corners of the dark room, sweet voices replied in unison.
“Yum, Sharla.”
I’m still smiling.
