Little Things Mean a Lot

The Boston Herald

She buys me a package of 'Good and Plenty,' my favorite candy, because she knows I'm blue. 'Here you are,' she says fresh from the outdoors, the cold still clinging to her. 'I thought these would make you feel better.'

And they do. Candy makes me feel like a kid again.

'The doctor will give you a lollipop if you're a brave girl.'

I was never a brave girl but I always got the lollipop anyway.

My husband takes my car. 'Don't drink coffee in it,' I tell him. 'Don't eat anything. And don't change the radio stations.' He leaves the driveway with the gas gauge hovering near empty. When he returns, the gas gauge reads full.

Mike Conrad phones. I haven't heard from him since last May. Mike is one of the kids I taught in an after-school course at Archbishop Williams 'We wanted to know if we could see you. How about next Wednesday?’

Little things. They mean so much.

When I was just beginning to write, 'Family Circle' reneged on a promise to print a piece I told everyone in the world was going to be published. 'We had someone on staff do it,' an editor explained over the phone. I called my husband sobbing. Flowers arrived a little while later, with a card which read, 'You'll always be number one in this family circle.'

I've long admired my neighbor Ellen's miniature Christmas scene. This year I never got over to her house to see it. Part of the scene was given to her by her aunt, part by her mother and the rest she'd collected over the years. A few weeks ago, my doorbell rang. Ellen's daughter was standing there with a gift. 'My mother wanted you to have this.' Inside were three small metal figures, two skaters and a skier. People from her Christmas scene.

There used to be a popular song about these little things, small kindnesses that make you feel better. 'Blow me a kiss from across a room, call me at 6 on the dot. A line a day when you're far away, little things mean a lot.' Such a romantic song. Little things mean a lot in romance, too. Like opening a door for a date. Like calling someone early the next day to say you had a wonderful time on a date. Like remembering, long after the first date, to open a car door, to remember to say you had a wonderful time.

A man in his sixties walked into a small store a few years ago. The young cashier's eyes were red. He knew she had been crying.

'Are you all right?' he asked. 

'I'm fine,' she lied, feigning a smile. 'Just boyfriend troubles. Well, ex-boyfriend troubles really. We just broke up.' The man muttered an, 'Oh, I'm sorry,' then bought what he'd come in for and left. But he returned five minutes later with one white rose. He handed it to the girl with the sad eyes and said, 'This is for you. Believe me. Things will get better.'  

Little things. 

A friend remembers the day your mother died. Every year he sends a card. He has dozens of relatives, dozens of other dates to remember. Still he remembers this one. Another friend, when you're away from home, sends you packages full of candy and books and reminders of home. 'I bought this for you because I know you love Maine,' It's a CD entitled 'Sounds of Maine.'A card arrives for no reason at all. 'Just thinking of you.’ 

Little things. They pick us up when we are down. They make us feel remembered. They make us feel loved.