The Little Things

It has been said - by who, under what circumstances, and for how many generations I do now know - that in life, it is the little things that matter. While Newton may have proven that in nature, in fact it is the big things that count - literally those with the most 'matter' - Einstein romantically retorted something about relativity that could be apropos. For my sake, I hope the wisdom of an anonymous, timeless cliche holds out, at least for the next century or so, because it is specifically at the little things that I excel.

Take, for instance, my beautiful wife's most recent 3_th birthday. I got things off to a good start with a wonderful birthday card idea which I foolishly narrated to her as it occurred to me, rather than holding it in reserve for actual use. On the front of the card, it could say "You Only Turn 30 Once" and on the inside: "But You Can Turn 30-ish for at Least a Few More Years."

Brilliant, right? Someone call Hallmark.

It seems that Shelley has been talking about turning 30 or being "almost 30" since we first started dating - when she was 23. Since then, each consecutive year has drawn us one step closer to the abyss, eliciting more and more fervent protestations from me that she is "not quite," "not yet" or "not even" 30. When that fateful day did finally dawn, we inserted a new vocabulary into our chrono-perspective: She was "just" 30.

And while this marked an important landmark in the life of the former Ms. Laabs, we didn't do anything especially noteworthy to celebrate the occasion. There was cake, dinner (not necessarily in that order) and time with family. All good, but not exactly the norm for the big 3-0. No jumping out of airplanes. No all-night benders, reliving the imagined glory days of our still-too-recent youths. Not even a single stripper.

Yes, it was a quiet 30th birthday party, but probably more in keeping with Shelley's actual wishes and current demeanor, despite my best attempts to lure her into agreeing with one of the other options.

So (and undisclosed amount) of time passed, and this August 3rd needed to be made special - at least, a little bit.

Things got off to a good and clever start early in the morning. I've started jogging - intermittently - and was able to use this as a credible excuse to get out of the house at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM - we're unemployed, sleeping in is the only benefit we receive from our current situation. I took a shorter-than-normal lap around the block, and hit up Dunkin' Donuts on the way home. Living in New York, Dunkin' was never our favorite stop. There were no less than three family-owned delis near our flat that served superior coffee at a cheaper price, with the added benefit of better bagels. But having left Manhattan behind, we've struggled to replace some of its charm, and Dunkin' isn't such a poor consolation prize.

I was able to get home, convince Shelley to stay in bed while I grabbed a shower (it was a short run, but I'm a very able-bodied producer of various excretions and odors). Once cleaned up, I surprised Shelley with breakfast in bed - Bagels with cream cheese, fresh coffee (still hot), and a special "birthday" donut with sprinkles and pink icing. The (additional) icing on this (coffee) cake was that I got the donut for free for filling out an on-line survey, and the coffee had completed Shel's punch card, giving her a free "birthday" coffee next time she goes in. All that success, for only $7 and technically no deception, if a bit of subterfuge.

The rest of the day was for Shelley to use as she saw fit. I took a hiatus from my job search, and she put aside her various volunteer and freelance projects. One thing we've had trouble finding in DC has been shopping - the kind of big-box stores (aside from our friendly neighborhood SuperTarget) that were so common in Texas, but still readily available in NYC. Gap, Old Navy, Macy's, etc. Your basic this-is-what-we-would-window-shop-if-window-shopping-was-fun. While neither Shelley nor I buy much from these stores (not because we're too cool, but because we're poor), wandering through their displays, giving our oh-so-fashionista opinions, and doing the odd bit of dress-up is one of our little weekend/relaxation rituals. Some people bungee-jump; we fake-shop.

So for Shelley's birthday, what she wanted to do more than anything - more than sky diving, going to the beach, or visiting a fistful of free DC museums - was to find a mall. And we found a doozy. The only Old Navy store located within the Beltway is at the Prince George Mall, actually in Hyattsville, MD, and mercifully on a metro line. For those not familiar with the DC topography, here's the quick rundown.

The District is a diamond, with 10 mile sides, and the SW quadrant suspiciously missing (the residents of Arlington, VA elected to return to the state they abandoned, causing the creation of the term 'retrocession' ). While The District is a clean geometric form, the Beltway is an irregular oval touching the District borders at its 4 points. As a result, large tracts of land lie within the Beltway, but outside the District. They are functionally part of the DC metro, but administratively are under the direction of various Virginia and Maryland counties. The poorest county is Prince George, most often referred to as PGC. For all the gentrification that is taking place, especially in NW DC where we live, the former residents have to go somewhere - usually somewhere cheaper but still close - and often this is PGC.

To its credit, the Mall at Prince George is much less seedy than we expected. The stores were well-appointed, and plentiful. Target, Ross, Macy's, Gap, Old Navy, JC Penny, Marshall's and a veritable bounty of athletic shoe stores. Not shabby. We took our time parousing the wares, and even made it out with a few select items - for example, I got a pair of orange argyle socks - on sale!

Believe it or not, this single outing occupied the majority of our afternoon, and we returned home exhausted and hungry. Dinner was also a point of some contention. Recently, a new pub has opened in our neighborhood that's received rave reviews. It focuses exclusively on American specialty brews, with lots of taps and apparently very good food - including vegetarian dishes. The unquestioned 'it' locale of the neighborhood since opening July 17, Median Pint is outside our usual dinner budget, yet someplace that every Columbia Heights resident apparently *has* to have an opinion about. It was therefore a logical choice for Shelley's Birthday dinner.

So we went to Thaitanic, instead.

And it was excellent. Very good thai food, large portions, reasonably priced, and not at all crowded. We forfeited any hope of earning our Trendsetter merit badge, but the choice did, in its little way, best achieve the objective.

On the way home, we stopped at Target (our preferred discount alcohol distributor) for a bottle of more-than-$7-wine treat, and stumbled into a remarkably affordable printer/scanner on the way to check out. I even convinced Shelley to let me make her a birthday cake - I mean, what's a birthday without a birthday cake? - but at the last minute she threw me a slider - she wanted Birthday (cup)Cake(s). Easy enough.

I made up the batter and loaded a few racks in the over. As per Shelley's wish, we spent the rest of the evening icing cupcakes and watching episode after episode of the Gilmore girls - Season 4 disc 3 if you must know - and retired with ears full of pithy mid-2000s topical references and stomachs full of malbec and Betty Crocker's moist yellow cake.

The following day, life returned to normal. Or at least, as normal as things get right now. Shel took a train and a bus to get to her 3-day-a-week theater volunteer gig, and I was off like a bolt-in-a-suit after catching wind of a last-minute job fair. Despite my todo (sic) list, I managed a few spare moments before Shel got home to produce one last surprise. (Better Nate than Lever has long been one of my favorite expressions, but seems less comical now that I have a little cousin who would presumably be the one sacrificed in this hypothetical tale about a runaway truck driver and the Lever that Keeps the World Spinning).

The cupcakes - already iced, but otherwise somewhat boring and in no way birthday-specific - were in need of some help. I was thinking *sprinkles* - such that when Shelley opened up the cupcake container, her birthday bunts would seem to have spontaneously sprouted confections. Once at the supermarket (CVS failed me), the large tube of mint-flavored "brownie frosting" demanded attention. The idea of writing something on Shel's cupcakes had occurred to me earlier, but all the standard "decoration" icing was all too sweet and generic - Shelley would hate having that get in the way of her delicious chocolate icing. But Mint. Mint goes with Chocolate like Oranges go with whatever winged mythical 3-horned beast rhymes with Oranges.

The results, while not qualifying me as a culinary artists, or even low-level visionary, were a big hit. Total cost of the cake mix, chocolate icing, eggs, oil, Mint and misc: $10.

I should also point out that our friend Sam came over to celebrate Shel's birthday and help us eat the ridiculous number of cupcakes filling up our fridge. He brought a six pack of Italian craft beers - he is lucky enough to call this "job-related research" and a bottle of wine wrapped in a sock puppet. I'm not saying Shelley liked his birthday surprise more than mine... but it was a close race.

I guess my point from all this is not that something NEEDS to be little in order to make a big impact, nor that little things will always be the right solution. But rather it is a matter of precision. As any marksman will tell you, 30 bullets work great, when you aren't skilled enough to get the job done with less.

And am I so-skilled? Not in any heroic a fashion. Nothing I do is particularly remarkable, and rarely impressive as a matter of scale or difficulty level. But perhaps there's something to say for timing - a certain combination of selective listening backed up by small acts to prove you were paying attention. And this is, I believe, what is meant by "the little things." They aren't just any miniature acts, nor is their stature - big or small - even relevant. They are the commitment we put into doing that which will be most appreciated by the people we care about.

And they are no small feats.

Weber

::(lame) Texpatriot