|
 “A
‘peculiar pleasure’ refers to a unique, often strange, or
unconventional joy that is personally satisfying but might seem odd
to others, such as sniffing old books, peeling dried glue, or the
satisfaction of washing dishes. These are small ‘unhinged’ or weird,
wonderful moments of happiness that create a ‘cozy’ feeling.” Quora.
Yes, yes, we can get into the amatory meaning but not here, not with
my column.
Years ago, a good friend used the term…. it’s been a peculiar
pleasure…. after a rather embarrassing social event. It broke the
tension, and I have been using it ever since.
I’ve used it in the hospital while visiting a patient and there was
an awkward moment of ex in-laws meeting for the first time after a
divorce. The patient was loved by both sides, but for extended
family it was an uneasy meeting. After considerable uncomfortable
chatting, I shook their hands and offered them a hearty, “It’s been
a peculiar pleasure.” I’m telling you, it is a good escape route.
I have taken it upon myself to find peculiar pleasures in life and
enjoy them to the fullest. For example, the other day I was driving
to meet a friend. On IL Route 6 between Peru and Spring Valley are
the most wonderous curves in the road. Every man, woman, and child
is mesmerized with said bends and twists. I’m especially enthralled
when I have them to myself and can take them at “my” speed. It’s
like driving in the Indy 500. What fun! But I digress. The state was
“improving” the pavement and had about four trucks stopped all in a
row in the right hand west bound lane. Of course, that meant it was
one lane and slow. Despite heavy traffic, the eastbound lanes moved
quickly without delay.
This was the last Wednesday in April….in Central Illinois….and out
of nowhere popped a big, multicolored beachball just bouncing
merrily on its way. The speed of the eastward people made enough air
currents to keep the ball bouncing from windshield to car top, to
trunk of the westward going vehicles. It was rather fun. We all
wanted a chance to bat the ball. It was an unconventional joy that
made a normally aggravating situation fun. A peculiar pleasure!
I picked up my friend, and we unknowingly traveled for about an hour
to an antique mall that was closed on Wednesday. What a goofy day to
be closed! We, of course, did not have the common sense to check our
cell phones and see when said store would be closed. It just didn’t
occur to us that the middle of the week would be a good time for
them to close for a siesta. It was fine. The weather was gorgeous,
the ride was beautiful, and the company was good. We had gone
through a small town on the way to the antiques that advertised
delectable cupcakes. I took a mental note to stop on our way back
through and get such a sugary confection.
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After the disappointment of the closed antique mall, my mouth was
salivating with the idea of devouring a chocolate cupcake. It would
soothe my disappointed soul. The day was rather windy, and I battled
my way through my own flying hair, dust of the driveway, and small
leaves and twigs scuttling around cyclone style. Imagine my deep
chagrin when I went to the counter and they informed me they only
sold cupcakes on the weekend. What kind of place is western
Illinois? Sheesh!
My partner-in-crime had insisted on staying in the car and not
entering the store of sugar, saying, “Lead me not into temptations
for surely I shall follow.” Having no such qualms I stood in the
store feeling lightheaded from smelling the aroma of baked goods. It
was a hug for my nose. I bought a bag full of sugary treats that
shouldn’t even be legal.
Dark fudge chocolate brownies with a melted caramel pecan candy
melted on top were purchased. I got chocolate chip cookie sandwiches
that had a mound of ooey gooey angel cream frosting filling. The
décor of the shop had a lot of chickens. There were little plastic
boxes that had chocolate donut holes with the white cream frosting
representing chicken poo. Best tasting chicken poo this gal has ever
tasted. What a peculiar pleasure!
I’m starting to plant my flowers. I absolutely love the feel of the
wet dirt, working through it with my hands, pulling the fibrous root
bound plants out of their plastic containers, and placing them into
the rich soil. I can almost hear them sigh in relief. It’s a far cry
from the farm but still sends my memory senses back to running
barefoot through Dad’s freshly plowed fields. How many of you had
clod fights with your siblings? Those pieces of dirt were heavy, and
it hurt like heck when you were taken down by one. The reward after
returning fire and cracking one against your brethren’s head or body
was worth the pain. A peculiar pleasure for sure. I feel sorry for
those of you with no such memory.
British author Edith Durham, “There is a peculiar pleasure in riding
out into the unknown. A pleasure which no second journey on the same
trail ever affords.”
That is so true. How many times have you tried to recreate a
vacation, or a moment of your past and the second time never lives
up to the delight and contentment of the first time?
My first ocean to see was the Atlantic and I left my shoes in the
sand and waded in with my clothes on. This midwestern landlubber
stood and felt the strength of the waves, the texture of the sand
and the fear of what was with me in the water and reveled in it. A
definite peculiar pleasure.
Find your peculiar pleasure. Do it often. Share with others. Repeat.
L. Maxine McQueen
may be contacted at
maxmac.1@juno.com |
