Marbles

I took such delight in having out-of-town guests for the weekend after Christmas, dear friends I had not seen for a year and a half. All of us being simple people with simple pleasures, it merely took being in the same room to generate smiles and laughter and good conversation.

By Saturday evening after supper, we were toying with decorative glass pebbles on the table, lingering after a fruity supper in the candlelight.

"I don't think these are made out of glass," said one. "Real, round marbles are heavier."

His wife and I were slightly skeptical, and I got out a broken one to show that they were, indeed, made out of glass. But just to check the weight, I dug out some marbles given me by a child, and sure enough, the real marbles were heavier.

Which fact began a round-about discussion of marbles and how the game is played, the way he had played when he was a child and the way we had read about the game being played. Which discussion led to a circle in the carpet, marbles in the middle, shooters, and (at first) very poor aim from my shooting hand.

And I reveled in company and pleasures known to so few in our modern day--contentedness no matter the weather and activity, pleasant connectedness in our disconnected society.