Pull Up a Chair: August 7, 2026

Pull up a chair and stay awhile. I’ve been thinking about something this week, and if you’re anything like me, maybe you’ve noticed it too. When did we stop celebrating ordinary days?

I’m not talking about birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, or Christmas morning. Those deserve celebrating, and I hope we never stop making them special. I’m talking about all the days in between. The random Tuesday when everybody actually made it home for dinner. The Saturday morning when you didn’t have anywhere to be before noon. The Wednesday afternoon when somebody dropped by just to visit instead of because they needed something.

Those are the days that quietly slip past us without much notice, and I think that’s a shame.

Somewhere along the way we started acting like a day has to be extraordinary before it’s worth appreciating. Social media certainly hasn’t helped. It can make you feel like everyone else is on a beach, climbing a mountain, eating at the newest restaurant, or checking another destination off their travel bucket list while you’re standing in your kitchen trying to figure out what’s for supper.

I’ve had those moments. I imagine most of us have. I’ll be folding laundry or cleaning out the refrigerator, and I’ll make the mistake of scrolling through my phone for “just a minute.” Suddenly I’m looking at vacation photos, beautifully decorated homes, and people who somehow have enough energy to bake homemade bread before eight o’clock in the morning.

Meanwhile, I’m standing there wondering why one sock always disappears in the dryer. Real life has a funny way of bringing us back down to earth. The truth is, most of us don’t spend our days living postcard moments. We spend them doing the little things that keep life moving. We make grocery lists. We wash dishes. We answer emails. We cook dinner. We run errands that somehow take twice as long as we expected because we ran into three people we know at the grocery store.

Especially if you live in a small town. I’ve joked before that a quick trip into town doesn’t exist where I live. You leave the house planning to grab milk and bread, and an hour later you’ve caught up on everyone’s family news, found out whose tomatoes are finally producing, and promised somebody you’ll try that new recipe they were talking about.

That’s one of the reasons I love living here. Those little conversations aren’t interruptions. They are part of life. I think about my dad sometimes when these thoughts cross my mind. Looking back, I don’t remember every birthday gift he ever gave me or every holiday we celebrated together. What I remember are the ordinary afternoons. I remember sitting outside while he worked on something in the yard. I remember riding in the truck with him without any particular destination in mind. I remember meals around the table that weren’t celebrating anything except the fact that we were all together.

At the time, those moments didn’t seem important. Now they’re priceless.

Maybe that’s what happens as we get older. We begin to understand that life isn’t divided into “important days” and “everything else.” It’s one long collection of ordinary days, and if we’re lucky, they add up to something beautiful.

I think about that around here at Shady Pines more often than I probably used to. Some of the funniest moments don’t happen during holidays. They happen on completely random afternoons.

One day Ma will suddenly decide she absolutely has to reorganize a kitchen drawer that nobody has opened in three months. Uncle R will have an opinion about the weather that somehow turns into a twenty-minute conversation about storms from forty years ago. Somebody will say something completely innocent that sends the rest of us into a fit of laughter.

If someone had walked into the house at that moment, they probably wouldn’t have understood why everyone was laughing so hard. We wouldn’t have been able to explain it anyway. Family has its own language.

Those moments never make it onto a calendar. Nobody writes them down ahead of time or plans them weeks in advance. They simply happen because people are living life together. That’s worth celebrating.

I also think we’ve made celebration feel far more complicated than it needs to be. We convince ourselves we need decorations, expensive dinners, perfect weather, or a special occasion. What if celebration looked a little different?

What if it was buying fresh flowers while you’re already at the grocery store because they’ll make the kitchen feel cheerful? What if it was making pancakes on a Wednesday just because somebody asked? What if it was eating dinner on the porch instead of at the kitchen table because the evening finally cooled off enough to enjoy it?

What if it was lighting the nice candle you’ve been saving for company even though the only company you have is your own family? I’ve become convinced that we’re all guilty of saving things for “someday.”

• The good dishes.
• The pretty tablecloth.
• The expensive candle.
• The favorite recipe.
• The comfortable clothes.
• The bottle of wine someone gave us three years ago.

We save them because we’re waiting for the right moment. Here’s something I’ve been wondering. What if today is the right moment?

I’ve reached an age where I don’t want to keep waiting for some imaginary perfect day that may never come. If I want to use the pretty plates, I’m going to use them on a Tuesday night. If I want dessert after dinner, I’m probably going to make dessert. If I want to sit on the porch for half an hour before I start dinner, the laundry can wait.

I’ve discovered something interesting over the years. The laundry always waits.

I know that probably sounds obvious, but I spent a lot of years acting like every chore had to be finished before I could enjoy myself. The problem with that plan is there is always another chore. There’s another load of clothes. Another sink full of dishes. Another room that could use vacuuming. Another email waiting for an answer.

If we’re waiting until everything is finished before we enjoy life, we’re going to be waiting a very long time.

One of my favorite memories from years ago wasn’t attached to a holiday or vacation. We had eaten supper, nobody was in a hurry, and someone started telling an old family story. Before long, everyone was adding their own version of what happened. The details changed depending on who was telling it, which made the whole thing even funnier.

By the end of the evening, we were laughing so hard that tears were running down our faces. Nothing remarkable happened that day. No presents. No special meal. No celebration. Just family sitting around talking.

If I had known that memory would still make me smile years later, I might have paid a little more attention while it was happening. Maybe that’s the lesson I’m trying to learn. Not every day has to be remarkable to become memorable. Sometimes all it takes is noticing it while you’re living it. So this week, I’m giving myself permission to celebrate an ordinary day.

I’ll enjoy my morning coffee instead of rushing through it. I’ll use the peaches while they’re perfectly ripe instead of hoping they’ll still be good tomorrow. I’ll sit on the porch if the weather cooperates. I’ll laugh when something funny happens instead of worrying about the dishes sitting in the sink.

Those dishes will still be there. The peaches won’t.

Life has a way of reminding us that some things are meant to be enjoyed while they’re right in front of us. I think that’s reason enough to celebrate today, even if it doesn’t say anything special on the calendar.