Little Moments of Christmas, and the Heir of the Flower of Victory.

Four Leaf Clovers and Rabbits Feet.

There’s a little rabbit’s-foot of wisdom I keep pretty close to mind. I’m certain I didn’t coin it, but nor can I locate who might have made the remark earliest. Skip down to the italics, dear reader, if you do not like to be kept waiting, the author would like to speak a moment before he cuts to the point. I decided to cement the words in question into my life recently (just over two years actually) when I was given a chance to have such remarks and thoughts as seemed appropriate printed alongside the photos in the album of my wedding day. The sequence of photographs that brought the following words to mind are of my bride pinning a corsage to her grandmother’s collar; the beautific smile of an aunty who had traveled from far abroad; the ceremony of incense being passed over my bride’s head, and a scarlet ribbon bound about her waist; and our wedding bands bound by the same ribbon.

We’re conditioned to think our lives revolve around “great moments”. But great moments often catch us unaware – beautifully wrapped in what others might consider “a small one”.

I added my own remark, in response to the photographs and the phrase. Our Wedding. Big day. Little Moments. That was a special day, one day on which it is easy to understand that I found every little moment important, and on which it is easy to understand I wanted to be able to remember as many of them as possible forever. It was also the day which helped me learn – eventually – something about myself, and what’s going on inside my head.

Meet me, dear reader, the author of this piece. I am the second son of the second generation of Moleta’s to be born in New Zealand’s idyllic Nelson-Marlborough Sounds, where my great grandfather immigrated from the tiny volcanic isle of Stromboli in the mid 1860′s (give or take). My name is Shaebodine, and I am a restauranteur, a finder of four-leaf-clovers (I’m up to the count of 22) and given my unique perspective, and a measure of patience from my friends, or as the case may be, readers, I like to take such moments as I can to look at what’s going on. I mean really going on.

This piece is about great moments, which are secretly little ones; and what I think goes into being able to appreciate them. Having provided an explanation as to what I personally regard as a Great Moment, I thought, if it pleases you, to talk about one or two others – in the hope of receiving such comments and replies as you might yourself like to add afterwards. These great moments, for example, what do you call them? Sometimes the name we give things says a lot about us.

Second example: sometimes great moments try to hide out in the form of something only quirky enough to be well… Quirky. Moments that are only interesting enough to make us pause, as if waiting for the narrator to explain why we’ve paused. Borderline underwhelming situations sometimes contain a genuinely uplifting and great idea within that moment. After all, some instinct within you knew to pause right? When was it we stopped allowing ourselves such little pleasures and rewards such as those these moments contain? The restaurant world is a good one if you like to take value in such occurrences of life, and as you’ve gathered, I certainly do. Every time I find a four leaf clover, that qualifies as one of these moments. Finding a four leaf clover is pretty interesting, but not all that remarkable. After all, when I found the thing: what I’d really been doing was taking a stroll, looking at the lawn. What’s a four-leaf-clover after all? It’s a clover that grew awkwardly. Did I mention I’ve found 22 now? That’s a lot of strolls I’ve taken isn’t it? A lot of looking at the grass grow – as it were. And that’s what’s so great about finding four leaf clovers. Finding one means you were utterly relaxed enough, out there in the light and air, to have even had a chance to find it. No one ever found a four leaf clover dashing from the airplane to the taxi, to the boardroom, to the taxi, to the bar, to the hotel… nor while they were passed out. I don’t envy the jet-set even for a moment.

Last night I watched a lunar eclipse. Its occurrence wasn’t mentioned on the news, or even in the papers. There was a big article on a recently bankrupted restauranteur who has skipped the country… What’s happening to the world? You might only see a couple of lunar eclipses in your life, and I swear, every minute of the day some scum-bag is ripping people off… I know what I’d rather read about, and have to look forward to. To readdress my earlier point, it seems we really are conditioned to expect these great moments, and to weigh our satisfaction through them. Moments like saving a baby from being run over by a bus; or making some amazing scientific break-through; or coming up with the next million-dollar idea. And I think we genuinely run the risk of weighing our satisfaction in ourselves in terms of public recognition, be it some form of fame or wealth. Meanwhile, the quietly extraordinary lunar eclipse passes. It was the second I’ve seen. It was even better than the first; the shadow fell upon it from above, leaving that very smile of the smiley-face before even that was veiled. I felt strangely consoled by that smile; it reminded me of the one I wear when I’m working the restaurant floor. That smile that communicates wordlessly: Don’t mind me, everything is totally organised, I’m just taking a stroll of sorts.

I think the restaurant business, more than any other I’ve known, gives me the most in terms of those great moments that are made up of stuff that could be mistaken as unremarkable. At some point in time I’d love a chance to run through some of them, but for now I’d like to return to the few questions I’ve posed to you, dear reader, but in reverse order – which is quite deliberate, and poses a certain question all of it’s own. I eagerly anticipate reading what you think.

What is happening to the world? Do you find yourself pausing, knowing in your gut something important is hiding in the fabric of the moment? You think it is an instinct that makes us pause, even for the borderline underwhelming moments? When did we get so out of touch with ourselves that we no longer even understand why we’re pausing? The moments I‘m talking about, do you call them that, do you think of them in quite the same way? What do you consider a great moment?