My chicken friend went to Lancaster to buy eggs. When she does, she often offers me a bag full. These are consolation for having given up my own hens, and the freshness of eggs that were laid in a warm nest the day before cannot be measured in tummy rubs. 

 

Her grandson was looking out the window for me, and jumped up and down when I came through the door. We do have a history together, because of my great luck in being invited to sing in the preschool. He no longer attends, so his excitement around seeing me was amplified. We hugged and he showed me the creation he was building with Legos, which was marvelous. There was a little book with directions to follow. It looked tricky. He had a jar lid next to him with five potato chips in it. He nibbled them rather than gobbled as he explained. After a while I sat down to chat with his grandma. 

 

A few minutes later he brought me a gift. A lid with five potato chips. His smile was enormous. Here was the best he had to offer. His favorite snack, served just like his grandma does. The lid is small enough to make five chips look like a whopping helping, and muffles the detail that she wants to limit how many he eats. Which is more than I can say for my own abilities to show restraint. 

 

I felt as if I had been served the House Special, which I guess I had. He looked on with joy as I took small bites, and I truly believe he could taste it too. When it was time to go we hugged again, and he walked me, no danced me, to my car. 

 

I drove away slowly, in part because of a bag of fragile eggs in the back but more so that I could digest this exchange. I gave him nothing. Not even a song. But his delight was in having me look carefully at his blocks, and the chance to serve me chips. 

 

If I had been in a different mood when I arrived, one where I felt on top of my game and as if the pieces of my life were sailing along properly, I may have missed it. But here was the answer to my prayer of late. 

 

"Share what you are working on. Give chips. A few is plenty."