The first garden grown tomatoes of the summer season have arrived at the farmer's market. These tomatoes put to shame the mealy and tasteless tomatoes you can buy at the supermarket. I was standing in my kitchen carefully peeling a large, ripe red, and fragrant tomato with my fillet knife as Rosa watched on.
"Get the mayonnaise out of the fridge," I told Rosa as I opened a bag of fresh bread.
Within minutes we were sitting at my kitchen table eating delicious tomato sandwiches with homemade dill pickle spears and potato chips.
"I thought about you all last night," Rosa said, eating her sandwich. "It worries me when you get upset."
"You mean the Tylenol deal?" I asked.
"Yeah," Rosa said. "Your father can be such a shithead sometimes."
"Oh, that didn't bother me," I replied. "I have decided to not sweat the small stuff. As long as I have food and a roof over my head then I am happy. Life is too short."
"Doesn't it aggravate you?"
"It used to," I replied. "I used to let it drive me to drinking. I decided to no longer let such stuff get to me."
"Will you do me a favor this summer?" Rosa then asked, changing the subject.
"What?" I asked in response.
"Take me to the beach and let me see the ocean," Rosa said. "I haven't been in twenty years."
I smiled warmly.
"It sounds like me and you are going on a road trip."
"Are you serious?"
"I promise," I reply. "I will use some of the money from the advertisements on my journal."
We finished eating and Rosa helped me clean up my kitchen. I would wash a plate and then hand it to her so she would dry it with a towel. I thought of my post from early this morning about just being content to be. The littlest things are bringing me the most satisfaction these days. I thought of the art and Zen of a tomato sandwich shared with a dear friend with heartfelt conversation – little pleasures that no amount of money could buy. I bid Rosa goodbye with great contentment as I watched her walk down the street towards home. Good bye dear friend. Until tomorrow.