2024/13 SWEET NOTHINGS

Nothing is a tricky word. It’s almost always a lie, or at least a fib. Whispering sweet nothings is actually a fairly firm statement of adoration. When a kid says he’s doing nothing, you’d better check on what he’s up to. And you can be sure when someone responds to your thanks by saying what they did was nothing that they appreciate being noticed.

Nothings are also actual somethings that got lost; either physically lost or symbolically lost. Things that were once pretty important slip into the category of forgotten.

Life is full of nothings. The older one gets the more true this becomes.

In reality, it’s all the sweet nothings that add glitter and shine to an ordinary life. It’s kind of fun to pause now and again and look at the reflection of light sparkling off those little something/nothings we get.

Last summer Dave and I were honored to be Grand Marshalls of the Farmington Festival Days Parade. We love our hometown, and we love that charming hometown parade that weaves its way through the sycamore trees that line Main Street. But frankly we are almost always late getting to the parade and never even noticed that there is a Grand Marshall that leads the parade. It’s one of those sweet nothings. They planted us on a nicely polished convertible from a bygone era, painted with an American flag billowing across its doors. Our kids and grandkids were asked to walk behind us, throwing handfuls of candy to the crowd. They gave us all matching Festival Days tee shirts and caps. It was a whisper of appreciation to a couple fairly devoted souls who had served our city in whatever ways we could, from teaching guitar for a decade or so to Farmington residents and providing an annual holiday concert, to leading the whole community at a pivotal time as city council member and mayor. They had to wait till Dave retired as a judge to give us this little token of appreciation.

It’s extra special when you get to share nothing with someone you love. 

A few years ago my brother George received an award from the Governor of Utah for science and technology. Two other noteworthy people received the award with him that year: Senator Mitt Romney and President Russell M Nelson, the prophet of out church. President Nelson, besides being a spiritual giant, is a world-renowned heart surgeon who was part of the team who developed the artificial heart. We sat at our large round dinner table surrounded by relative brilliance. We stood and clapped for our brother as they hung a ribboned medal around his neck. George noted how unique it must be that in one family we have recipients of Governor’s awards of Excellence; one in technology and science and the other in the arts.

My brother and fellow award recipient, Russell M Nelson.

Gabbing with Mitt Romney.

One for all and all for one.

“Hey Cori,” he quipped, “Let’s get a photo of us both wearing our medals!” I had received the Governor’s Mansion Artist Award a few years prior.

The next time he came to our house he brought his medal so we could get that picture. The problem was that I couldn’t find my medal.

“I know its somewhere around here,” I mumbled, frustrated that I could not remember the logic I used when I put it in a safe place. 

Receiving the Governor’s Mansion Artist Award a decade ago was not a small thing to me. I was deeply honored and surprised that anyone on that level was even aware of what I did. I cherished the experience of playing for the governor and others in his beautiful and historic mansion. The receipt of that award holds a place in my artistic bio. I respect the honor and am grateful for having received it. Nonetheless, I lost the medal with its shiny blue satin ribbon. Ironically, I found the box, a lovely wooden box made just for it, engraved with the stamp of OC Tanner who custom-made the exclusive bronze token. I spent many days of frustration digging through a massive amount of other nothings looking for the medal itself.

Receiving the award from Governor Herbert.

All for one and one for all.

Then one day last summer, when I was trying to ride the rare wave of willingness to give stuff away, I found the medal. I guess I had tucked it into the drawer of a wooden box designed to store ribbon. I had put the ribbon box in the DI giveaway pile. Something in me said to open the box and look inside before I gave it away. Sure enough, there was nothing sitting right there. 

We have yet to take that photo.

I recognize the value of tokens. They represent, in a physical way, things that are worth acknowledging and celebrating. Still, eventually, they will take their place among all other things in this realm, including our bodies. We come with nothing, and we leave with nothing… and there’s nothing wrong with that.