“Yes, I am like you. I worry about the same things as you – the everyday, the trivial, the petty economies, and small repairs. And I, like you, know that these mundane events somehow mean more than the large sweeping things, the corporation mergers, invasions, depressions, and decisions of the President’s Cabinet. Not that the things I am concerned with are important. Heavens, no, they’re just little things, but they matter, you know, they matter most to a life. To my life, my children’s life, even my husband’s life, although he’d never admit it. My husband threw a tantrum because there was no coffee in the house one morning! Would you believe it? A grown man. Yes, these things matter very much to them. And my own life – well, my life is bounded by small things. When Johnny has had a good day at Little League; when the sun pours through the kitchen window in a certain way on a fall morning; when I am able to transform cheap meat into a delicious stew, or my shoddy room into something almost – but not quite – beautiful; those are the times I am happy. When I feel useful, when there is harmony in the world.”

From The Women’s Room, by Marilyn French