For some reason I was thinking about this at lunch today: little pleasurable things that cost next to nothing, but that I really enjoy. here are a few:
A 20-minute nap, on my sofa, late on a Saturday afternoon, with the Weather Channel playing silently in the background.
Hanging out at Morgan’s Point along the Houston Ship Channel for a couple of hours, watching the tankers and towboats run back and forth like streetcars.
Watching a plastic bag circulate around while caught in a vortex of wind. I recall there was a scene in the film American Beauty capturing this effect.
The very first sip of a well-made gin and tonic. Well, of course, there’s the cost of the drink, but still.
Turning off Limbaugh. Around here Rush’s show straddles the noon hour. I get in my car to head out for lunch, listen to him rail against the Evil Liberals for about a minute and a half, then push the button to cut him off in mid-rant. Man, I love doing that.
Sunday afternoon in the summer, laying in my hammock, cold beer with absolutely nothing to do but watch the branches wave on the maple and the clouds go by. There’s just something luxurious about it.
When the newly-rescued puppy, who is only starting to bond with the family, has run herself into exhaustion at the dog park, and is now home and dozing on her sleeping pad, and I reach over and ruffle her ears, and she streeeeetches her legs and “wuffles” her lips – but keeps her eyes closed.
Yesterday afternoon I sat on the bench in the backyard, looked out at all the budding trees and blooming flowers, sipped on a really nice meritage and watched a gorgeous, bright red Cardinal sing from the branch of a Pomegranite. Answering him from somewhere just out of view was, I assume, another Cardinal, but in a different verse that left me at first astonished, then laughing out loud.
I’m such a sappy Mama these days, most of mine are kid related:
Seeing my 14 year old reach out and drape his arm across his girl-type friend’s shoulders to comfort her when they think no one is looking. They’re not romantically involved, but it’s a little foreshadowing of what’s to come, and a window into his world which is less and less about me. Okay, that’s sort of bittersweet, I guess.
Watching the 2 year old try to learn to whistle.
Seeing my 2 year old run up to my 14 year old when he gets home from school and reaching up for a hug while calling his name (or the half of it that she can pronounce).
taking a shit, but not just any shit. It’s one of those shits where it’s like a classical symphonic overture. First, silence. Second, the buildup of pressure, a low rumbling bass tuba sound that shudders throughout your frame. Third, a sense of urgency, a high violin goosebump feeling of tingling pleasure. The urgency build slowly… A steady bassdrum beat with a low clarinet line on the orgasmic melody. Oh no, uunngh, she’s gonna blow! Finally, the climax, the sense of perfection and kittens smiling with one beat of the bass drum: BLAMMO! A sigh trails off as the conductor folds his hands. An encore as you wipe, a grin shining from ear to ear. Oh yes, you say, that was a good shit.