Instead of making a list of resolutions that I know I'll never keep, I thought I'd make a list of things I like. This comes after feeling just a wee bit sorry for myself because I can't eat deserts or sugary things anymore. So, here are just a few of the things that bring me comfort and even joy.
Here's to...
Old china cups with tealeaves clinging to the sides.
My bedroom slippers with the worn down heels and the hole in one toe.
The humble, low-tech book with four straight sides and no gigabytes of RAM but acres and acres of stories.
The creaky wooden floors of the S.S. Kresge Store in downtown Wayne with its soda fountain, ceiling fans and counters full of useless, fascinating junk.
The sweat on my forehead and the black dirt beneath my fingernails after an afternoon working in the garden.
The tufts of green grass poking through the cracks in the sidewalks and the fissures in asphalt parking lots.
Strands of Christmas lights and the multi-colored joy they bring to the gray winter streets.
The wink of fireflies on soft summer nights.
Vanilla ice cream that’s a little soft and creamy around the edges.
Chocolate dipped ice cream cones.
Heaps of gold and crimson leaves.
French fries a little burnt along the edges.
Pizza with bubbling hot cheese.
The purr of a cat curled contentedly in my lap.
The comforting creak and bang of a screen door in the wind.
A neatly mowed lawn sloping down to a gurgling stream.
The thud of a basketball on a cement driveway.
The rumble of distant thunder.
The lazy drone of a bumblebee wandering from one hollyhock to the next.
Silver rimmed autumn morns.
The button well sewn, the shoelace well-knotted, the dishes well scrubbed.
Clean, fluffy towels fresh from the drier.
Guppies spawning in neighborhood creeks.
The kingfisher waiting with infinite patience for the flash of fin and scales in the water below.
The smell of oatmeal cookies baking in the oven.
Bali Hai.
Beep Beep the Roadrunner. Long may he outwit and outrun Wile Coyote.
Sleeping in ‘til 8 am.
Glass elevators.
Crabs swimming sideways through the bay.
Clear, starry nights.
The challenge of the empty canvas, the blank page of a drawing tablet.
Bright veined lightning on a black, storm swept night.
A yard full of snow sparkling in the sun.
Radiators that alternately clank, hiss and purr all winter long.
The soulful song of the cello.
The dappled light of a forest floor.
Singing in the shower.
Elmer's Glue.
Happy New Year, everybody!
