Tag Archives: simple pleasures

Joy: perfectly golden buttered toast

I don’t know about you all, but I’m a 75% fan of sourdough bread. I usually think it’s great, but sometimes it just doesn’t hit the spot like other breads. (Read: cinnamon swirl, sour cream & pecan, pumpk chocolate chip…you get the idea.) Today, however, the toasted slices hit the spot like popsicles on a hot summer’s day, or chapstick on sunburned lips, or BBC’s Pride & Prejudice anytime you have 5 hours to spare.

This snack brought me an embarrassing amount of pleasure today. So much so that I couldn’t even be bothered to get myself a plate. Could barely take the time to set the toast on the table and snap a pic before gobbling them up. Passersby peering through the windows shortly thereafter may or may not have seen a large-bellied woman in her early 30s shamelessly licking crumbs off the table. I’ll never tell.

Speaking of: is it normal that food brings about so much joy on a day-to-day basis? Because I seem to be categorically shifting into a “foodie blog” here. Heh.

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Joy: Memories of delicious stuff

I have the best friends in the world, a fact that stands alone in the determination of a day’s (life’s?) experience of joy. But when one such friend spontaneously pops by with a candied apple gift, what can I say? She wins, my stomach wins, and my memory of yesterday’s deliciousness wins. Trifecta of joy.

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Joy: wood floors

We’re coming up on the 3-year anniversary of our Great Flood of 2009. Which expelled us from our home for four months and caused nearly $50k in damage and forever altered the way we view possessions. (Didn’t alter my sweet tooth, though, which, frankly, would’ve been a welcome side effect…)

It was a crazy experience to arrive home from a weeklong vacation and, exhausted, enter an allsofasudden uninhabitably waterlogged house, take a heart-sinking inventory of the damage, and sit in a state of numbness while waiting for the insurance and disaster cleanup people to coordinate. But, over the ensuing days and weeks and months, the shock trasformed into creative fodder for fabulous home improvements. Stuff like new tub surrounds. New doors. New bathrooms. New flooring. New moldings. New arrangements. New new new…

One of the changes we opted for was to replace the ceramic tile floor in the entryway, dining room, and kitchen with red oak. The floor that was once cold and grout-grimy (let’s pretend my lack of housecleaning had nothing to do with that) became warm, welcoming, earthy, and part of the ebb and flow of our home.

To anyone else, the floor is nice but probably nothing special — a place to walk on, sweep (in theory), and spill the occasional glass of milk. But to me, it’s become a talisman of change, of the capacity to make things beautiful when circumstances are anything but. I think you get the point, but just in case, let me be clear: it brings me joy, and I love this floor. Maybe not enough to recommend extensively flooding one’s house to attain such a treasure, but then again, maybe so.*

*But, really, not. Because having a flooded house stinks. 

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Joy: Shirt-and-sweater combo

Not the best day overall today, friends. I just wasn’t feeling it. What’s ‘it’? you’re asking. Good question. Anything, really. I wasn’t in my parenting groove (translation: my kids fought all.day.long. and I couldn’t/didn’t stop it), wasn’t feeling healthy or cute, wasn’t motivated or creative or cheerful or enthusiastic.

I know (think? hope?) everyone has days like this. And sometimes I feel better knowing that they make the good days even better. (Sometimes that reminder just makes me annoyed, but whatevs.)

So today’s joy was simple but genuine: shirt parts (e.g., collar, sleeves) that come pre-attached to the sweater to create the look of a great ensemble but in a single pull-one-thing-over-your-head-and-be-on-your-way movement. Oh yeah.

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Joy: Celerie Kemble

This afternoon my children were either napping or out of the house. (I’m hoping that the one at school wasn’t napping as well…classtime power naps don’t start until junior high, right?) (Not that I would know, of course.) (*cough*)

The laundry needed doing, dinner needed prepping, my body needed exercising, every square inch of ye ole household needed dusting (at the very least). And yet what I chose to do was make myself some chocolate pudding and curl up on the couch to peruse my beloved Celerie Kemble interiors book.

Sometimes my joy is very short-sighted. And I’m okay with that. Because, honestly? Chocolate pudding will exist in heaven. There’s no doubt in my mind.

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