I always felt that Charles Schultz captured pure joy in this image. Yeah, yeah, it is corny. Bite me.
1. The sound of my husband and dog snoring in stereo. It is a safe, content, reassuring sound.
(Ok, in the interest of proving that this post is not the work of some pollyanna hacking RBR's blog and blowing smoke up your collective asses, this particular "appreciation" is situational. There are times when that sound makes me I want to shove my fingers up his nostrils until he thrashes violently awake, but tonight it is a safe and reassuring sound.)
2. This post.
Even if you could give two shits about the Phillies, and I certainly fall into that camp, your soul is just a little dead and, really, you may be a fucking sociopath if reading that post does not make you misty eyed and restore your faith in humankind.
3. It is looking more and more like R is going to graduate. He tries to act like he is not proud and it is no big deal, but his little boy smile belies that. I can't talk when he does that. It makes a lump in my throat.
I have never written about R and will only do so in an abstract way now, but he was in my class three years ago and is now a senior. He is one of many of my students that got dealt a crapfest of a hand in life. High school graduation was never assumed for him. It was never viewed as the insignificant stepping stone to college as it was for me and many other people. He wears the uniform of the apathetic, thug-ish teen, but underneath that scraggly-ass ponytail, oversized black sweatshirt, and absurdly sagging jeans, is a really great human. I am already stocking up on Kleenex. I am going to be a blubbering mess when that kid crosses the stage to Pomp and Circumstance. He will be the first in his family to graduate from high school on time, with a full fledged diploma (not a GED), no children, and no (significant) police record.
4. The pink rhinoceros/dragon thing that sits on my desk and Eddy bought me at the grocery store that was trying to offload leftover Valentine's Day crap.
He does not realize that he bought it for me on our 20th anniversary. He just thought it would make me smile. I like having someone that thinks about me like that. I also like the thought of my bad ass, tattooed husband walking through the store carrying a pink rhinoceros/dragon thing. (In his defense, our 20th anniversary date is a tad arbitrary and was hallmarked 20 years ago by being the day I left the guy I was seeing for Eddy. I viewed men like jobs, you do not live the old one until you have a new one. I know, tacky. Lighten up, Mr/Ms Judgey-pants, I was 21.)
5. Tuesday I had one of those effortless, completely pain-free runs.
It was not far, it was not fast, it was even on the fucking treadmill, but it was a 'I can run like this forever!' run. Glorious. I needed one of those. I call those runs the 'first crack hit' of running. For those of you that do not smoke crack (*eyeroll* Squares!) the first crack hit is the only good one (from what I am told) and it is what keeps addicts chasing the high. After that, you start to suffer holding on to the delusion that if you keep doing it you will feel that way again (and subsequently, you blow your rent money, your kid's college fund, 75% of your brain cells, start bargaining with your dealer about how much he will give you for a kidney.... you know, every hobby has its price)
Ok, enough of that, I am even making myself a little ill.