Whole load of nothing today. Got Moby his wheatgrass, which brings joy, and regurgitation - but in a good way. Slept late, moved slowly, nibbled, sauntered one errand. And we talked about what brings us pleasure. Mostly time together, doing the crossword, watching a film or decent series - catching up on Mad Men today, walking side by side, in step, as we have always done. He's taken to rubbing my back as I perch at the keyboard here, a useful kindness. Both of us love watching Moby chase hard, capturing the end of the rope with a rolling tackle or balletic leap. Or when he walks on us in bed. I love giving a kitty massage, stroking his soft glossy fur from nose to tail, and then he curls around my hand, or stretches out exposing his belly to be included, obviously, blissfully relaxed.
Pleasures come in smaller sizes. Hand lotion that is mild, and odorless, but works.* Good beer drunk from a goblet. Hot salsa over fried eggs. Well fitting shoes. Beach towels for everyday. A couple of rice bowls** that feel good in my hand. A car*** all-paid-for, still solid and reliable. The smell of beeswax candles. A nut mix**** with Brazils and macadamias. A hot deep bath.
Writing has become a huge pleasure, in no small part because you read my words. After a lifetime of feeling disregarded, voiceless, to have a small but responsive readership is no small blessing. To have one person at home who listens is more than I could have imagined hoping for.
I allow myself more comfortable, and hopefully more flattering, clothes than I once did. Chocolate is to be savored, not anguished over. I take photos of myself to allow myself to look at myself. When it's cold, I brave it, and feel tough and capable, indulging in mild self congratulations.
I have a few unflattering joys - that I will admit to. Squeezing zits, and other bodily picking. Occasionally seeing life avenge me without any action on my part. Lulling the assumptive into thinking I am conservative, old fashioned, sweet or a little dim. Then giving them a hint that they just might be wrong.
My superlatives are for the people whose lives have become part of mine, who share my life with me. D, who holds me when I am tired or cold, angry or scared. And all of you who give my ideas consideration. And Moby, whose tail goes up when I talk to him.
*Cetaphil
**From Oriental Food Market
***Honda Fit
****The Nutty Guys
7 comments:
(o)
i'm a picker, too.
and hey! after much research and thought, I bought my very first car a couple weeks ago: a honda fit (orange). i adore it.
A good list dear z.
I agree about the back rub(A. always 'knows' when one is a blessing) and hand cream that just sinks in is a relief over here.
Your writing is now a daily 'offering' to myself. Thankyou.
Auden(I think) led the way by suggesting that more people than would admit to it enjoy smelling their... er, um, methane emissions. Braver by far is the revelation (seconded by Jessica)about what car you drive. There are many who believe they can base a 500-word character profile on this fact alone. However I do need reassuring that a Honda Fit is in fact a car and not a form of mental disturbance resulting from the stark realisation that you'll never be able to afford a 1971 Pontiac Firebird.
I have just found your list after posting my own. It must be a seasonal syndrome.
At last I have a day of comfy nothing to look forward to, so I am floating down to the kitchen to eat our first home grown chicken and then to sleep in front of the wood stove and cuddle animals while outside it is cold and wet.
:~)
Jessica,
The shifting takes some getting used to, but it gets better. A good trunk organizer really helps too.
herhimnbryn,
Mutual admiration society meeting.
BB,
Fit is a Jazz in Britain. Fit as in Apt, but easier to say.
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