I wonder what happiness means to me, briefly? I can’t decide.
Do any of us know?
I don't think it is the big things, they just happen and then we are hoping for the next big thing.
I think it is the small things.
Bruno pulling my left leg with his fat paw so he can lie down between my legs on the carpet under the coffee table. And Milo coming and lying against my right thigh at the same time, despite the fact he knows the bulldogs will bounce him if they see him there. The little guy (Otto) snoring like a bulldog on the couch. Two cups of coffee. And some Vegemite toast. And my back not hurting while I sit there, on the floor at the coffee table. All the while Sam showing me interesting TikTok clips. As the sun shines outside. Well, that’s what happiness means to me this morning.
Stumbling across by chance that Cyndi Lauper CD Memphis Blues, which Luke borrowed years ago for the drive home promising on his mother’s grave that he would return it, for $1 in the Salvos just by chance.
The sunshine on my face.
Xmas lunch at my sister’s place in the country with the family. We all take our dogs.
Looking across the coffee table at Sam and having him look up and say, “What?”
Going places by public transport.
Reading over a story I have just written and thinking, not bad.
Raindrops wiped cleanly off my windscreen with my intermittent wipers.
Pulling the bed clothes over myself and thinking I have 8 hours before the day starts.
The perfume of lemon scented Pelargonium on my fingers.
Freshly cooked banana cake straight from the oven.
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