…listening to the blizzard wind howling and watching the white bag that’s been caught in a high branch in the tree right outside my window for going on two winters. It used to ruin my view, and I used to call it names like “trash.” But at some point along the way that “stuck trash” evolved into a beloved peace flag, a reminder of how the world mirrors my inner state, a gentle nudge to say hello to my dear self.
I love it when something takes my breath away, like an image in a book or movie, or some line in a poem. I love having what some would call a “bad” memory, but how it’s just enough to remember how much I loved a book or movie, but bad enough that when I read or watch it again, it will move me and surprise me and take my breath away, um, again—? How would I know again from ever!
I love how soft my father’s skin was right before he died. Maybe it had always been so soft, and I just hadn’t noticed.
I love noticing.
I love bottles and the house with the magic window of bottles near my apartment. I love when I am scared and excited and the excited part is bigger and I end up doing something like dropping a note in the mailbox of the people in the house of bottles, telling them how much I love their house and window of bottles.
I love standing in a long and impatient line at the post office and being interrupted mid-yawn, or mid-weight shift to the other leg, or mid-discreet nose pick, by someone’s snappy cell phone tune of saints come marching in, and then getting to eavesdrop on a kind conversation and before I know it it’s my turn to greet the one and only tired clerk with a grin on my face.
I love it when the assholes in my life become reminders to be curious and kind and open and amused, and to—for God’s sake, girl!—lighten up.
I love my striped pyjama bottoms, the ones my sister traded with me 6 years ago when I was visiting her in Portola, California, the town so proud of its one traffic light.
I love the Tibetan bell sound I have programmed to gong like a grandfather clock on the dashboard widgets on my ibook. Oh, and, did I say? I love my laptop. Who needs a baby! (And, by the way, this particular widget is called “prod me” ;)
I love the Hi Rise bakery in Harvard Square. I love sitting there for lunch, eating some delicious soup and raisin pecan roll with butter, eavesdropping on stories and accents and languages from around the world.
I love words, written words, in particular. And I love books. I love that there will always be more amazing and beautiful books to read. I love that people’s creativity has no bounds.
What do you love? I’d love to read your list of one or many!