Lime green socks my top favourite things

It’s Sunday morning when I am writing my column.
It’s early. No one else is awake—not even the puppy. It’s quiet and the sun is delicious, but not hot. The air has a crispness to it and it makes me glad because I know it is going to warm up.
I started thinking about all the things I like as I looked over the backyard where the grass is all green and freshly-mowed, and the pony came to the fence and whinnied at me; wanting his breakfast, wanting attention, just wanting.
So I started a list of the things that I love, that make me smile, not the people in my life but the moments—the little things that make you exhale and feel deliciously happy.
The list was easy to make. I scribbled some of my favourite things to share with you, and you can’t groan or roll your eyes because that would spoil it.
You just have to read it (if you are inclined) and then think of your own list:
1. New socks. Lime green ones. Soft but thick. Just above the ankle. Not too tight. Cotton.
2. A new toothbrush with coloured bristles. Sitting in a clear glass jar. All by itself.
3. My feet in running shoes laced up tight as though I might run the 100-yard dash any moment. Oh, that’s dating myself. We run a hundred metres now, but we used to run a hundred yards back when I was running.
4. Sheets off the clothesline. On a windy day. Makes me think of my mother, making my bed with me in it. The sheets drifting down to cover me, their aroma incredible.
My favourite memory. Makes me miss my mother. Makes me want to lie across her knees while she talks on the phone in the kitchen by the radio. Her fingers drawing pictures on my back while she laughed and talked.
My second favourite memory.
5. Tidy junk drawers with pens and pencils in a little tray. Screws and a jack-knife, and a small screwdriver in another tray. The phone book underneath.
6. Toast and honey with just-made coffee with lots of cream, that I will only take five or six sips of.
7. Ponies with a long thick mane and one white leg and a nice wide stripe down his face. Maybe just my pony, but I was trying not to be too specific.
8. Marbles. Cats’ eyes and purees and peewees. In a little bag in my pocket or in a glass jar on my dresser. Ready to play.
9. Kites with long tails of kelly-green tissue paper tied to the string; floating not too high above the ground, sort of tugging on the string as if it wants to break free but not really.
10. Tulips, the really pink ones, not red or yellow, but pink, very bright pink. I don’t like pink in anything else, but I do like pink tulips.
11. The smell of fresh-cut grass. Confirmation that summer has come or is coming or is still here. Like you’ve just got a big job done, and you can sit in the shade and sip something cold with ice bumping against your nose when you tip up the glass.
12. Finding daffodils growing somewhere strange, like in the forest, as though the bulbs just flew off from some garden and fell in the forest. Or forgotten daffodils from some long ago pioneer home, gone now, the only evidence it existed are the daffodils, three of them in a cluster.
13. Frogs. Big green slippery frogs. Blinking at me and daring me, saying catch me if you can.
14. Coming upon a friendly cat when out on my walk. The cat will roll over on his back and stretch his paws up as if to say, “Okay, you can pat me but only because I said so.”
15. Pussy willows. Who doesn’t love pussy willows?
16. Freshly-sharpened pencils, with clean erasers in a tall mug, just waiting, waiting to write something wonderful.
wendistewart@live.ca

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