Yesterday the clan found itself confined to the Crown Victoria in the KMart parking lot while Mrs. Tate went inside on a holiday mission. To entertain the troops I asked them to scan the passersby to see if they could find anyone coming in or going out who "looks happier than I am." The girls were a little surprised to find that I thought I was happy.
All in all it was a pretty disheartening project. No one looked happy. Grace made my day when she observed about one man shuffling past in his winter skin that "he doesn't look completely downtrodden."
Then one older man and his wife emerged from a car across from us. They were slight and adorable. Her hair was hidden inside a large blue cap and he took her hand and grinned as they began walking toward the store. And then, wonder of wonders, he skipped a little. Then he shuffled some dance steps like he was line dancing with her. She smiled in a half-embarrassed, half-encouraging way and we watched in marvel and admiration. A happy man.
I am probably happier than my mien would indicate, and I'm pleased to report that I am really, fundamentally a happy man. I've got a lot to be happy about.
And, because I love lists and because they are about the only sort of poetry that I am capable of composing at the moment, here is a list of some of my current joy triggers:
clementines
snowfall, yes snowfall
the incarnation
my wife
my daughters
my son
maple syrup
the sound of brewing coffee
pajamas
seed catalogs
There are more but that's a good list and I'm a happy man. Praise the Lord.
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