Another Day in the Country
The nicest feelings
© Another Day in the Country
Just now, I ran out of Korean coffee. I already had the hot water heated. I knew it was coming, the inevitable: The box soon would be empty. But really, now, just when I needed it? I went back to the pantry, and there on the shelf was a full spare box. That was the nicest of feelings.
Ah, it was there! I was prepared for this mini-emergency. Good for you, Pat. Finally, you did something right.
That’s the joy of having a pantry — your own small grocery store in the back room. Nice!
I caught some bug. It wasn’t COVID. I tested. After a few days, I’m feeling better. It’s a nice feeling. In fact, healing is even more than nice. It’s amazing!
A bouquet of flowers from my own yard gives me the nicest of feelings. I’ve been enjoying the daffodils this spring. I’ve always aspired to have one of those beautiful yards with drifts — I’m talking drifts — of daffodils blooming in the spring.
Can you imagine what that would cost to buy that many bulbs? Sadly, I’ve never really been in that income category, so I’ve never had flowing drifts of daffodils under the trees, either. I only imagine them.
There is a ribbon of daffodils, over across the street, where the end of my garden used to be. The garden keeps shrinking, but that ribbon of flowers still slips in between two patches of greening grass.
I went out the other afternoon when it was 70-plus degrees, reveling in the warmer air, and photographed that ribbon of yellow.
Then, I picked a bunch of the flowers, inhaling the abundance. That was the nicest feeling! I’ve been enjoying them on my table. It’s like bringing sunshine into the house.
Sunlight is the nicest feeling, come to think of it — especially when you haven’t seen much of it — even a patch of sunlight, striated through the leaves of the trees, streaking through rain clouds, or glancing sideways into my hammock on the front porch.
To feel that warmth on my legs is so soothing. It melts frustration away, warming my body — the nicest of feelings.
A warm cup of coffee or tea in your hands is another wonderful thing. Sometimes, just having a favorite cup, or being able to pick up the cup easily, is a good feeling.
A warm cup when your hands are cold is so good. I put my face down close to the liquid to feel the steam rising, touch the cup against my chest for a minute, feeling the warmth of it, take a sip, and smile. It’s a really nice, cozy feeling.
I suppose that sitting under an awning in Paris while holding a warm cup of coffee would be a nice feeling. I can only imagine the sensation, the wonder of it all. Being in this place I’ve only read stories about. But, I’m feeling pretty thankful that a warm cup of tea at my own table, or on my own front porch, even in Ramona, is pretty nice, too. It’s even better with a friend.
To sit with “the girls,” who aren’t really girls but are my friends, is a nice feeling. We understand each other. We listen to each other. We are there for each other — as well as quite a variety of other people.
Experiencing that camaraderie is the nicest of sensations. We’re so lucky to have good friends.
Being able to spell a word, or even use a well-chosen word, is a nice feeling. Just now, I’ve been struggling with that word “camaraderie.” How do you spell it? I’ve tried every organization of letters available, I think, and it’s still underlined in red on my computer, which means wrong. Getting it right would be nice.
(Editor’s note: Helping a writer spell “commaradary” is part of the professional camaraderie of the newspaper business. The word comes from the Latin “camera,” or chamber, and originally meant a group sleeping in the same room.)
Beginning to read a new book — when you’ve gone 20 or so pages, enjoying the storyline, appreciating the turn of a phrase, and you can’t wait to read the rest of it — is a nice feeling.
It’s almost like having money in the bank. You can relax a little, take a deep breath, revel in the words, wonder where the story is going, secure in the hands of a good, experienced writer. That’s a nice feeling.
Clean sheets on a well-made bed are the nicest of feelings — especially when I wash them in that Zum soap that’s infused with lavender oil.
While I’m thinking of beds, snuggling under a down quilt is an equally nice feeling, as well as having the bedroom beautiful, tidy, and smelling good — preferably with sunlight shafting through the sheers or rain pattering outside the window.
Finding money in my pocket that I didn’t know was there is a nice sort of abundantly smug surprise. Hey, I’ve just found an extra 10 bucks! That’s great, along with the feeling of being able to pay my bills, all of them, without juggling needs. It’s a very nice feeling. I’m grateful.
Being able to fall asleep at night is the nicest of feelings. You’re snuggled under the covers, your favorite, old, down pillow under your head. It’s been a good day in the country for you.
You’re not worried and fretting about something you can’t change. The cat is not pestering. You don’t hurt anywhere. You’re content, maybe even smiling to yourself, as you breathe evenly, floating toward unconsciousness, and a few hours of sleep that, thankfully, won’t last forever yet, and in the morning you’ll have eggs from your very own hens and that favorite bread — What’s it called? “Sunflower wheat?” That’s nice.