Watching goldfinches breakfasting on sunflowers while I water the Meyer lemon tree on my back porch.
Inviting friends over to harvest tomatoes and drink Riesling and tell jokes with French puns.
Walking my daughter to school, as she pogo-sticks beside me.
Running into people, by chance, at the Downtown Mall.
My neighbor ringing my doorbell and offering a glass of sweet tea because she kept me up late last night and I must be tired.
Store clerks calling my nine-year-old daughter “ma’am.”
Butchers giving me a lesson on how to cook ribs.
Running into people, by chance, at the farmer’s market.
Bumblebees and butterflies feeding off my zinnias.
Children ringing our doorbell without calling first.
Children riding over on their bikes to shoot some hoops.
Rollerblading in the local school parking lot.
Attending swim meets (OK, maybe not swim meets).
Basking in the Southern sun (yes, even the heat.)
Running into people, by chance, at a Wilco concert, at the Magic Flute, at Monticello, at Carter’s Mountain Peach orchard, on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Sitting in the rocking chair in our covered front porch drinking bourbon on ice and spying a fuzzy creature sleeping in the crook of the column holding up the porch ceiling.
Running into people.
By chance.