Simple, simple, simple.

Simple pleasures are most meaningful.

Helping ready my daughter’s room for sleep after a day of blanket forts and play. Emily laughs as I toss stuffies back onto her bed once she has cleared it of all the stray animals. Rainbow Hamster and Turtle-y are her VIP pair. She deems them alone worthy of spending the night. Each time she tosses out a bear or sloth or kitten, I bend in a sly way and lob it around my back or through my legs so it thuds back onto her mattress. She cackles and hurls each one farther across the room. The laughs and ejections grow with each repetition until I call it bedtime at what I hope is just about the maximum fun this charade can endure.

Simple.

My son watching a one-minute Pixar short and laughing. Laughing so hard I want to bottle that sound. Elation. That which you cannot bottle.

Children in the first snowfall of winter. Bent low gathering snow into balls, red-cheeked and smiling. Nothing like it.

Simple pleasures in the first degree.

Don’t get me wrong, it has been an unusual winter. I would also like to enjoy the simple pleasures of warm salt water, a coral reef, and maybe some tropical fish swimming down below. But, on balance, there’s plenty to enjoy on a regular day at home. If I look for it. If I am open to receive it.

I want to hold these moments, but most of the best things can’t be bottled. Therein lies a joke about bourbon or fine red wine, but I say these are exceptions to the rule. 

When all else fails, simple pleasures will remain. I can still pay complete attention. I can take pleasure in simple happiness around me.