Ten Types Of Ordinary Happiness

Lizards in the garden, appearing after the sun comes out. Basking and frolicking on the hot bricks. The bricks are in a herringbone pattern. The lizards are small enough to fit between the cracks. They snuggle and throw their tiny faces up to the sun. Then they start a game of chasing, of follow the leader and their little tails become perfectly straight like a rudder. I clear my throat, not meaning to, and scare them away.

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A baby sitting in a pram eating a biscuit. Mushy face, mushy fingers. Drool and biscuit crumbs down his front. Now I know what cheeks like apples look like. He goos and gaas at a passing puppy, sees me looking and offers me some of his soggy biscuit with a toothless grin.

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Real, beckoning, twinkling starlight on a night so clear the sky is see-through. How can such a polluted world offer up such a picture perfect night? I want to watch forever, imagining other worlds far away.

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Lying down for a moment after a hard day and feeling safe and comfortable in my big, old bed.

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Hearing a song my sister wrote on the weekend and realising it is in a major key – a happy key. A hopeful key. A key without tears.

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Laughing at a little brown finch trying to balance on a leaf that has fallen into the terracotta bowl in the garden that serves as a bird bath. He twitters and squeaks, attempting to hover like a hummingbird, but even his slight frame is too much for the leaf and it sinks. He persists, falling in and out of the water like he is a professional diver, eventually giving up and flying off with a jubilant cry that says :

At least I tried. At least I tried.

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Laughing at my son talk to his friend on the phone and the little in-jokes and shared phrases they have. It’s good to know he has people who care about him besides me.

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Wearing my just-mended Doc Marten motorcycle boots in the rain and knowing they no longer let the water in. Attempting to do one of those up-in-the-air side jumps the dancers do, looking like I am having some kind of fit, but not caring because my feet are dry. My feet are DRY!

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Seeing my much loved fuchsia plant revive after a particularly bad bout of some kind of fungus. Watching it for ages as the little capped flowers bob in the sun – pink and purple and white as if it is a store for hats made for the inhabitants of Fairyland.

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Feeling glad that I can make this list, that I can see all these wonderful things, and knowing that happiness can come from everyday sights and sounds, that it can arrive, resplendent and glorious, from the most unexpected of places.