Pocket of Happiness

I found myself in one of those little bits of time I sometimes call pockets of happiness. Of course when I call them that I want to throw up and yet that's the little phrase that's in my head. It's one of those small stretches of time when things are perfect. In this case I was on the front porch, about 6:30 in the evening, the temperature was at the place where you don't feel hot or cold, just a slight breeze. The light is perfect, if you know me you know how much I love the perfect evening light, no matter the time of year, and I'm surrounded by green from my front garden which is very happy right now and not completely dessicated by that cruel bitch of a Missouri summer. I'm watching my son and his friend running amok with water pistols, chasing each other in and around the car in the driveway, using it as cover. The trilling of a delighted kid's voice is pretty special, a half a tone from being irritating but full of completely unconscious happiness. I think we tone ourselves down as we get older, afraid to immerse, afraid to totally commit to a moment. But then as I'm gazing at the loveliness of the sky, the little stuff that floats around in the golden light, listening to them argue over who is dead and who needs water I'm ambushed, soaked and I let out a squeal that was just half a tone from irritating. I grab a water pistol and totally nail the neighbor's kid while my son in his Wolverine mask manages to get us both. The dogs are barking and I can hear a lawn mower and wow, even a frickin' ice cream truck. And even though I'm sure it's being driven by a sex offender I'll buy if he comes around.
Sure I need to feed the kid and do the laundry and figure out how we're going to keep going and get my mom moved and all that other stuff but for about ten minutes every single thing in the world was as it should be. I'm grateful for those little pockets of happiness even though I really should find something else to call them.

Easter

It was Easter yesterday and for some reason as I'm watching my third egg hunt I remembered a story I've always wanted to record but never have so here goes:
About five years ago I started a new job at a big ad agency. I'd been there about two weeks, still trying to get acclimated and feeling like the new kid in school, a feeling I don't like at all. I guess no one does, really. I felt like everyone else knew each other, had been friends for life and would not invite me to sit with them in the cafeteria. If there actually had been a cafeteria, which there wasn't, but you get it. There was a "pub" sort of beer drinking area but whatever.
So Good Friday comes along and at the end of the day I'm in a crowded elevator and feeling kind of blue. I overhear a conversation between several really attractive account people that of course I don't know:
"I heard about your kitty, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, she's been sick for a while. I guess I'm glad she died on Good Friday."
"Oh wow, I guess that's true."
And without thinking (which is usually how I roll) I say from the back of the elevator to these four total strangers:
"Maybe you should check back in a couple of days."
There is this point in lots of conversations where you just don't know where the ball is going to go. They turned as one and looked at me for about an hour. Ok, for about two seconds they looked at me and then they all just cracked up. Which was great since we were all locked in a metal box together.
"I'm totally going to use that." says former cat owner with a really nice smile.
"You're the new recruiter, aren't you?" says account guy with the man bag.
"I heard we hired a recruiter, thank god you're here." says account girl with perfect eyebrows. How do you get perfect eyebrows like that?
"Yeah, that's me." And with the perfect timing I never have, the doors open and I step off.