One of my best friends and I have a thing for Ross Gay's collection of essays The Book of Delights.
Yesterday, I texted a picture of the sunrise to this friend.
She texted me this today: "Good morning! Wonder if you want to share delights with me? Ross Gay style. You shared the sunrise that was your delight. I shared the albino deer that was one. I am telling you now that I love the smell of the post office."
I responded, "I love sitting in my library office in the dark, watching car headlights climbing up the building."
Billy Collins loses a coin that gives him delight and luck . . .
Lost
by: Billy Collins
you gave me for luck, the one with the profile
of an emperor on one side and a palm on the other.
It rode for days in a pocket
of my black pants, the paint-speckled ones,
past storefronts, gas stations and playgrounds,
and then it was gone, as lost as the lost
theorems of Pythagoras, or the Medea by Ovid,
which also slipped through the bars of time,
and as ungraspable as the sin that landed him—
forever out of favor with Augustus—
on a cold rock on the coast of the Black Sea,
where eventually he died, but not before
writing a poem about the fish of those waters,
into which, as we know, he was never transformed,
nor into a flower, a tree, or a stream,
nor into a star like Julius Caesar,
not even into a small bird that could wing it back to Rome.
It's really easy to lose or overlook things that give us delights. Collins writes about the poet Ovid who was banished from the place that delighted him the most--the city of Rome. He spent the rest of his days exiled by Augustus Caesar to a small fishing village on the Black Sea, never seeing Rome again. Some say he died of a broken heart.
I would venture to say that Ovid probably never realized how delightful his Roman life was until it was taken away from him. That's the way delights generally work. We take them for granted until we lose them like a lucky coin.
So, I am going to share a list of delights I experienced today.
I love the smell of my puppy's breath when she kisses me as I walk through the front door.
I love taking walks at night, when everyone has locked their doors and turned off their front porch lights.
I love talking about books with the members of my book club (we met tonight and discussed Margaret Atwood's MaddAddam).
I love the sound of my wife's breathing when she falls asleep.
I love those quiet hours of early morning or late night when I'm the only person awake.
I love friends who share their delights with me.
I love soggy Lucky Charms and thin crust pizza.
I love the idea of Bigfoot.
I love unexpected texts from people I care about.
I love falling asleep on the couch while comfort movies like On Golden Pond or The Perks of Being a Wallflower are on the TV.
I love writing blog posts.
Delight. Delight. Delight. Delight.
Saint Marty is now going to brush his teeth (another delight). He might even read a little Ross Gay before his closes his eyes.
