Late afternoon—the sun is low in the western sky but still bright on the upstairs deck at Caffe Calabria. All around me are lush green plants, flowers bloom happily in their pots and baskets, a climbing vine clings to the side of the building, clumps and bumps and curious creepers edging higher along the walls.
I am alone on the narrow deck, three empty tables beyond mine, a white cushioned bench along the far wall beyond the heaters which may be used later. On the patio below a man and woman eat their pizza, their baby in a stroller next to them makes baby sounds. It’s not their pizza I smell, but the just-being-baked ones from downstairs. Downstairs the cafe is beginning to fill with early Saturday diners. I’ve come not for dinner, but for a late afternoon iced coffee. Caffe Calabria really does have the best coffee in my neighborhood and my neighborhood has at least six other cafes to choose among, though this late in the day most have already closed.
At my table in the corner, plants and flowers all around, the wrought iron railing keeping me from any vertigo I might otherwise experience, I sigh aloud and often, and sip my coffee—an iced Americano—espresso rich enough to hold its presence in the tall glass of ice cubes and water. I have my book, another Mary Morris memoir. This one The River Queen, about her 2005 journey down the Mississippi River in a houseboat, an adventure interwoven with memories of her father who has recently died.
I sip. I read. I sigh. And after some moments of sipping and reading and being on the river with this wonderful writer, it comes to me—suddenly, really—the thought:
“I am happy.”
I look up from my book and know I am smiling. I’m actually grinning. “Wow.” I say it to myself, but out loud:
“I am happy.”
A small laugh accompanies the words.
When was the last time I felt this? When have I last used those words honestly, not a report of something more imagined than felt, more rote than what I’m actually experiencing at that exact moment, but a moment in which I am completely present, a moment in which I can say, as truthfully as I have ever said anything:
“I am happy.”
I say it again, and it doesn’t need anything else. Nor do I. For just that moment. I am happy.
My friend, when was a time when you could honestly and spontaneously say, “I am happy”?
I’m glad you’re finding happy moments. I find happiness while sketching botanicals, taking flower photos and pulling weeds.
Thank you, Jill. Yes and I love your sketches and appreciate how you take breaks from your work to go outside and pull weeds, then come back to the work, refreshed and who knows what questions got answered or problems solved, or the joy of simply being present in the present.
Judy,
I enjoyed reading your ‘happy’ post on this gray, foggy, drizzly Monday morning.
Thank you for sharing your innermost feelings with all of us and also, thank you for being in touch with your innermost feelings. I also attempt to appreciate the simple things in my life each and every day.
Arlene Kosakoff
Thank you, Arlene.
Yes, it’s those simple, single moments that bring joy, especially when we’re present in them. It is so easy to be distracted with all life’s shiny things competing for our attention. The changing seasons especially want me to pay attention, as we move through the year, day by changing day.
Last night, outside, dancing! Very happy!
This lovely piece made me feel as though I were there with you. I could almost taste the coffee!
Very happy you’re happy!
Best coffee in my neighborhood, Marilyn. We must go there together some time in the not-too-far-away future. Sit on the deck and sip our coffee and smile at each other. And life. I want to hear stories of the dancing! xoox
Ah, I recently also suddenly realized I am happy. And strangely, I blame it on Covid. The internal dialogue alone for many hours. The review of adolescence, the moment I see why I did what I did. Perhaps this is tangled up with fall, or slowly coming out of Covid sanctuary, but I’ll take it and am happy that you are happy, also
Yes, Barb, take it, take all you can get, be greedy with happiness… take it in, breathe it in deeply and smile. I do love your smile. oxox
A very welcomed reverie to read on this quiet Sunday morning. It hit the spot.
Thank you so very much.
Than you so much Michelle. I’m glad you stopped by and we got to share this moment.
Wow what a beautiful look at how ordinary becomes extraordinary and important. And it got me wondering and thinking about my own experience…
Oh Carrie, when I remember to be present in the present, more often than not, happiness follows. These small, captured moments are tiny miracles.
Wow! This is wonderful! It made tears coming to my eyes. I hope you’ll experience this happiness more often from now on. A beginning is made 😉
Thank you very much for sharing this, Birgit
Thank you for writing and for your hopes for my small happinesses. The very same back to you.
Hi Judy,
Half an hour ago when I took my blood pressure after a walk and coughing over the dry air, the reading was low. I smiled all through the next reading which was even lower. See, I figured out how to quit obsessing stress and get on with my life. That REALLY makes me smile.
That’s funny — Caffe Calabria (where my paternal family is from) with American coffee and American pizza. Italian pizza is just a crust of bread dough with tomato sauce and cheese. That’s it. The other kinds are North American. They make those for us tourists.
Having said all that on the one day a week I eat “no chicken, meat, or fish and all the cheese I want” (my doctor) I have a slice (five slices from a big pizza) of GREEK pizza. So there.
Today on my walk I saw yellow trees (leaves anyway) and a gorgeous autumn blue sky. I smiled. I found after five minutes of a walk I did not want to take, I smiled as my muscles undulated.
Keep smiling, Judy. Our birthdays are coming up. I will be 58 again and you, 49.
Hugs,
Linda
Hi Linda, isn’t it amazing, taking that walk you didn’t want to take and there you were, finding yourself smiling. Yesterday on my walk (which I did want to take) after more American coffee, along a street in my neighborhood, I came upon a tree so loaded with pomegranates its branches were sagging. I’ve never seen such abundance. Funny, I’ve lived in this neighborhood for nine years now, walked that same street who can say how many times (I always zig zag the blocks, but still) and never saw that pomegranate tree so fruit-filled before. Love the miracles.
You made me happy reading this, Judy.
At this moment I can’t remember when I’ve said, “I’m happy,” but it has happened quite a bit in the last few months. At this stage of my life, despite some physical setbacks, I am happy–happy with myself, happy with my family and happy to begin anew in the year 5782.
Thank you Judy.
And a Happy New Year to you, Janice. Thanks for sharing your happiness with me in all the ways we get to share.