This is my last column of this latest random 365-day cycle we call the 2021st year of our Lord. There is general unanimity about the fact that this has been a year just as bleak, if not more so, than the annus horribilis that was 2020 for most members of our species, Homo sapiens. It is also quite possible that I am surrounded by folks who are more prone to melancholy than most. And yet, I find myself in a particularly chirpy mood after a visit to the supermarket;
♫Deck the halls
With boughs of holly
Fa la la la la! La la la la!
Tis the season to be jolly♫
It is the season to be jolly, isn’t it, if the music in the supermarket stereo system is to be believed. And I’m glad to be obliging. Life as we know it is generally quite a downer, what with dwindling earnings, ever rising expenses and politicians who believe they are starring in Season 9 of Game of Thrones. Well, except that we’ll never get to parade them in the nude while pelting them with rotten eggs, spitting at them and chanting, ‘Shame, shame, shame’.
I discovered a long time ago that the things that make me truly happy are the little things. Sure, getting promoted at work, catapulting you from the Korean hatchback bracket to the German SUV world is lovely. Moving from that Glenwood flat into a Ballito estate is awesome. Finally being able to afford a two-week vacation in St Barts is great. But throughout my life I have found that it’s always the little things that make me truly happy. Just the other day I bought a punnet of peaches at Food Lover's Market. Good peaches, mangoes and plums have been tad difficult to find in the last few weeks of alleged summer.
This does not mean I’m complaining. I was raised by a father who taught me that I have no business complaining about the taste of a fruit. A good fruit is an act of God, he contended. My own addendum, as I pass on this nugget of wisdom to my own offspring, is that it’s either God or a genetics geek at a GMO biotech company. Anyway, my point is that I found myself giddy with joy after biting into a juicy, tasty peach. My mood was lifted from a 6 to a 9.5 immediately.
A few afternoons ago I was taking my daily walk after some showers. It was an overcast day. But then suddenly, the late afternoon sun partially broke through the clouds, bringing with it the most beautiful rainbow. I started whistling Louis Armstrong's What a wonderful world. And some pleasures truly belong on the bizarre side of life. Some weeks ago, I had some filling fall off a bottom jaw molar. I had become quite accustomed to the hole that I had christened my ‘oral Bermuda Triangle’, where titbits of food kept disappearing.
The fact that 95 octane is more expensive than cocaine these days is a fact I push to the very back of my mind
I have always felt like a weirdo when I’ve described to people the fact that I derive joy from utilising the tip of my tongue to excavate food out of my tooth cavities. It’s a pleasure trumped only by that moment I’m able to pry a popcorn kernel from in between my teeth. Being the masochist that I am, I shattered my source of joy by visiting the dentist the other day, leaving the tip of my tongue idle.
I have not experienced the sensation of knowing for a fact that I am a few weeks or months from dying. But I’m almost certain that very few people ever lie on that deathbed lamenting the major failures of their lives. I suspect that we’re wired to regret missing out on the little pleasures in life, such as the feeling of beach sand under our toes. I suspect that we miss beautiful sunsets and the sound of hadedas making the racket that used to annoy us.
I’ll be the first to admit that the cost of fuel these days is horrendous. And yet I will still use every opportunity I can get to get into my car and just drive slowly in no particular direction, just because I enjoy the hum of tyre against tarmac. The fact that 95 octane is more expensive than cocaine these days is a fact I push to the very back of my mind.
As one does in this age of social media, I invited my Facebook friends to share with me their simple pleasures. I didn’t ask the same question on Twitter because I didn’t want to deal with responses such as ‘strangling my partner until she passes out during the act’. I’m actually glad I asked the question because I received some beautiful responses. Watching children sleeping. A smile from a stranger. Walking in the rain. A dog licking your fingers in a show of unconditional love. The sound of rain pelting a corrugated-iron roof. The taste of an ice-cold beer — first thing in the morning. The smell of a homecooked meal. Switching on the radio at the moment that a favourite song starts playing on the radio. And possibly my favourite response: balloons. A friend’s source of pleasure is just seeing, smelling and playing with balloons.
'Tis the season to be jolly. During this season, make time to find your own balloons that make you squeal with delight.
