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What A Wonderful World

I am so sick of all the bad news that I wrote down a few nice things.

Louis Armstrong singing “What a Wonderful World.”

The first romantic, in-love, and most amazing, never-ending French kiss that you thought would never happen.

The tax statement shows a return will be coming from the IRS and no payment is required and you didn’t even lie on your return.

Seagulls calling and the waves crashing loudly and rhythmically at high tide and you have to suddenly grab your blanket and run to avoid the oncoming tide.

Reading “American Dirt” while nuzzling your toes in the sand and feeling the sun’s heat totally envelop you and having absolutely nothing required of you, at least for now.

The first glimpse of the Grand Canyon when coming over the rise and it is so amazing that it looks like a postcard and not real and the feeling doesn’t leave even after several hours of taking in such immense, breathtaking, supernatural beauty.

The colonoscopy test comes back negative and see you in three years and no more roto rooter the night before, for at least three years.

Box seats at Yankee Stadium and a foul ball lands right in your lap and you give it up to the kid sitting behind you even though he didn’t ask for it and you don’t mind because seeing the kid’s grateful is worth the price of admission.

New car smell coming from your new car with many, many bells and whistles and it’s the first really new car in a long time, not a kind of new model with 5,000 miles on it and the fresh smell long gone.

A toddler’s totally beautiful smile as he eats a vanilla ice cream cone with the ice cream covering most of his face and who cares anyway because he hasn’t yet learned that such sublime joy should not include being coated in ice cream.

Hearing the infant cooing as his mother feeds him from her breast and cements the indescribable and eternal binds between mother and child, something for which there is no match.

Orgasm or two, or three or more, even though after the first it’s an act because there comes a time when just one is magnificently done and more than one is pure fantasy and baloney and impossible.

A sensational bowel movement.

Smell of hot pizza before actually devouring a slice and moving on to the sense of taste that is perfect symmetry to the sense of smell and knowing there is one slice left over that no one wants and it is yours for the taking.

Listening to “Under the Boardwalk” and “Up on the Roof” and feeling plain good.

Hugging my son and daughter and wife and kissing them all on the head as we join in a group hug that means so much and that we often forget to do.

Seeing the dog go crazy, his tail wagging wildly, for no other reason than because I just got home.

Getting the call from the owner of the house four blocks over who found your dog and saw the notice you nailed to the telephone pole about the pooch missing for more than a week.

Appreciating my son’s latest work of art and the beauty of his mind as he works to demonstrate his feelings and thoughts in a special and unique way, hoping he can one day profit from his art and incidentally, make a lot of money.

Having a conversation with my wife and being so impressed with her intellect and sensitivity and knowing we’re both just about the same in those areas, although I might have a slight edge.

Getting two or three real birthday cards and not 120 of the cheesy, on-line kind that take no thought or energy of any kind to send and are essentially meaningless.

Finding a $100 bill on the floor of Home Depot and telling the desk to let me know if someone reports losing a large amount of cash and, getting no calls, using the money for a nice dinner for the family at the Italian restaurant down the street.

My daughter telling me she has the most wonderful life, inferring that having me as a father is what makes her life wonderful and I have to agree because having her as a daughter makes my life wonderful.

Winter snowfall and nowhere to go, no calls to make, no people to see, no nothing but chill and watch the piles grow until tomorrow when I’ll hopefully avoid cardiac arrest while shoveling out.

Caressing the cheek and seeing the glorious smile of the one you love and smiling back with a smile that can only be explained as life-affirming.

Scoring a perfect 100 on the most difficult math test in the ninth grade and actually understanding the questions.

Dreaming about soaring above the clouds and between the skyscrapers of New York City like a mixture of Superman and Spiderman and coming safely back to earth, contented with the experiences.

Feeling in perfect love, the kind that lives in your soul and bathes you in warmth and happiness and peace in a way that you know will never go away, until, unfortunately, it does.

Getting up to let an elderly woman take the seat on the packed train to New York City and standing for the whole trip and seeing her smile and thank you while relaxing to read her book by Anne Tyler.

Rain falling on the windshield making that special sound that somehow feels like peace coming from the sky for everyone to experience at absolutely no cost unless you consider the cost for the gas.

An extra toilet paper roll within reach in the bathroom, eliminating the need to cry out “who was the last one to use the toilet?”

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Journalist for 40 years and now a creative writer

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Phil Garber

Phil Garber

Journalist for 40 years and now a creative writer

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