I’m blogging from the patio on this breezy, lovely Chamber of Commerce day – sun shining, temp around 70, the soft scent of the first spring flowers in the air. The Tiki Bar and the patio set are both in dire need of a good washing down after a long dusty winter, but that can wait for another day. Was just thinking of some of my most favorite things – nothing in general, just the stuff that the memories of brings a great sense of quiet calm and joy. Here’s just a few, not in any particular order:

Listening to baseball on the radio – the sport’s leisurely pace makes it perfect for radio. Whether it be listening to a game while sitting at the dinette table, the curtains stirring in the night breeze, or swimming in the pool, or while driving to the beach, the memories of listening to Ken Coleman and a succession of Red Sox broadcasters weaving their magic is a lovely memory.

A quiet church or monastery chapel. I think my favorite memories are from my retreats at Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, NY. Sometimes I’d wander over to the chapel during mid-afternoon and just sit and drink in the quietness and the holiness of the place.

Thunder in the far distance on a summer afternoon or evening. For some reason I always feel in awe and very small at the sound of distant thunder – like it’s a way of God’s creation revealing its majesty and showing just how small and insignificant each of us is when it comes to the greater picture.

Wind in the trees is a lovely sound. The sound of the wind rustling our palm trees is nice, but I like sound of it in great leafy trees, like oaks and maples. A warm wind is especially cool – pardon the pun – when it’s a warm wind out of season – like in New England when you get those unseasonably warm days in March or December; it’s a feeling you just can’t explain, and something you’d like to bottle so you can always have it near you.

Ocean waves of any kind, anywhere. They can big and crashing, or soft and gurging as they pass over a stony coastline. Again, the sense of awe and feeling quite small at the vastness of the big blue and God’s creation.

Foggy days – man I love the fog. We don’t get them out here in Arizona, of course, but I’ve always been a sucker for gloomy, foggy days. The foggier and gloomier, the better – guess that comes from my Newfie heritage.

Walking towards a Mexican restaurant and hearing the Mexican music playing from the inside. It always brings a smile to my face.

The sound of a lawn mower from a neighbor’s yard, and the smell of mown grass. Always a winner – except, of course, when your neighbor does his mowing at 7:30 AM on a Saturday.

The sound of a lone prop plane passing overhead. I don’t know why, I’ve always just liked the dreamy quality of it – for some reason it was reminds me of my childhood and playing outside in our yard. Out here we only get passenger jets and police helicopters flying overhead – when the latter, you know they’ve found another safehouse for illegals. Heh.

Gregorian chant. ‘Nuff said there.