my ten favourite things (annotated)

Seven months ago (or so) I did a blog at AuthorsDen about a question someone had asked me about what my ten favourite things are. The list I gave was as follows (in random order):


KIssing
The sound of thunder
A woman, biting her lower lip.
The smell of bacon frying
Snow
Spooning
Nailing a moment in a poem
Pachabel's Canon in D Minor
Making love
God

I was considering making a revision to the list, but upon second reading realized I couldn't. Yes, there are hundreds of things that from moment to moment make their leap to the level of these ten, but to demote any of these? Get real!

Kissing is wonderful and wondrous, a way of being sexual without having to be sexual. The art of kissing, I think, has been lost. Well, in my recent experience. My second wife did not like to kiss (read into that what you must or will) and thus I have felt its absence in my life for about a decade. Best kisser I ever kissed? Wow, let's stir that hornet's nest...hmmm...Alisha. By a slim margin, and I won't say over whom.

The sound of thunder is a relaxing sound to me. It puts me in my place in the universe and reminds me of being at home, in the confort of my room, listening to a late night thunderstorm.

A woman, biting her lower lip. I don't know why, for sure, but this one facial expression hits me in several places at once and makes me totally melt. Ask any woman who has ever used it on me, intentionally or not.

The smell of bacon frying. Breakfast, first moments of wakefulness, home, camping, the promise of something yummy. All in a flash to the ancient brain. And yes, I like my bacon crisp.

Snow. God, but I love snow. I love to go outside after a snowstorm and lay in it in shorts and t-shirt. I love watching it fall. I love the way it sticks to my eyelashes and brushes my face, I like the way it covers a multitude of surface flaws.

Spooning. Yes. There you go. I am a cuddler. Before and after. When Brigit left, back in Venice Beach, I took to cradling a blanket in my arms and sleeping with my futon folded into the sofa configuration for the illusion of having someone next to me. If you don't sleep more soundly in an embrace, you're sleeping with the wrong person.

Nailing a moment in a poem. A real sense of accomplishment, when you have just written something you read it and it blows you away. After all these years, you'd think I'd be immune to that...not a chance.

Pachabel's Canon in D Minor. Takes me back to college, and just the overall ethereal beauty of this piece is so perfect a tranquilizer, musically.

Making love. Don't make me expain this. I draw strength from intimacy, one of the reasons I find myself in a fractured and depleted state at this time, lacking one of my core revitalization methods. I won't bore you with the details.

God. I believe in God as much as I believe in anything else my senses tell me exists. God made me, but S/He made me who I am. When I write, I feel His/Her pleasure. And more than the love of a good woman, the approval of a friend or family member or the dollar signs on a royalty check, that's all I really need to get through the day.

Oh, and E.J.? I noticed the change to the blog layout. I approve.