Pleasures and 1 non pleasure

Today was one of those days that almost everything seemed wonderful. Passing a window full of chocolate cakes, even without buying one, is a pleasure. I know where to go when a chocolate attack hits BIG TIME:

I've always loved these tile directions on where dogs should poop. My boys never understood without help from me. It still makes me smile.

Then this was the first snow of the season in the city, not a lot, just enough to make one hum "Sleigh bells ring are you listening?" The lake was a beautiful gray and I was hit once again with the wave of gratitude and joy that this is my country.

On the bus a man probably in his mid-forties talked on his cell phone and was telling whoever was on the other hand how he caught snowflakes on his tongue. Childlikeness is charming.

Had lunch at the Château des Penthes with a writer friend as we caught up on our lives. We are seldom in the same country or city at the same time, which made it extra special. They have put a conservatory on one end of the building where we ate and watched the snow fall on the countryside around the château. The waiters were friendly and joked with us bringing tabasco in the place of artificial sweetener for my friend, saying they misunderstood. Then they brought out the packet of sweetener.

My friend said that the note I wrote to her French husband was perfectly correct--talk about a Christmas gift to hear that after all my hard work this year. Of course I will never write him again, so as not to blow my image. Also was thrilled to discover as I studied my German (my goal in 2010 and probably 2011 is to bring my German back--it is buried somewhere in a harddrive in a far away drawer of mind) that as I was reading the grammer rules for the third time in three days that the book was in French and I hadn't even been aware.

Sitting down and writing three good pages with flying fingers on my work in progress, The Experiment. I've about 109 pages and finishing it in 2010 is another goal.

The only non pleasure? The BA strike. That's what I'm booked onto to see my daughter. Like Scartlett O'Hara, I'll think about it tomorrow.