Favorite things:

Homemade chocolate cake with chocolate frosting like my mother made. The kind of butter frosting that went hard after a few days (if the cake lasted that long.) Oyster stew with sautéed green onions and celery. Oh, the memories.

Homemade frozen jam—making and eating. Even the pleasure of seeing the jars tucked away in the freezer. The pantry full of home-canned produce, the shelves glittering like gems. Homemade fudge, the kind you stir forever. The perfect homegrown peach dripping juice down my arm as I peel it. Children swinging and laughing on a tree swing.

The smell of garlic sautéing in butter. The amalgamated scent of my herb garden. The scent of loamy soil coming out of its winter freeze. Roses, ‘Lady in Red’ salvia and lavender perfuming the air as I brush past tidying up the garden. Buttered popcorn. Fresh sheets hung outside on a cold, crisp day in April.

Butterflies in September, the monarchs, in early spring, the Mourning Cloak. Crocuses peeking through the snow. An empty road. Moonlight on an empty road. Good morning sun on that same empty road. Window Boxes. Window boxes sprouting salmon geraniums.  Freshly washed windows in spring.

 Fog rolling in with the muffled silence. Being read to by my mother, no one does ‘The Raven’ quite like it. Homemade rag dolls. Homemade doll clothes.  A handwritten note. A flea market find of old recipe books, especially those gathered together for a fundraiser. A box of handwritten letters, ribbon optional. A diary found in an antique shop: another life, a story.

On a gloomy, midwinter day, write about your favorites. If nothing else it gets you started writing and smiling.