Washing a sinkload of dirty dishes, with the window above the sink open and nice cool air flowing though the kitchen to dry them.
The aromatic kick and slight burn from a shot of Irish whiskey. Which word, by the way, comes from the Latin aqua vitae, water of life, into Gaelic, uisce beatha and thence into English as whiskey.
Having the doors and windows open, with sunshine and air coming through, in February.
Being able to remember your passwords.
Having someone in your life to make you laugh every day, including at yourself.
Scratching an itch.
The pleasure of pipe smoke coming out of your mouth.
Having all your teeth (but one) at the same age when your grandfather's were mostly false.
Not having diabetes as the age that your grandfather did, and he loved to make you watch him stick the insulin needles in his leg.
Sleeping through the night most nights.
The incredible blue sky above San Francisco, still amazing after more than two decades of watching it.
Picking lemons off the tree in your backyard in February.
Seeing a hummingbird again among the branches of said tree.
Being able to walk around my neighborhood most hours without having to be anxious about danger.
Having the good sense not to have watched the Oscars in the last ten years.