There are certain moments in life that provide us with a thrilling moment. And I do mean a moment that lasts only a few minutes or even seconds.
I love the feeling of crawling into bed when I have just changed the sheets, or opened up a brand new package of them. I don’t know why it is so refreshing, but it is — and I savor that feeling when it happens.
Another pleasurable moment, especially during the winter months, is pulling the very warm bath towels out of the dryer to fold them. They cool quickly, but not before you get to sort of wrap yourself in their warmth.
I vividly remember those days when you got regular haircuts. Some of you men might remember that after the initial haircut the barber would lather up your neck with warm soap and shave the back of your neck with a straight razor. He’d follow up with a warm, damp towel to get the soap off and finally rub his hands together containing some kind of smelly substance that stung at first and then settled into a genuine tingle.
When you walked outside, the breeze felt good against your skin. Within minutes it was all gone.
I relish eating that first cookie off the tray when you pull it from the oven.
I love finding a really burnt potato chip in the bag. Yummy!
And, once a year, I get to celebrate the coming of a new year.
I love that.
I’m usually tired of the old year and whatever sorrowful moments it brought me. Last year it was the unexpected loss of my wife, Eileen.
But I’ve always looked forward to getting a brand new year. I don’t generally make New Year’s resolutions, at least serious ones, like a promise to jog or even ride my bike before the tires rot away.
Just writing “2017” on that first check is fun.
None of us knows what any new year will bring. What it does bring, especially for me, is renewed hope for myself and everyone I know.
My optimism doesn’t last long. But for that fleeting moment, like the feeling you get from the warm towel from the dryer, all is right with the world.
Lon Allan’s column is special to The Tribune. He has lived in Atascadero for nearly five decades and his column appears here every week. Reach Allan at 466-8529 or firstname.lastname@example.org.