nina on "one simple joy."

I sing in the car. Every single day.

I commute to work about an hour every day, and even when I'm so tired I can barely get out of bed in the morning, I sing at the top of my lungs to something (really, anything) on the radio. Always.

After such a long time doing this, I barely even notice it (so much so that whenever other people are in the car with me, I have to remind myself to shut up.)

I think singing out loud every day in the car probably sounds silly, but it's truly joyful. Don't get me wrong...I can't sing. I'm a terrible singer. But singing alone, and loudly, in a private space where no one can hear me, well... it's become one of the favorite parts of my day.

Every once in a while I get self conscious when I catch the driver of a nearby car smiling and laughing because it's so obvious I'm having a party in my car. But most of the time, it's a simple, unabashed, truly energizing kind of joy.

And the truth is... in my head, I sound awesome. So, what's not to love? :)

--Nina of naturally nina (who I wish I discovered sooner when I lived in Boston!)

*photo of nina and her fiance taken by andunlimited photography

simple joys.

One of my simple joys these days? Sipping hot cocoa, with Christmas music in the background, of course (even though I'm totally with Rebecca that hot tea is best).

Lovely readers-- thank you so much for chiming in and reading all of these heartfelt simple joys offered up from incredible people. There is only one more post left, and is definitely worth tuning in for later today. . . xo.

photo from dykiert

rebecca on "one simple joy."

I never used to like tea, and detested coffee, instead picking a frothy hot-chocolate or a tall glass of steamed milk with a spoonful of honey when a hot drink seemed appropriate.

Between school and university I travelled to Madagascar with a volunteer group, an exotic, wonderful, exciting island that I fell in love with, but far, far from home. Strange creatures, luscious plants and the constant rolling sound of the ocean, a far cry from scruffy urban pigeons and the hum of traffic.

But there was tea in abundance on offer and I think part of the reason I began to drink it was as a symbol of the familiar. Even when my team were based in the remotest of villages, camping each night under the sprawling Milky Way, we would wake to two large thermos flasks, one of thick, dark coffee, the other of vanilla scented tea. No milk, so we used canned condensed milk instead. I drank mine so incredibly sweet, adding a spoonful of rough, caramel coloured sugar to my tin mug in addition to the condensed milk, that it was almost hard to recognise it as tea, but it was the very fact that it was tea I was drinking, however weak and sugary, that seemed to bring me closer to England, to home. On the days when it rained, fat, persistent drops that made sleeping bags damp and fingers and toes cold, tea and a game of cards under the plastic awning strung between trees were what the group bonded over. From someone who never drank tea, I came back to England loving it.

University cemented this love. Lots and lots of tea was drunk. Late night mugs to keep me awake as the words in reference books turned into thin black squiggles and swam before my eyes, early morning ones gulped quickly before rushing off to lectures or to rowing practice on the frosty river. Tea drunk with friends, in warm, softly-lit rooms as rain fell on the grass outside and the college ducks came out to play, or in tiny cafes hidden down side streets between lectures.

Tea when visiting friends up North, stronger than I'd like, but welcome after a long journey. Tea on a Saturday morning, made by M just the way I like it and brought to me on the sofa with the papers as weak sunlight shines in through the windows from a low winter sun. Tea as the backbone of the working day, making friends out of colleagues and providing a welcome break from the harsh computer screen. Tea at Women's Institute meetings from ornate teacups, stereotypical perhaps, but why not? Tea made with jasmine flowers, brought back from China by friends just returned from travels, drunk in a South London sitting room, the delicate fragrance transporting us elsewhere.

Tea on so many occasions from the mundane to the memorable, soothing or reviving as required but always providing a few simple moments of pleasure.

--Rebecca of tea cups, cupcakes (who was kind enough to join us all the way from Britain!!)

*photo taken by Rebecca

johnny on "one simple joy."

i spent my early-twenties filtering the world around me as some hybrid mish-mosh of fiction and reality, ripped from the books and films i’d grown attached to. i wanted to see the world with the hungry eyes of sal paradise and the harsh cynicism of holden caulfield, the callow determination of the young jimmy stark in rebel without a cause and the stubborn grit of terry malloy in on the waterfront. it was the first time i’d lived away from my parents, so it made sense this was the first time i saw the world as something bigger than what i thought it’d been up until then.

there’s no denying it. i was jaded. and with this outlook, nothing topped the kick i got from driving to and from school, between my apartment off campus in downtown los angeles to my parents’ home—exactly 34.1 miles away—on the western edge of the san fernando valley. and this whole thing comes full circle because of the road i took to get there and back.

run a search for topanga canyon on flickr and you’ll find yourself immersed in a secret los angeles world of hippies and non-conformists, the graceful hand of california nature mixed with the sporadic placing of surreal art and architecture that’s sure to have your head-turned once it’s passed your car window. what’s often found in topanga canyon is a statement—a peaceful and courteous f-you to its city neighbor—that’s managed to keep the place and its people free from the vanity and pretense that defines the image and perception of l.a.

there was nothing better than the fifteen minutes of driving i’d spend in that canyon, sandwiched somewhere between the sprawling suburban rut of the valley and the deceptive hustle of the city, which even now, five years detached from the place i still call home, just the thought of sparks exactly what alicia’s looking for, that small and simple joy.

--johnny of the backyard navel (who's also my awesome foodie man-friend who keeps me company here in the very cold, very un-californian midwest)

photo via scutter's flickr photostream

stephanie on "one simple joy."

Coming home to my dog. No matter the day, the weather, the battles or the victories, when I open the door to my house there is a moment of pure joy, and it is all thanks to my dog, who wiggles and wags, and wants to lick my hands and carry off my gloves so that I can't leave again. It's a reminder that I am loved and needed, and it makes my house a happy place.

--Stephanie of Even Cleveland (isn't his cute dog business just killing you guys?!)

*photos of Stephanie's dog, welcoming her home

ann on "one simple joy."

Some of my most memorable moments of joy have occurred when I’ve been standing still in the dark in complete silence. The first time I can remember this feeling was in December 1989, the last was in May 2006. These moments all occurred backstage in a theater right before a live ballet performance began. There. Is. Nothing. Like. It. For me, anyway.

I have always loved everything about that time, whether it’s been as a performer (1989) or as a publicist escorting a photographer shooting the performance from the wings (2006). Fifteen minutes prior to the performance there is so much activity – the swishing sound of dancers walking around half in costume/half in massive puffy warm-up pants and down booties, child performers excitedly coming up from their dressing rooms and picking up props, the sounds of the orchestra tuning, ballet masters onstage giving last minute notes, the thud (sorry, guys) of male dancers working out those BIG jumps onstage, and stagehands and electricians shooting the shit and heading to their posts by the pulleys.

This is all very exciting, but for me it’s the ten seconds right before the curtain goes up that blows my face off and makes me feel really alive. The reason for this is that everything stops. It gets very dark, no one really moves, and all you can feel is adrenaline from absolutely everyone. The orchestra starts, but you can’t really hear it because (in most cases) the curtain is still down so it’s coming through the speakers and sounds grainy and kind of terrible and canned. And then the curtain goes up and all at once it’s bright lights in your eyes, there’s gorgeous loud live music swelling in front of you, and between 700 and 2000 people are in the room and there’s this feeling of, “Whoa. Ok. I guess we’re really doing this thing.” Joy!

--Ann of Runaway Shopgirl (who I cannot wait to dance in the streets of Boston with in less than one week!)

abigail on "one simple joy."

Because I am a very lucky woman, every morning my husband Steven gets up, walks the dogs, makes coffee and brings it to me in bed! By the way, when I say he brings me coffee, I mean he brings the most delicious cappuccino you’ve ever had. Honestly, I can’t understand what the heck he does (I’ve tried!), but it’s so good that it’s not fair to all the other husbands who make their wives coffee.

It’s the best way anyone could start the day, but the thing that makes me happiest happens just after I’ve finished my coffee and head downstairs.

One of our dogs, Ollie, waits at the bottom of the stairs wagging his tail with excitement like he hasn’t seen me in a week. As soon as I hit the bottom step he flips over on his back as if to say, “What took your so long, lazy bones? My belly needs some scratching!” It makes me laugh every single time.

--Abigail of Gus and Other Things (don't you want to take her sweet dog home?)

erika on "one simple joy": colored letters.

After Alicia so graciously asked me to be a part of this guest series, I really got thinking about the chaos of a normal day – the hurdles and errands and obligations that for many of us define the adult world. And some days, it is tough to find one simple joy amidst all the responsibilities, but lately, I’ve been looking a little closer and what I’ve found is quite simple indeed.

I spend most of my day in a cubicle, working at a computer, typing and reading words, and I’ve found that sometimes, these letters on a page can really become something transformative. There are certain words for me, that just seeing them printed provides some kind of comfort, some nostalgia or acknowledgement of home – words like poem, low tide, autumnal.

Reading, for me, is somewhat of a visual experience – every letter has its own color and space on the page – a phenomenon called synaesthesia that causes two or more of the senses to cross over, in my case, letters and color. So some words feel like old friends – the oranges and reds of the word poem with a creamy white in the center, the way it smoothes across the page like a spoonful of crème brulee. I take some small pleasure in knowing that these letters put on a kind of show that only I can see, and feel grateful that we all have this opportunity to envision and define our little corners of the world.

--Erika (who not only sees beauty in the word poem, but writes radiant poems, too)

*photo of Erika taken by Graham Shepherd at her home away from home--Newcomb's Hollow Beach, Wellfleet, Cape Cod

krista on "one simple joy": pillowcases and cupcakes.

it finally rained today. as though the sky was holding back tears watching a romantic comedy on a first date and lost the battle. either nerves or adrenaline or lack of self-consciousness. whatever. there they are, lulling me back to sleep, soft as fingertips on my windowpanes.

she didn't feel lulled. no, the tapping on the window was more like a siren's call. a lover, a promise, adrenaline or whatever. she was up and she is not yet two. that means i am up as well. alicia asked me to write about simple joy. and i found myself full of complications. every fiber of each idea wrung dry and left wrinkled and stained on the counter.

i seem to have left the simple on the pillowcase this morning. the joy somewhere else entirely. in the kitchen, perhaps? in the cabinet where i store the cupcake liners? i would imagine joy would be comfortable there. regardless,

i haven't found her yet.

and then.

i downloaded some pictures off my camera last week. from a late morning walk with the almost two year old. she in her stroller, me wrapped in ira glass' voice. i snap pictures sometimes that i forget taking. do you ever do that? do you ever come home and download them onto your computer without even looking at them? go open your pictures folder right now. (or iphoto for you mac users, i used to be you. i miss being you. le sigh.)

did you just find yourself lost back in a memory you don't remember making? captured. reigned in like butterflies in nets, except without the somewhat barbaric finality of wings pinned to felt.

i found my wings this morning. in the skeleton of my computer. just waiting for me to set them free.
so simple.
so complex.

i think maybe i'll break out those cupcake liners today. bake the joy out of them so that the house smells like it all afternoon.

bring the pillows into the living room and dance on them with socks.
simple joy scattered all over the furniture and the floor and the walls.

--krista knott, of my life as i see it (and mother to the most adorable almost two year old)

*photographs from krista

celia on "one simple joy."

I have one very simple joy that I take pleasure in every single day. Sleeping with my husband. Or I should say, actually sleeping with my husband. I'm sure that this may sound a little odd considering many of us go to bed each night with our significant other, crawl under the covers, switch off the lights and doze off. No big deal, right? Well to me, it's kind of the biggest deal in the world. It's the one thing I can count on every day that I know will make the gross and icky days all better and the happy days even happier.

The last time Joseph and I spent a night apart was over 4 years ago. Usually when I mention this to someone, they'll get this look on their face as if I just told them I'm planning on running for President of the United States. Half disbelief, half "that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."This does not mean, in any way, that we are pathetically codependent. Believe me when I say, I thrive on alone time. Lots and lots if it. We've made the decision to not spend nights apart, unless 100% inevitable, because we feel it's what works best for us. We work opposite schedules and by the time he gets home, it's usually past midnight. Because of this, the hour or so before we fall asleep is our version of "quality time." We share our stories from the day, tell each other jokes, make plans for the upcoming days, and basically just hang out. Every morning when I wake up, that's the time I look forward to the most. I truly can't think of anything more joyous than spending time with the person you love... for me, that time just so happens to be bedtime.

--Celia of Life According to Celia (whose wedding wasn't too long ago, and you absolutely must check it out. Wasn't she such a gorgeous bride?)

*Photo of Celia and her husband, getting ready for bed, the night before their wedding.

claire on "one simple joy."

Every twenty-something I know who's working a "career" job seems to be finding it difficult to attain that work-life balance that is so important. My friends and I seem to have trouble figuring out how to juggle work, relationships, friendships, and household duties, while still taking time for fun and personal time. While having no fun is...well, no fun, the absence of personal time concerns me. On my end, I'm hoping that by the spring of this year, my first year teaching high school, I'll be able to work in more "me time" and get back to one of my favorite simple pleasures...

I love sleeping in (not too late), and getting up, walking down the street to pick up a newspaper, and going to a coffeeshop or bagelery to plunk down and do the crossword. There's something so intoxicating in the combination of the smell and taste of a hot cup of coffee, one's favorite writing implement, and the touch--even the smudgeable smell--of newsprint in a blocked grid. This was one of my favorite graduate school rituals, and at that time I had a partner-in-crime to meet me for a coffee and crossword. Some days when work is hectic and I've been at school for 13 hours, in my mind I transport myself to a random Wednesday morning in March or October or June. Instantly, I feel the delight of having a conversation with a close friend that's interrupted by bursts of inspiration for 15-Across or 31-Down and the slow sips of a still hot cup of joe.

--Claire DePalma, blogger of labyreves (and close pal who in graduate school graciously called and asked me to coffee dates, often).

photo via Clearwater Farm's photostream

guest post series.

My friends. It's that time of the year where it becomes increasingly impossible to find time to slow down. We've got end of the semester hassles (that's the teacher in me speaking), changing weather, family visits and travel, deadlines to meet, and the general whirl of the holidays.

So, to honor this time of the year that's supposed to be about love, peace, taking deep breaths, and enjoying important company, I've decided to ask a handful of genius bloggers and friends to share thoughts on "one simple joy" in their every day lives. Needless to say, I'm very excited and feel so honored to have these voices on my little blog. Please stay tuned throughout the week, and read along with me. . . xo.

(photo by Brian Ferry, via Jennifer Causey)