My father has always taken pleasure in small things.
He loved sardines in a can that opened with a key.
He loved the way a well-crafted hand tool fit in his palm and did its job.
He loved a mug of steaming black coffee.
He loved shoes that fastened with velcro.
For many years he took pleasure in having a job and working.
After he retired, he took pleasure in that.
He always lived within his means - never had a new car, never had a car payment.
He took pleasure in what he could afford.
The following poem is about one of life's small pleasures. In Bermuda they call it "tinned cream" and put it in tea or make Ovaltine with it. I like it on a bowl of cereal or fruit.
Carnation Milk
Carnation Milk is the best in the land;
Here I sit with a can in my hand—
No tits to pull, no hay to pitch,
You just punch a hole in the son of a bitch.
Anonymous
