Magic stones

Tony Bourdain, talking about Provence, says that everyone, including rich people, has a fantasy of living the simple but beautiful existence of French peasants, minus the hard work. We all want to live in a Mediterranean climate, surrounded by blue water and equally blue skies, to walk in fields of lavender, and to eat those sharply flavored foods - aoli made in a stone mortar, fish caught a mile below the house, vegetables so intensely colored they seem to vibrate.

At the end of the same show, he concludes that even more than eating the beautiful, unique, handmade cheeses, he enjoys shopping for them. Kibbitzing with the lady in the apron, being recognized by the little terrier dog.

He says it's really the little details of life there that make it special.

I don't doubt that he's right, and more than that, I think that's true of anyplace.

And I wonder if part of the trick to finding happiness in a real, daily way is simply identifying what your own personal magic pieces are.

I'm not saying that these are necessarily my definitive pieces, but here are a few little bits from the last few days.

I was at a picnic. It was a little cold. There were funny stories. I wished I had a frisbee.

I was at a party. We sat outside on a deck. It was crowded, and yet, this time, I wasn't angry with the crowd.

I wanted to see a particular young man, and it happened.

Easily, and not the way I expected. I find that I like to have a crush on someone, and it may not matter all that much whether anything comes of it. I like to have to guess. Is it mutual? Does he think I'm too old?

I found a crate of clementines for only $5.99. I've been waiting all winter, wanting them, but they've been $8.99, and I haven't bought them. I bought these, and they are fat and perfect.

I am listening to a documentary on Helen of Troy. It's a woman in a plummy accent telling a racy love story, only it's history. Torchlight, and they dance naked until dawn.