It’s been such a busy six months that I think I might shoot the Easter Bunny if he comes near me. Not ready for it to be April. No.
That murderous head-space was happily arrested when I picked up an unexpected parcel from a faraway friend at the post office, this morning.
“When Lis was here sorting out my life, I found a copy of an article you had written, The Alchemy of Happiness,” wrote Ainslie, one of my most utterly creatively brilliant friends who has remained largely undercover as an engineer for the last 15 years. “One of the things in the list was to make a care package and it made me think how long it’s been since I’ve done that. Enjoy.”
I don’t remember The Alchemy of Happiness. I go digging through a bunch of  files and find an old poem I wrote that was once written in chalk paint in the window of a Lululemon store.

recipe for happiness
(a work in progress)
any of the following:

froth on cappuccino
unexpected phone call from a friend
rough grit of granite under fingertips
peeing outside
a hot shower after a week of camping
playing Go Fish with a favourite four year old
seeing a shooting star at the same time as the person you’re with
kindness
the sleeping face of a lover
the shock of the first dive into the lake
popcorn popping
earthworms in the compost bin
the squeak of warm sand underfoot
couchsurfing in the dark while a friend spins their favourite music for you
a baby on your chest sighing
winter camping with down jacket and booties and a block of chocolate passing around
being cooked for
free stuff
the bubbles in champagne
a parcel in the mail
new blooms on the cactus plant
breaking open a fortune cookie
no lift queue
hugs from a friend you’re happy to see
the smell of freshly laundered sheets
chopsticks
a chilled smoothie (apple juice, banana, handful of frozen berries) after a bike ride
corpse pose
first mouthful of cookie fresh from the oven

Sorry, Easter Bunny. I take it back. April’s coming, whether I’m ready or not.  And with it, all kinds of opportunities to be smacked in the head by happiness, like a butterfly whacking you in the face when you’re out riding your bike, what the? what was that? did a butterfly just kiss me?

Ains’ card was designed by a groovy artist from Sydney, Katherine Brickman, who worked on this video clip, which I discovered happily after following my friend’s trail of crumbs.