I hope you have a good day. The entire day. Start to finish. Not the Best Day Ever—that’s too much excitement crammed into twenty-four hours.
No. Just a plain old, good day.
I hope you wake up to smells you love. Like: donuts, bacon, a fireplace, or halitosis from a kitty-litter-eating bloodhound.
I hope you have nothing pressing to do. No schedule. No appointments.
We do too much, you know. Long ago, our ancestors practiced the noble art of being worthless. A lot of folks won't do that anymore.
Today, I hope you’re as worthless as a waterproof dishrag.
I hope you remember your ancestors. Your grandparents, and their grandparents—even if you’ve never met them.
I hope you think about the simple things they gave us. A hamburger with pickles. Whittling. Will Rogers. Baseball games. Pajamas. Smacking ketchup bottles. Hank Williams music playing on kitchen radios. Childhood porches.
I hope you close your eyes and recall the best pieces of childhood. The days when you played hard, and the best games happened in backyards.
I hope your smartphone quits
working—just for a few hours. I hope the absence of a digital screen takes you outdoors. I hope you hear the sounds of the earth all at once.
I hope you sit for hours with nothing but a cold drink and your best ideas.
I hope you meet someone who inspires you. A kid who’s had kidney cancer. A girl who got pregnant too young, who just finished nursing school.
A woman who lost her husband to an overdose. A child whose daddy is in prison. A hillbilly who put himself through the GED course. A homeless woman, selling parched peanuts. An EMT. A school custodian. A lonesome grandmother. Anyone who’s adopted a child.
I hope you look at them and feel proud. After all, they are the only ones worth being proud about. People like them. People like you.