I hope you have a good day. The entire day. Start to finish. Not the Best Day Ever. No, that’s too much excitement crammed into twenty-four hours. I’m talking about a plain-old, ordinary, run-of-the-mill good day.
I hope you wake up to smells you love. Like donuts, bacon, coffee, 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. I’m doing my best to bring it back.
So 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 passed down to us. A hamburger with pickles. Whittling. Hydrangeas. Will Rogers. Baseball games. Pajamas. Smacking ketchup bottles with the butt of your hand. Hank Williams music playing on kitchen radios.
Childhood porches. The smell of peach cobbler in the oven.
The faded family photo album. The ancient Betty Crocker cookbook that once belonged to your mother.
I hope you close your eyes and recall the best pieces of childhood. The days when you played hard, and the best games only 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 see lots of trees.
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. The single father who lost his wife to suicide, but is still raising his four kids.