Every time I read (or watch) Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, I am horrified that Dumbledore sees himself in the Mirror of Erised holding a pair of thick woolen socks. He says that one can never have enough socks. I see his lips moving, but I don’t understand what he’s trying to say. Socks? I mean, *really*?
Most of my socks are of a light-ish weight dress sock. Good for wearing to work or under my pretend-leather tall boots with tights. But lately, I’ve been wearing white sporty ankle socks more with sneakers. And between what the Sock Goblin has spirited away to make puppets (or something), and the random socks that neither of my gentlemen housemates claim as their own, I end up with this motley assortment of ill fitting, mismatched socks. They range from functional-but-not-loved to hateful. So this weekend, when I was at the mall getting my fun new Fitbit Luxe, I also got a package of three adidas sports socks.
And PraiseTheLord, I understand what Dumbledore was talking about. These socks are the right size, the right weight, the right softness. There may be a Hateful Sock Purge real soon now just so I can replace them with more of these newly found glorious ones. So yeah, I feel you, Dumbledore, I feel you.
So, what else am I grateful for this week?
- It’s the start of Hallmark Christmas Movie programming. I know, it’s not even Halloween. We haven’t taken the time for Poppy campaign and Remembrance day. But yeah, I’m ready for Hallmark movies. Mostly because they are a good bit of sentimental fluff that doesn’t leave my mind agitated and anxious. I’m not sayin’ there aren’t good campy halloween movies and really great military and war-based movies and biopics. I’m just saying that a bit of predictable mental candyfloss is a good way to seed my parasympathetic nervous system so it can actually do it’s rest-and-digest tasks.
- It’s fun to go to the Y-M-C-A! I’m back at the gym, friends! Oh, Assisted Pull-up machine, I’ve missed you! And getting in the pool a few times a week is just good for the soul.
- When I walk King Louie at night, there are increasing piles of leaves to crunch and kick through. I’m also glad that my city has a leaf pickup program so that you only have to push your leaves to the edge of the street, instead of bag or mulch or both (or leave them to just fly all over the neighbourhood and let your neighbours clean up the mess that you don’t want to).
- It’s soup time in the Swearyverse. I mean, it’s always soup time in the Swearyverse – I can’t count many bowls of soup in my almost-half-century that I didn’t like. I mean, sure, some are better than others, but when the weather turns to grey (boo!), making the soup is cathartic. And by soup, I mean my grandma’s chicken soup that we all make slightly differently and swear that we have the One True Soup recipe, directly from the source (who is long since shuffled off this mortal coil, and cannot defend or refute any of these claims).