An amazing, ordinary day.

I had one of those amazing days today. The kind of ordinary day that reminds you just how good life can be.

I slept until 6 AM — late for me — and read in bed until the sun shined right through the window into my eyes. You see, I’d forgotten to lower the shade. But that didn’t matter because no one was going to look in my bedroom window. No one other than the sun.

I had my coffee and tidied around my little home. I prepped for my day in Wenatchee. I had a long list of things I wanted to accomplish and I’d even made notes the night before. I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed when I headed into town.

I loaded up the Jeep and sat Penny on the seat beside mine. We headed out. I got about a mile down the road when I realized I’d forgotten something. I turned around and went back to fetch it. Then we headed out again. I got about 10 miles when I realized I’d forgotten something more important. I turned around and went back to fetch it.

I didn’t mind driving the extra 22 miles because of my bad memory. I wasn’t in a rush. I was doing my own things at my own pace. That was nice.

I drove up to the lot I’m going to buy soon in Malaga. Along the way, I stopped at the lot next door. (The one my husband has photos of that I don’t own and never will.) There were three men working there with a big backhoe. The foundation for my future neighbor’s home was in. They’d chosen a nice building site with nearly the same great view I’d soon have on the lot next to theirs. I chatted with the builder and got his number and the name and number of his girlfriend, who had designed the custom home under construction. I chatted a while with the earth moving guy and talk to him about septic systems and perk tests. I got his card and the number for the septic system designer. It was nice to meet new people, to learn about folks who might help me build my home one day.

On my future lot, I gathered together some of the stakes the owner had used to mark the footprint of the house he’d never build. I took my 100′ tape measure and marked out the footprint for the home I’d build: 48 x 50 feet, right beside the end of the driveway. I marveled at how small that footprint looked on the vast expanse of land I’d soon own.

I walked around with Penny, through tall weeds and wildflowers that reached my waist, thinking about where I’d put my beehives and my RV and my septic system. I saw yet another type of flower I’d never seen there before. I admired the view for a while and felt the wind in my hair on a day with perfect weather. I looked back at those stakes and imagined my new home rising above the wildflowers. I imagined sitting on the deck with a glass of wine, taking in the view.

I went down to Wenatchee and had lunch with a friend in a Japanese restaurant where they make a seafood salad just the way I ask. My friend put away an amazing quantity of food. We talked about business and life and what great a gig we had as cherry drying pilots. My friend bought me lunch; I left the tip.

I drove over to a friend’s house to tend to my bees, which were living in his backyard. I was inspecting my new hive for the first time. I took my time prepping and suiting up. My friend kept me company and explained what I was seeing while my GoPro camera, set on a tripod, created a 1080p HD video of the entire inspection with our running commentary. Afterwards, I sucked the honey out of the wax comb I’d trimmed from the top of the hive box. No honey tastes as good as the honey you eat fresh, right from your own beehive.

I went to Lowes to look at appliances and cabinets and bathroom fixtures for my new home. I thought about washers and dryers and glass-topped stoves. I looked at refrigerators with drawers and dishwashers that could hold all of my dishes. I talked to a kitchen design consultant and set up an appointment to design my kitchen. I thought about how nice it would be to finally have the kitchen of my dreams — and how nice it was going to be to skip the decision-making ordeal with someone incapable of making a decision.

I ran into a friend of mine and her daughter. We chatted for a while about nothing important.

I stopped at Stans Merry Mart to look at Traeger smokers. The sales guy, who couldn’t have been much older than 18, gave me a thorough rundown on how they worked, what I could make, and how easy they were to clean. I thought about smoking racks of ribs and other yummy food. I came very, very close to buying one, but remembered that my deck wasn’t built yet.

I swung by the spa place to look at hot tubs, but it was late and they’d already closed. Another day. There was no rush.

I went to the supermarket to buy olive oil and flowers and salad fixings.

As I headed out of town, I saw the sign for Larry’s Boneless Chicken and decided to give it a try. It was an old-style drive-in restaurant, with girls that came out and took your order and then hung a tray with your food on your car window. The waitress was friendly and happy and smart; the food was good. Penny and I listened to the radio and munched chicken and onion rings.

I drove home in the summer evening light, when the sun was turning that golden color that makes everything look good. I looked at the green hills and the dark brown cliff faces and the blue river and marveled at how beautiful and full of life everything was.

At home, I put away my groceries and watched the video of my hive inspection on a 32-inch HD TV, reliving the highlight of my day, chatting with Facebook friends as I sipped a glass of wine. Outside, the sun was setting. The family of skunks living in the bushes nearby walked past my back window: a mom and six babies. Penny, who was waiting for them, barked.

A while later, I climbed into bed with my laptop to write this blog post. Penny, in her bed with her favorite toy, watched me through sleepy eyes. I thought about how nice it was to spend the day with her and how much she’d love running loose among the wildflowers at our future home.

Just another day in my life. Another great day.

People who go through life angry and hating and trying to take things that aren’t theirs from others who have done them no wrong are missing the point of life. In fact, they’ve missing life itself.

It’s not about what you have and how little you did to get it. It’s not about hating strangers enough to try to make their lives miserable. It’s not about how good you are at screwing over others. It’s not about getting away with lies or abandoning your moral standards to win something that really isn’t yours. It’s not about how much better you are than everyone else. It’s not about your last European vacation or your fancy car or the $150 you dropped on dinner for two the night before.

Life’s about the simple things. The things that make you happy. The things that make you feel whole. The things that are good and right.

Life’s about having a great day, a calm day, a day where you do what matters to you and you enjoy every minute of it.