Virginia Woolf said it was money and a room of one’s own (i.e., a sanctuary in which to work or dream.)
Gloria Steinem—‘memba her?--said the key to happiness is a sense of purpose.
Marabel Morgan—I KNOW you ‘memba her—said making our husbands happy would make us happy. (Total Woman workshops were as ubiquitous as Jello in the 70s, and to this day I agree with many of her principles.)
The latest look at happiness can be found in a book by Ariel Gore, “Bluebird: Women and the New Psychology of Happiness.” Gore defines happiness as “the ability to rejoice in the midst of suffering."
Happiness, she says, is a decision, an act of will: We must actively choose to be happy. (That sounds too much like gritting one’s teeth and wearing a hair shirt to me.)
Then again, she says, some women have a talent for happiness. They’re born cheerful, like my sister was born knowing how to twirl flaming batons. Other gals are grim as the grave. (We’ve all known a few of those, haven’t we? Their lives are blessed, but joy eludes them. I avoid these people like the plague.)
Here’s a brief list of what makes me happy. Feel free to add your own.
* A bubble bath.
* Hanging out with my husband.
* Learning a new skill (not baton twirling; I have fingers like sausages.)
* Makeupalley.com. It’s addictive.
* Getting a certain magazine each month, because it reminds me of the friend who’s quietly renewed the subscription for years.
* Listening to my little dog snore.
* Feeling in control. (It’s always an illusion, but so what?)
* Retin-A.
* Knowing my brother counts me as one of his best friends.?* Widdle reaching for my hand in church.
* Ice-cold Chardonnay.
* Facebook friends.
* Waking up with a face that doesn’t have swollen eyes or sheet creases.
* A new tube of mascara. I’m such a girl.
* Chocolate so bitter it makes my tongue curl.
* Being corrected by someone I love. (Who else will point out your mistakes?)
* A flat-bellied day. (Which never lasts past 11 a.m., but still.)
* Having enough of anything, whether it’s linguini or love.
* Friends who smell good.
* Watching “The Office.”
* Letters to the editor. The topic doesn’t matter; I just like to read them.
* Washing dishes. (I know, it’s weird.)
* A new shaver for my Sasquatch legs.
* Watching anything with Ricky Gervais in it.
* Friends who loan me books and say, “This made me think of you.”
* Looking at photos of Widdle before we met.
* Being alone by choice, which is so different from being alone by circumstance.
* Reading three days’ worth of newspapers by lamplight on the squishy sofa in the living room.
* Andy Griffith re-runs.
* Rearranging the 17 mismatched wine glasses in the china cabinet.
* Marinara sauce.
* Throwing out ugly silk flowers.
*How Not to Marry the Wrong ManDon't Get Pregnant, Elin!How Rich People Smoke Pot
My Banned Book
The Laziest Countries
The Book That Will Outrage Women
Baby goats.
* When someone indicates, with a nod or a smile or an arched eyebrow, that he/she gets me. It’s a rare thing to be truly got.
*Irish oatmeal. With cream and sugar.

Julie R. Smith, a happy little fool, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.