Your friends' weddings: The centerpiece of a summer night. A place where you can make poor decisions concerning alcohol and cupcake consumption. Where you power bond with new pals age 8 to 80. Where you don't say goodbye when you've reached your party limit but simply fade out the back door—off to ride a late train home through the city, phone dead, feet aching, head spinning, happy.
Weeding the herb garden: This is work, but it's also quiet time and you're creating order out of chaos and it smells really, really good in there—alternately like lavender and like rosemary—and thus it's not just a worthwhile thing but a favorite thing.
Soba noodles: Made with buckwheat, cooked with love, eaten with pleasure. So much rich, nutty flavor you can go just sesame oil and salt on top. Minimalist delicious.
The Doors, "My Wild Love": It's primordial, haunting ... is it even a song? Or is it dark magic—sweat and chanting in the deep southern heat. Does it reach your deeper consciousness? Thanks to my fave Portland couple Jen and John Vitale for this one ...