From the very start of the day, it's been perfect. Sunshine on my bedspread when I opened my eyes; radiators coming on all dusty-smelling and cozy. Waffles for breakfast, that puffy kind that are light inside but crispy outside, and one-hundred-percent maple syrup heated first in the microwave and then poured over in a pool and left a moment to soak, so the waffles swell and turn spongy and every crumb of them is sopping with that toasty, nutty flavor...
He goes on to talk about his morning shave, and the game of solitaire:
The best thing about solitaire is, it's so solitary. You're allowed to think these aimless thoughts and nobody asks what you're up to.
And his lunch which was just what he requested:
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich on whole wheat. ... There's something so satisfactory about a p.b.j. done right.
He continues on through naptime:
... cool white sheets that warmed as they got used to you.
dressing for his party, the candles on his cake, and at almost the end of the book he concludes with the frosting:
... the icing was my favorite: fondant. It melted in my mouth. I held a bite in my mouth and it sat for just a second and then trickled, trickled down my throat, all that melting sweetness.
Much as the sweetness of life, I think.
And now, Bing Crosby singing to Rosemary Clooney in White Christmas.