Last week, I had a day just filled with little surprises – nice ones. Prior to Thursday, if someone had told me that surprises were heading my way, I probably would have wondered which tire was ready to blow. Or which utility bill was going to double. But on that sunny day, the good little surprises began early.

I woke up before the alarm and I actually felt rested. Sleepless nights have become all too common, but this wonderful feeling? Wow! That NEVER happens. Is this how all those cheery morning people wake up every day? Most mornings, no matter how much time I’ve spent in the feathers, I’m still somewhere between comatose and groggy. My creaking joints usually complain loudly, but that morning they only whispered. It was a real surprise to wake with gusto, and things got even better as the morning unfolded.

Finishing the newspaper online, I concluded it was not a bad news day. I didn’t know anyone in the obituaries and the election was finally over. I worked my morning puzzles with rare speed and thought maybe having a good night’s sleep had something to do with it. My morning brain isn’t often that efficient.

I thought OK, this bright morning deserves a good breakfast. So instead of my usual oatmeal or yogurt, I decided on poached eggs. I cracked a jumbo egg into the simmering water and surprise, surprise – a double-yolker. That ALMOST never happens. I grinned. I don’t know why such a small thing makes me happy, but a double-yolker is a treat, a little gift. Some unsuspecting hen gave up an egg of twins and she never knew it. Breakfast tasted particularly good.

Pulling on my first pair of wooly slacks this season, I put my hands in the pockets to straighten them. And, surprise, what is this? Nothing else feels quite the same as money in the hand. I didn’t need my eyes to determine this folded wad was the green stuff. Wow, that NEVER happens. Hmm, and it’s not just a couple of bills rubbing together – maybe it’s six or seven bucks. I unfolded one, two, three singles, then a five, a ten, a twenty (wow), another twenty, then (gasp) another – 78 dollars! How can this be? How could I have put these pants away with cold hard cash in the pocket? Never mind. That was last spring, and this $78 is now. It’s going to be a good day.

I headed for lab work at the hospital thinking that it’s good to be alive. I laughed to myself remembering that old bromide: “Any day this side of the grass is a good one.” I was feeling unbelievably perky, and 78 bucks richer.

Then, surprise, surprise. I hit all six green lights on the way to the hospital. That NEVER happens! I usually stop for at least two red lights, and many days, all of them. The drive from home to hospital parking can take ten minutes. Last Thursday morning it took only four!

And late that afternoon, Dear Richard called from work, offering to pick up dinner. Could the day get any better?

That evening, settled contentedly in my nest to read the mail after dinner, I began thinking about the small blessings of the day. Then the phone rang and, surprise, it was an old friend from Maine who I only talk to about once a year. We always catch up, laugh, and remember for about an hour before promising to keep in touch more often. Yet it’s always ten or twelve months before one of us picks up the phone again. We seem to pick up our conversation right where we left off. and the warmth of our friendship remains year to year.

I climbed into bed that night thinking how the small surprises of my day had made it memorable. Individually those tiny delights would count only for a fleeting happy moment on any given Thursday. A perky wake-up, a sunny day, a double-yolker, a cash windfall, a few green lights, a fun card in the mail, a surprise phone call – not usually worth mentsioning but together they had comprised a contented, memorable day. I felt lucky to be able to appreciate the mini-delights of a day like that.

As I settle into my comfortable bed each night, I am grateful not to be sleeping in cold city streets, but in safety and warmth. My last joy as the clock crept past midnight was falling quickly, tiredly, happily asleep … one final little rare surprise.

Delicious.

Marcy O’Brien writes from her home in Warren, Pa.