Comfort.

We are up in the mountains this weekend, and autumn is beautiful. The morning air is crispy, but not yet cold enough to turn bare feet achingly numb. A hot mug of coffee is all the comfort one needs to stay toasty in a fluffy robe.
It rained yesterday, gently, all day. The unusual sounds of rain on the roof and clunking down the metal gutters kept poor Larry the cat unsettled and alarmed for most of the day. No wonder -- I read in the paper that the last rainfall to actually wet the roads was on March 15 this year. Our last proper soaking was in February.
Of course, we live in a desert, but we forget this having surrounded ourselves with urban life, gardens and abundant sprinklers. We have judiciously wrapped our lives in comfort.

Comfort. An American way of life, and considered a necessity. When we first moved here, it astonished me to discover the myriad ways in which this society pampers itself. It was in many instances a delightful surprise. Consider the bedding. Wow. Our first visit into a cavernous store to purchase bedding was a revelation. Never before had I seen such a luxurious array of pillows, sheets, comforters, mattress pads and down-filled puffy things.
Things we take for granted in this country do not exist in others. I discovered the notion of seasonal linen. Flannel for winter, brushed soft cotton and thick, sinking down comforters. Crisp, cool cotton or linen for summer, light and airy. Angel fleece and cashmere throws to wrap yourself up in like a cocoon when necessary or to tuck chilled feet in when mildly cool. Socks of the most delicate cashmere and fluffiest of fleece. Pouches of luxury to pull on at will. I stocked up -- my days of scratchy, scant socks were over, and as anyone with poor circulation will attest, there is no greater mood pepper than warm feet. Every year I send my frail grandma a brand new pair of ultra luxurious memory-foam, non-slip pockets-of-heaven slippers that only cost a few bucks. Serious bang for my buck.

The central heating took some getting used to. Suburban homes in South Africa are heated with mobile oil heaters that are dragged from room to room. They are expensive to buy and even more costly to run. And that of course is only the tiny fraction of people who can afford to pay for heating. Most people just bundle up wherever possible.
People eat soup and drink tea at home or at work, the Starbucks concept being practically non-existent. The thermostat controlled forced air in our home wakes me up every time. The sudden blast of warm air clicking on and off just cannot find a spot of every day comfort in my psyche. We have found a way around it, and now merely turn it off at night, firing up the furnace in the early morning so that the kids can dress for school in warm air and comfort.
Every South African adult can relay in excruciating detail those icy winter mornings of pulling on cold, inadequate school uniforms in bedrooms where the only source of heat has been abandoned beneath the blankets of one's childhood bed. No-one forgets that cold - briskly dismissed by parents trying to get you out of the door on time for shrill school bells. My kids will probably never know this cold, and I know many of you are smiling in memory of those dreaded awakenings.

Our cars over here are pods of luxury. They are enormous tanks of hot or cold air, music, leather seats - frequently with built-in warming pads, telephone access, navigation assistance, plenty of cupholders for drive-thru food and drinks, and even TV/DVD screens to keep the kids happy. Mobile comfort with added security and airbags. We move from heated/cooled homes to heated/cooled cars to heated/cooled stores and offices. Preferably in sweats it seems.
Try wearing flattering, stylishly cut clothes after a few weeks of fluffy elasticated sweats and ultra cushioned sneakers. High healed leather shoes feel like walking around in ice-skates, and every single thing feels scratchy and restrictive. Unlike South African women, many American women choose to feel comfort over feeling pretty. The South African gals would rather not feel ugly than feel super comfy. Cultural difference.

Some of my favorite American comforts are reliable free shipping, organic fruit on sale, inexpensive fresh fish and seafood, international foods at the local grocery store, affordable books (my absolute favorite), the unbeatable customer service at Amazon.com, cheap pedicures -- hand painted toe-flowers optional, cheap gas (trust me, this still remains true), gallon jugs of affordable milk, public parks, a designer lipstick for a few dollars, affordable cashmere, wireless in Mountain View, the Fire Department and firemen who hand out pencils and stickers to kids wherever they go, block parties, festive Christmas gatherings, Halloween trick-or-treaters and kind old people who dish out the candy enthusiastically to little goblins and witches. American appreciation for home-made things, well-supported parades and community events. And of course the bedding.

Media is awash with opinion, commentary and analysis of the economic crisis and politics these days. Fascinating. I have learned more of American history, trends and patterns in these few weeks than ever before. Seems like everyone is speaking up, and of course everyone has an opinion. The media seems to be trying its damndest to get all and sundry to panic as much as possible, and politicians are being exposed as self serving, narcissists all round. No surprises there. Yet ordinary people carry on as before, with more worries and less money. The kind remain kind, the selfish remain selfish. Levels of happiness in the street seem about the same to me.
Today I read a report on the absolute latest research on the study of happiness and surprise! they have discovered to their disbelief that the average American's happiness depends almost completely on human affection and is almost completely independent of how much money anyone has. Anyone can tell you that money does not buy happiness, but it is gratifying to be able to relay to another how the kindness and affection of someone has impacted your life. I was laid up in bed recently recovering from a surgery and the outpouring of giving, care and selflessness of my family and lovely friends was bold, lavish and immensely nurturing. My love for them all has deepened, and what can be more comforting than that?

Human affection knows no culture or economic status. We are looking forward to our family visiting from both sides this Christmas, and presents and outings are furtherest from our minds. Conversations, simple walks, card games, horsing around and family meals around the table are what we wish for. Both us, and our eagerly awaited guests. No-one remembers the gadgets or wrapping paper. Everyone remembers the jokes, stories and melding or clashing of opinions, the true down-to-earth comfort of family, the ones you could not choose to be in your life, but are there anyway and remind us of our humanity.