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They say the best things in life are free. I believe they' have it right. For those things that afford us the purest sense of joy, those things that enliven our soul and warm our hearts, stand tall in our memories and bring silent tears to our eyes are not bought with money. Ugly, sin-inducing money, that sickly substance that we become slaves to throughout the entirety of our precious lives. It is not my happiness.

The best things in my life are free. They are tender, unspoken moments with my husband, those times when I catch my breath in his presence, our late afternoon walks in the countryside. The bracing winter winds whip around our rosy faces as we meander throughout the woodland trails, pausing to marvel at age-old Oaks with grand thick trunks and winding roots, witness to hundreds of years of love-struck couples. The realization that we, too, are at One with nature. Our eyes twinkling in the light of the submerging sun, the vivid reds and oranges slipping into bed.

The best things in life are returning home, cheeks aglow and stiff with cold. Brewing a strong, sweet mug of tea and curling on the rug by the hearth, the log fire blazing and crackling, throbbing with heat.

The best things are the unadulterated, innocent joy of children on the Eve of Christmas. Their desperate anticipation for what gifts the morrow may bring. Blissfully restless in sheer excitement, eyes filled with a thousand hopes, impatiently dancing around the Christmas tree, rattling presents and guessing their ominous contents.

The best things in life are Sunday lunches after church back home. The robust smell of roast beef teasing my expectant family as we sup aperitifs of heart -warming red wine, gathered around the kitchen, sharing our news and taking moments to appreciate the occasion of all being together once again. Indeed, that beloved thatched Dorsetian cottage, the scene of our utopia, snuggled in the depths of the Southern English countryside.

The best things in life are the breathless anticipation to see my parents in the arrivals hall at the airport. After those trying months of separation our wicked distance enforces the thrill of seeing their dear faces amongst a sea of travelers never fails to move me to tears of joy. Their eyes busily scanning the swarming crowd until they recognize me, anxiously dodging through the faceless tide of people as quickly as I can to feel that special embrace; the embrace that connotes our deep, impenetrable bond. Our delicious reunion

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