Being together with the ones I love on a Wednesday afternoon, washing the dishes, taking the garbage to the bin under a gray sky, hearing the distant sounds of children from upstairs, turning around and suddenly looking into the eyes of the one I love. It is the feeling of being alive I’m talking about. And of being in love.

Sundays in Paris with Jeffrey. We go to the Sunday market, make a nice lunch, drink a big bottle of Burgundy, and then take a long delicious nap. Heaven.

Probably being granted all-access to a Disney theme park with my husband, David, and a group of close friends—and just us—while we wandered and drank tropical tiki drinks. No judgment, no lines, no bad weather, and no hangovers. Oh, and our twins would be there too, but only when they’re happy and meltdown-free. I guess the same would go for David.

Finally, a happy marriage, of now 39 years!

Their ability to open a bottle of wine.

I remember thinking, when I was in my early 30s, that this is the best age to be, and I still believe your 30s are a wonderful time. But I think I am pretty happy now.

Laziness and procrastination.

Serially telling endless boring jokes and sexism and racism and homophobia (they often go together).

Sister Alice Marie Quinn, who runs St. Vincent Meals on Wheels in Los Angeles.