When Charles deGaulle decided to retire from public life, the American ambassador and his wife threw a gala dinner party in his honor. At the dinner table the Ambassador’s wife was talking with Madame de Gaulle.

“Your husband has been such a prominent public figure, such a presence on the French and International scene for so many years! How quiet retirement will seem in comparison. What are you most looking forward to in these retirement years?”

“A penis,” replied Madame de Gaulle.

A huge hush fell over the table. Everyone heard her answer… and no one knew what to say next.

Finally, Le Grand Charles leaned over to his wife and said, “Ma cherie, I believe zee Americans pronounce zat word ‘appiness.’”

But what is happiness? Happiness for me? For you? For Batman?

Happiness is a sunny day, a fast car, top down, hat on, a pretty neighborhood on a hill – such as Madrona – a good book by your side, lots of coffee and a tasty pile of potatoes, eggs and sausage.

Or maybe it’s taking a personal holiday, on a similarly sunny day, though this time a Monday, a trip to Anacortes – complete with the ferry ride from Mukilteo to Clinton – a couple photo stops along the way, Deception Pass (need I say more?), two good pints of IPA and, of course, a good book.

Maybe it is, as the Gods of Rock would have us believe, a warm gun. Maybe for some.

It’s getting colder, so I had to pack in a fair bit of Boxster driving into the weekend. Not a bad outcome. Even got some photos out of it. And also reminded myself that I don’t do too well with heights.

Deception Pass is beautiful, but damn high. And with the cars and the trucks going by, mere feet away, the damn bridge shakes and I get this feeling that maybe I’m going to fall. And then I look down, and remember that I’m not a fan of heights.

Big heights – the ones we encounter when flying – are OK. Maybe it’s the fact that you don’t really comprehend the reality of it. Or maybe you realize that even if you do fall from that height, you won’t really feel the impact. Whereas with most heights, like a hotel balcony just six stories high, you know that that fall might not kill you, and you’ll sure-as-fuck will feel it. The rest of your life.

While standing on the bridge, right over some shallow water (to make sure that, if it happened, I’d die a quicker death), I dribbled some water from a bottle I happened to be carrying. It was actually a pretty sight, and made me want to splurge some cash on a DSLR that could record video.

The water fell from the bottle in a predictable fashion for some dozen feet. Then the wind – which until then was being quite successfully blocked by the wind – ripped the globules into smaller drops. As the water kept on falling, it spread out and, as it vertically neared the strait, twinkled out of visibility. I didn’t really think that the drops had actually evaporated or had been reduced to a fine mist. That somehow seemed weird. Finally, the smattering of liquid impacts indicated that the water had actually reached its destination.

What is happiness?

Maybe it’s a new Batman game, or a glass (or two or three) of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Honey, or kicking vast amounts of ass at work, or actually having a fulfilling and interesting job, or taking some time to develop photos and listen to Pink Floyd, or that impulse-purchase of a car, or a Stephenson book, or an uber-cute picture of pug puppies, or finding a subreddit devoted solely to Olivia Wilde.

Or maybe happiness really is just a penis, nothing more, nothing less.