In no particular order:
My children make me happy — especially when they’re together having fun.
Daisies and baby’s breath and buttercups growing by the side of the road make me happy.
Garbage – cups, cans, bottles, bags, etc – thrown out of a car window makes me sad.
The physician patiently listening to my father’s time travel narrative from baseball to Africa to Boston, and asking appropriate questions like there was nothing out of the ordinary in his story makes me happy.
People who ask “How’s your father doing?” and then walk away before I have a chance to answer make me sad.
My father chuckling and outright laughing at Gary Larson’s The Far Side makes me happy.
My father making many mistakes on the crossword puzzle and not recognizing them as mistakes makes me sad.
Wispy clouds in a blue sky make my happy.
A dog with a wagging tail makes me happy.
Hearing from friends makes me happy.
Being able to allow my father to stay in his home makes me happy.
Giving up my job at the pool (so that I can be home all the time) makes me sad.
Jeans that fit make me happy.
A hole in the pocket of my favorite jeans makes me sad.
Having friends from other countries and other cultures makes me happy.
Politics void of compassion make me sad.
A doe peeking her head above the grass to watch me as I walk on the road (and then learning that she recently gave birth to fawn) makes me happy.
Posting something on my blog makes me happy.
Too much busyness makes me sad.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 
I liked this post, you have a lot that makes you happy and that is a gift. Staying home all the time is something I remember well and I don’t envy you this journey, but I am glad you are able to give your father the security of being with you. The pictures you posted made me happy, especially the clouds.
I do see doe (which instantly conjures dancing in barns with a man calling ‘and dosey doe your partners’ when I was a gauche teen and barn dancing became the rage in Britain for a while) …. I’m so happy she has a Bambi by her side now and wish her fleet feet and acute antennae to keep them both safe. A mummy and her baby. You a baby turned mummy of sorts to your daddy. It is hard. The big things are hard – giving up your job must be a mighty wrench …. like sacrificing your oasis on what you know is the altar of sense. I note that there is more happy than sad in your list – I wish you even more as you navigate your little boat and I wish you some oases even if they can’t be swimming pools at dawn for a while. This is beautifully written. It touches and tweaks smiles and melancholy with a light as air touch on the word weaver.
I think I can see the doe, but I’m not sure.
Schön und toll Beitrag einfach toll !!!
Vielen dank!
Bitte sehr gerne.!!