Art is subjective, and so, I suspect, is each man's view of what it takes to be "living the good life."
I was reminded of that last week during a drive in the country, as I passed by a ramshackle house with a roof that needed attention.
In the unmowed yard stood a doghouse, obviously recently built; the tools and wood scraps and bits of the roofing were lying nearby.
Unlike the house for the people, the house for the dog was an upscale structure with a sealed roof and generous eaves. The roof extended a few feet out at the front to allow for a porch---with white pillars, no less!
The grass had been sheared in a circle around the new doghouse, and in that section sat the master/builder on an old lounge chair. He seemed to be dozing; his eyes were closed and his grizzled face was raised to the sun.
The dog slept nearby in front of the doghouse---his tail in the shade, his head stretched out to the sun like his master's, and his nose on his master's feet.
Man and dog seemed to bear the same smile; the same air of utter contentment; I knew for a fact, they were "living the good life."
I smiled all the way home to the place where my husband and I are living our own good life.