For fear of seeming to only ever complain about things, here's something I enjoy:
Lying down on my couch, with lots of pillows, under an afghan, with a sleeping cat at my feet, reading a good book and occasionally looking up to stare out the huge windows of my living room, where the rain is striking with a most comforting pock and splash, blurring the Christmas lights on the balconies across the road. The fridge starts and stops more times than I can count. My feet are the perfect temperature. Whenever the furnace stops, the heating ducts shrink and crackle for five minutes or more.