"Discipline Case": Restorative Justice Depicted in John Hughes' Breakfast Club

Another Preamble Disclaimer: If you have not seen John Hughes' The Breakfast Club (1985) enough times, this post will probably not be very interesting :-)

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Personal Investment:

Fewer devoted John Hughes fans exist in the world than I. I literally grew up on a steady media diet of his movies.  I probably watched Sixteen Candles first --when I was in first or second grade. It taught me about "cool." There were the undisputed cool kids (Jake Ryan, Caroline Mulford, and their rich, hard partying friends); there were the aspiring cool kids (Samantha Baker, Randy, and there muted middle crowd), and the undisputed uncool kids (Farmer Ted, Bryce, Cliff, Marlene, Long Duck Dong, and all other freshmen and kids on the bus). This movie, I can say without hesitation, was formative. 

 While Pretty in Pink (Hughes-produced, not directed) had a bit of edginess to it--poor kid dating rich kid with all the commensurate interferences that would issue in, out-of-work father and absent mother, etc.-- the menace was in and among the peer group, and the connection to the menacing agent was entirely voluntary. Andie, our nearly fearless protagonist, could have easily dispensed with the snobbishness and cruelty of the rich kids by merely keeping her previous distance, but she had a point to make: "I just want to let them know that they didn't break me."

 Ferris Bueller's Day Off pitted the hero, Ferris, against the villain, Mr. Rooney, and taught us all: "Life moves pretty fast; if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it" (cue "Oh Yeah" by by Yello). The primary menace in this story is a fanatical Dean of Students, obsessed with his "ability to effectively govern this student body." Remove Ed Rooney from this plot line and there is no story--just a kid and his friends skipping school. Nobody cares.

 The Breakfast Club always felt a little different. It's . . . dark. The film includes the usual elements of the John Hughes set up: the fictional Chicago suburb of "Shermer, Illinois," the epic battle of uncool (read: good) vs cool (read: evil), nearly absent adults, and a heartbreakingly honest rendering of the emotional lives of the young people at the center of the story.

 Synopsis of Harm Done--All Armored Up:

 The movie opens with five high school students being dropped off by their parents to attend an all-day "Saturday School" detention.  In the opening voice over, these students are identified as "a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal." We have the smattering of the high school social landscape encompassed herein.  Each of these, with the exception of the middle student who admits to "having nothing better to do," did something "serious" to warrant a Saturday detention: bringing a gun to school, bullying a weakling in a locker room, truancy, and pulling a false fire alarm, respectively.  During drop off, we get a brief glimpse into the home lives of these students. Our princess, Claire ("it's a family name"), doesn't want to go in because she fears the "defectives" she will be among.  She berates her father for not being able to "get [her] out of this." Mr. Standish, clad in his Burberry scarf and behind the wheel of his BMW, assures her that he'll "make it up to her" and that "ditching school to go shopping doesn't make [her] a defective," hands her her sushi lunch and wishes her a good day. Brian, the brain (a mildly clever anagram that doesn't exist in any other character's name) endures icier climes in his car.  His mother demands in a stern tone, with the full support of Brian's younger sister, that he "figure out a way to study" while in detention. Meanwhile, Andrew, our athlete, is lectured by his father. Mr. Clark epitomizes the "apple doesn't fall far from the tree" euphemism. He is not disappointed in Andrew for torturing a weaker kid in a locker room assault--this is "screwing around" and what "guys" do; instead, he shames Andrew for getting caught and potentially blowing his college wrestling scholarship. We meet Allison, the basket case,  and John, the criminal, next. Allison's invisible parent screeches to a stop as John walks with unbroken stride in front of their car. We discern later in the movie that John's home life is among the most precarious with parents who are verbally and physically abusive. Allison exits the car and stares through the passenger side window until the car drives off. So, we have three marginally engaged parents--seemingly concerned more with the ways in which their child's infraction reflects on them, and two kids whose parents are less present to the situation--perhaps because they are unsurprised by the occurrence of a Saturday detention. I hope it will suffice to say that there is a reason John Hughes begins with the parent-child interaction. It's the quickest way to show the "family of origin" demons that have formed the anti-social behavior for which the teens are being punished, and the ones they will return home to at the end of the day.

These five are seated in the school library according to status and visibility with Claire and Andrew occupying a front row table together, indicating a level of comfort and familiarity--they know each other. These two are the most effortlessly celebrated of the group: the prom queen and a star athlete. They deserve premier seating at this venue, and they know it. Their backs are to everyone. Brian initially takes the table behind them, but is displaced by John who tacitly insists Brian is sitting in his spot. Eager to please, Brian moves across to the table beside him. Their position indicates a "middle" status of aspiration. Brian, sitting at the table on the right side, identifies himself through a perfectionistic need to do everything . . . "right." John, sitting to the left, conversely identifies himself through an antagonistic need to do everything wrong. Lastly, Allison occupies the seat all the way in the back. Everyone's back is to her, presumably like it is at home, as she later reveals with her line, "They ignore me." Allison exhibits a simultaneous anti-social vibe coupled with a desperate craving for social contact.  After all, she doesn't have to be there. She could be ignored in the privacy of her own home. As a "weirdo," she is at least guaranteed attention from her peers--which, for her, seems to be the start of some measure of comfort.

The film transitions into a "middle period" where stereotypes are reinforced, judgments articulated, offensive and defensive moves made. John then leads the group on a field trip to his locker to recover a bag of marijuana, then sacrifices himself to Mr. Vernon so the rest can safely return to the library. 

Restorative Circle--All Guards Dropped:

With the aid of John's weed, the five students begin to be goofy and have fun together, which then allows passage into knowing each other on a deeper level than their external caricatures. Claire asks John about his love life, Andrew is curious about the contents of Brian's wallet, and Allison dumps out her purse and reveals her intention to run away from home and her parents who "ignore [her]." 

Eventually, they are arranged in a circle, seated on the floor. The outer layers of clothing the kids came into the morning wearing have been shed and everyone is down to their base level. The conversation begins on a "fun" topic of "What would you do for a million dollars?" Claire nudges Andrew into a scenario where he would "drive to school naked." The conversation takes a turn after Allison hops in with a lie about being a "nymphomaniac" who sleeps with her therapist and ultimately (with the help of group pressure) forces a confession from Claire that the latter is a virgin. Claire becomes angry and confronts Allison about being "so weird."  John becomes insulted by Brian who implies that only "dopes" take shop class and confronts the latter's condescending attitude about academic achievement.  John also directly confronts Andrew and Claire during this scene for relishing in their social position and treating him like garbage. To the former, he repeats back to him words from earlier in the day: "I could disappear forever and it wouldn't make any difference. I may as well not even exist at this school, remember?" John then turns to Claire and unleashes the most venom of which he is capable and culminating with: "just stick to the things you know: shopping, nail polish, your father's BMW, and your poor--rich--drunk mother in the Caribbean! . . . Just bury your head in the sand and wait for your fuckin' prom!" Claire has an opportunity to take shots at Andy and John's hypocrisy during this time as well: "[to John] Why don't you take Allison to one of your heavy metal vomit parties, or take Brian out to the parking lot at lunch to get high, what about Andy for that matter? What about me? . . . they'd laugh their asses off and you would probably tell them you were doing it with me so they'd forgive you for being seen with me." Brian, who has been a peacemaker all day, finally confronts Claire about being "so conceited" and forces the room to see that, despite his high academic achievement, people pleasing sensibilities, and seemingly perfect home life (mockingly depicted by John earlier), his presence in detention was wrought by suicidal ideation after flunking a project in shop class. This circle conversation concludes, ultimately, in laughter when Brian reveals that the gun he brought to school was a flare gun that accidentally discharged in his locker destroying "that fuckin' elephant" and Allison confesses to not "hav[ing] anything better to do" than to come to detention. 

What happens in this circle and why it is so critical to the healing process: 

• the students who have been previously arranged in rows according to social status and visibility are now seated in a circle with equitable access to audience. They look at each other and speak directly to one another. 
• they share openly and honestly (with the weird exception of Allison's fictional tale of nymphomania)--they confess their faults to the group and the harms they have caused others; they call out "bad" behavior and the ways in which they have been hurt by one another; most importantly, they empathize with each other. 
• The shame that exists in and among social groups can only be healed with individuals within said groups who are willing to be vulnerable, honest, accountable, empathic, and forgiving.

The Kisses of Peace:

The movie resolves with three kisses, thus uniting previously segregated groups and healing the harms caused in that separation.

1. Claire kisses John --> Claire, the hyper-social prom queen who says and does most things to draw people into loving her, and John, the anti-social deviant who says and does most things to drive people into hating him, forge an intimacy that culminates in a private kiss at the end of the movie. Claire initiates it and, when asked why, says, "Because I knew you wouldn't."  She also gives John one of her diamond earrings which he immediate dons in his left ear.  It's an engagement of sorts and signals that even if they cannot be public about their mutual affection, it is real and fixed.

2. Andrew kisses Allison --> the "Hero" openly displays his love for the "Freak" with a kiss in front of her parents and his father--the person whose pressure to be "cool" has earned Andrew a spot in detention and possibly jeopardized his future. Allison rips an athletic badge off of Andrew's letterman jacket--the final bit of poisonous identity he possesses--at the end of the film. Incidentally, Allison has been stealing tokens of identity throughout the film: John's switchblade and locker lock, Brian's wallet, Claire's strategic ambiguity about her sexual experience, and, lastly, Andrew's sports badge.

3. Brian kisses his essay --> the conformist makes peace with his subversive side. In this moment, Brian reconciles himself to something within that is not perfect and does not want to be. His tone with Mr. Vernon (the representation of academic authority) is spiky and non-compliant; "You're crazy to make us write an essay telling you 'who we think we are' [because] you see us as you want to see us." Brian implies that it was not the "brain child" of Vernon's essay prompt that signaled any change or development for anyone today, but the restorative efforts of the group members who were brave enough to shed their respective armors and connect as human beings. In this rebellious act, Brian becomes whole and real and, we hope, newly fortified against the pressure cooker of his parents' expectations.

In Conclusion:

I am a Dean of Students in a high school.  In truth, I am the Ed Rooney and Dick Vernon of my cinematic hero's films. It's sometimes hard for me to believe, having been so inculcated in my youth that these people were the enemy of all that was good and decent in the world. I was trained early in my teaching career with exclusionary methods that were in place when I was a student: desk in the hallway, detention, suspension, expulsion. These practices signal to the offender that he is not wanted, defective, disposable --that this community is a better place without him. The new trend in schools (and prisons for that matter) is a "restorative" approach whereby offenders are offered an opportunity to take responsibility for their actions and make amends to those they've harmed. John Hughes illustrated this approach in The Breakfast Club (nearly 40 years ago!) in a movie he almost named Detention. I always appreciated his sympathetic depiction of the various levels of "cool" and "uncool" and have become enamored with his vision in this movie of how to reconcile these rifts. Be brave. Shed armor. Share your story. Listen to and empathize with others. Take responsibility for the harm you've caused. Don't believe everything you're being told by the self-protecting adults in your world. Stand up for good. In the words of John Bender, "have the balls to stand up to your friends and tell 'em you're gonna like who [and what] you wanna to like."

Judgment and exclusion have never contributed much the realm of human development. Empathy and connection are what we need.

Lenten Reflection: Fifth Sunday

 We went to Catholic church this morning to hear the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.  This story, among others perhaps, is one with which I have a difficult time. I think any reasonable, empirical-evidence-demanding human would agree--it's a tough story to believe.  In the natural course of worldly events, people do not die, lie in a tomb for four days, and emerge as anything other than a decaying corpse and wafting stench.

This action is one of the proverbial last straws for the Pharisees. "We have to kill this guy--his love for social rejects is too frickin' powerful." I do wish I could have been a fly on the wall in so many historical moments --but not the least of which is the closed door meetings with Pontius Pilate and the Pharisees when serious negotiations were going on between powerful enemies against the common threat to their respective power. And we can gauge Pilate's power over the Pharisees because he wavers on the punishment for Jesus. His real, honest-to-God power backing of the Roman Empire against the Pharisees' regional authority is clear in the moment he displays his (at best) disfavor of or (at worst) indifference towards Jesus' execution.

It's not even clear to me how close Jesus and Lazarus were. The scriptural writers tell us that Lazarus' sister, Mary, "anointed [Jesus] with perfumed oil and dried his feet with her hair" Jn 11:2 (an action, incidentally, that would have had her burned at the stake 1200 years later or committed to an insane asylum in the 20th century), and that "it was her brother Lazarus who was ill."  In this synopsis, it is Mary who has established conscious contact with Jesus in the past --Lazarus only by way of being related to her. And yet, Jesus loved him. 

Once again, Jesus' friends are baffled by his desire to show love to someone in need. Like, "Bruh--we're not going anywhere.  Lazarus may be a cool guy and all, but they're actively trying to stone you in the streets these days. Let it go, man." We are told that Thomas (the doubter, I presume?) says to the disciples, "Let us also go to die with him" Jn 11:16.  No faith in the mission. C'mon lads--let's go die with him. Jesus, in deed, laying his life down for a friend who is ALREADY DEAD. Risking literally everything to seize on the opportunity to make more believers.

It's this precursor to Easter that demonstrates the true meaning of the holiday, the season: new life. Whatever it is that holds you back. Die to it. Whatever fears are present and keeping you from actually living your life. Die to them. It is only through a kind of death to what is that we can be reborn to new life. What was Lazarus' thing? Was he just a drain on the resources of his family? A non-food gatherer? Did Lazarus, like many of us, just insist on being taken care of by the people in his life? What did that guy have going for him that was worth saving? We never know what Lazarus did to earn Jesus' love and we never know what was so special about this person that Jesus made his way through murderous streets to bring him back to life. I guess it doesn't matter. God wasn't finished with him yet.

Resurrection. 

New Life. 

Death to fear/sin/torment/isolation/addiction/despair/fear. 

Emergence into faith--light--openness--truth--hope--service--faith.

Lenten Reflection: Fourth Sunday

 Today's meeting revolved around the topic of growing up.  As we read the second half of the twelfth step material, the focus was entirely on adulting. My childish pathology (from whence it springs, I have not been able to fully identify), is the belief that it is someone else's responsibility to take care of my needs--be they physical, intellectual, or emotional. From a time probably earlier than I can remember, I have looked for validation from external sources. Something recovery programs work to instill from Day ONE is that no one else in this world is responsible for my internal landscape. If I am not at peace with my interactions with the world, then the change must come from within.  How is such a change wrought, you ask? By taking ownership of my choices, finding a God of my understanding, writing out a fearless and searching inventory of my feelings and behaviors, sharing that inventory with another human being, working to pause when agitated, root out the cause of the agitation, and pray to have it removed. By making a list of all the people I've harmed and be willing to make amends -- which entails forgiveness of a whole smattering of things. I need to make direct amends to people when necessary without causing undue harm in the process. Then by a daily "maintenance" program of rigorous honesty, conscious contact with my higher power, and service and connection with other fellow suffering human beings.

In the chapter we read today on Step Twelve, the book outlines "right living" at the very end of the reading: 

Service, gladly rendered, obligations squarely met, troubles well accepted or solved with God’s help, the knowledge that at home or in the world outside we are partners in a common effort, the well-understood fact that in God’s sight all human beings are important, the proof that love freely given surely brings a full return, the certainty that we are no longer isolated and alone in self-constructed prisons, the surety that we need no longer be square pegs in round holes but can fi t and belong in God’s scheme of things—these are the permanent and legitimate satisfactions of right living for which no amount of pomp and circumstance, no heap of material possessions, could possibly be substitutes. . . True ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of God (124-5).

I don't know what I wanted for myself or what I thought an "adult" life would be before coming into AA. I know, at least, I was misguided in what constituted "grown up" living. I certainly looked to external markers of educational degrees, spouse, children, a house, a car, a dog, a career. The truth, however, is that I achieved all of that while still staying put in "self constructed prisons" and having no earthly concept of a "deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of God." A new freedom and a new happiness exist in extricating myself from the swirling vortex of my thoughts and feelings and directing my energy and usefulness toward others.

AA teaches me that when I am lost in self, it's best that I --as quickly as possible-- turn my thoughts to another and how I might be of service to her. This may be another alcoholic, it could be a co-worker, my child, a friend, a sibling, a neighbor, a student.  Lots of need out there. The only real tool I need to be able to make this switch is active participation in recovery, and the switch brings a lasting relief the likes of which no liquid from crushed grapes or malt and hops could ever achieve.  God bless those who never have to journey into the hell of addiction to discover a path toward true adulting :D

Lenten Reflection: Third Sunday

 All the powers in the universe are already ours. It is we who have put our hands before our eyes and cry that it is dark. --Swami Vivekananda (a quotation that popped up in my Facebook feed this morning)

My week has been repeatedly infused with discourse about light. And whenever that happens--that consistent messaging about topic or theme--I think it's worth paying attention to.

I generally think of Advent (not Lent) as the season that presents us with the "darkest before the dawn" lesson, in order to instill the messages of anticipation and hope the holiday incurs.  Jesus' birth, at least for the purposes of aligning Christian practices with the pre-existing pagan rituals around winter solstice, occurs just at that time of year where we have the shortest span of sunlight in the day. And things were dark in Judea in the era of Classical Antiquity. In the macrocosm, King Herod, according to the reputation that has survived him, presents as a bloodthirsty tyrant, obsessed with his own power, and, according to one historian whose identity I did not bother to ascertain, was "prepared to commit any crime in order to gratify his unbounded ambition." I wonder if Herod also wore spray tan, a terrible hair piece, and looked like a fat, hideous orange . . .  Anyway, dark times-- with no reasonable expectation that things would be different anytime soon. On a microcosmic level, a thirteen or fourteen year old Jewish girl, Mary of Nazareth, was pregnant and, as far as anyone could tell, not by the man to whom she was betrothed. Thanks to the misogynistic Mosaic laws of the time, Joseph was entitled to a public stoning of Mary for this bitter humiliation, but decided it more suited his interests to quietly separate from her. Incidentally, this life-saving mercy is Joseph's first demonstration of the agape form of love for which his "foster" son would later be famous. And then executed. Moreover, as an outcome of meditation or hallucination, Joseph decides to not abandon Mary, but stick it out and be a father to this child he knows is not his. If these biblical renderings stick in historical truth, Jesus is literally born from selfless love, sacrifice, faith, and trust in the goodness of people.  At the solstice, the earth turns enough to shift the light/dark balance--and an increasing light pours forth into our days. Faith has a fascinating way of manifesting solutions. Love begets light to combat the darkness of fear.

In today's Gospel reading (and, full disclosure, I did not go to mass today), Jesus encounters a Samaritan woman at a well. Jesus, a Jewish man, has two points of superiority over this woman, yet he asks a service of her--"give me a drink."  She is baffled by his approach and tells him so. In order to convince her of his sincerity and his loving acceptance, Jesus allows the woman to know he sees her--in the light of all her marital flaws--and still believes she can be of vital service to him.  He sees she has something to offer. His friends are baffled by this encounter as well -- something along the lines of, "Bro--what are you talking to this bitch for?" Indeed, it was this mindset of non-judgment and inclusivity that earned this man an uncomfortable perch on a wooden cross in the ensuing months. I like to think of this woman experiencing a dark time. Jesus perceives real loss, real pain. We do not get the sordid backstory of this woman's failed romantic/domestic ventures, but she does not seem to be beaming with pride with her honest admission, "I have no husband." Jesus neither criticizes her status, nor minimizes her precarious social position. He simply states the truth as he understands it: "You are right . . . you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband." No scolding. No interrogation. No threat to publicly shame or punish her. Nothing but a statement of truth and a pause to make space for her next contribution to the conversation. The darkness this woman harbors is met with the light of Jesus' acceptance of her as she is. And the only thing she can imagine is that he must be a prophet--divinely inspired and protected.  How else could he be so . . . kind?

Today, as my secret society newcomer and I progressed through her "moral inventory" of fears and relationship pathologies, she slumped in her chair and said through falling tears, "I'm afraid that I don't like myself." I grabbed her hands and said sternly across the table: "You DON'T like yourself.  That's a fact. There's nothing to be afraid of. There's only the work of correcting that self-destructive position. Let's get to it." Here's the truth that Jesus understands in his conversation with the woman at the well: she's an imperfect human being with her own mistakes and fears to count. She's been judged by society, I'm sure. But there's no need of that. She's judged herself far longer and way more harshly than anyone else ever could. Imagine how freeing it was for the Samaritan woman to understand that she wasn't fooling anyone. That people could know the truth about her and still want to speak to her. To hear from her. Still ask her to be in service to the world. Still find her useful. In having her admit her shame, Jesus forces the woman to acknowledge her own lovability. There's nothing more freeing--more light and life giving than that.

May I share a light of honesty and empathy with others today. May the love light I shine be powered by acceptance and gratitude for what IS. May the gifts I receive include illuminating perspective and shame-destroying connection.

Lenten Reflection: Second Sunday

I belong to two churches. The first I visited last Sunday --it exists in a building that houses pews, an altar, reading missals, a "crying room" for restless children, a baptismal font, confessionals and many other tangible items to allow for the practice of Catholic Christianity.  The other church is pervasive -- it exists in the heart of its fellowship -- a group of men and women who are devoted to soberly living their lives one day at a time and following 12 Steps on a path toward emotional healing, personal growth, and spiritual enlightenment.  I visit this church every Sunday. There are, to be sure, many overlapping components between these two churches. I cannot say for sure that one is greater or lesser.  I cannot say that one is more "legit" than another. I find spiritual benefits to attending both.

I will say the people who sit in the second church (for the most part) are actively working spiritual principles of acceptance, faith, gratitude, forgiveness, and service to others. I will say, perhaps for this reason, the latter church challenges me more than the former. 

This morning, I sat among fellows reading about and discussing a principle of inclusivity. The "Third Tradition" of this church states: "The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop [seeking refuge from internal pain through external sources]." The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop poisoning oneself with false promises of comfort and security.  To enter this church is to accept that pain and suffering are part of the human experience and to have faith that simply not having to go through it alone might be sufficient to changing (and thereby saving) a life. How stunningly countercultural in a human society that loves to enact meritocracies and restrict inclusion of anything that might pose a threat to the significance of the standing board.  Obviously, this membership plan is not desirable for all groups.  I certainly would like to believe my lawyer, architect, or surgeon jumped through a few more hoops than merely the desire to call herself a lawyer, architect, or surgeon. But in the case of a club devoted to the spiritual uplift and emotional progress of its members -- why not cheerfully accept any and all who might come walking through the door?

If I am sitting in judgment of another, it is solely because I am terrified of my own shortcomings I see there. When a woman in a recovery meeting shares about prostituting herself so she could obtain crack, I feel no personal shame. Her share does not directly relate to my lived experience and, therefore, I am not bothered by her presence. When someone walks into a meeting desperately needy for the attention and validation of others in the room, I recoil. I cringe. I tense up. I am reacting to that thing in her that I hate in myself.  And I want her gone.  And this church says, "She has every right to be here. Love her for what she brings to this room. Love her for what she reveals to you about yourself. Love her so that you can love yourself, and we'll go from there."

After the meeting, I went to get coffee with a (relative) "newcomer" whom I am helping to take 12 spiritual steps. We are winding things up with the 4th which states, "Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves."  It's been an amazing experience working with someone who is willing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help her, God. What surfaces over and over (for me as I listen to her) is this axiom that I am bothered by myself when I am bothered by another human being. Judgment is at the top of both our inventories, and it is the starkest indication of spiritual and emotional unrest. I judge in others that (potential, at least) which I hate most in myself. 

I am grateful for the messages I received from my second church today. They align entirely with the messages of inclusivity that are talked about in my first church. It may feel comfortable, momentarily, to judge another for the things for which I am afraid I will be rejected and abandoned. But the practice does not point to anything other than a fatal soul sickness within me.

Today I will do my best to choose love over hate. Inclusion over exclusion. Compassion over criticism. Faith over fear.

Lenten Reflection: First Sunday

 I'd like to say that I've been so bitten by the "Lenten Season" bug that I opted for Sunday mass this morning of my own free will. Not really. Joey's 4th grade class mass was today, and so Emily and I were conscripted into attendance.  The readings and homily, however, were exactly what I needed to hear.  Readings about temptation -- about thinking I know what's best for me and forgetting to include God in any plans -- about fearing what I have to lose or stand to not gain -- about lying to myself in my own language.  Good lord, it was just so spot on.

The first reading centered on the temptation in the Garden of Eden. Satan approaches Eve (perhaps believing he could work with her inferior position in the scheme of things) to suggest that the injunction she's been given to not eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil is, for lack of a better word, bullshit. Satan lies to Eve in her own language --the language of fear of not being good enough. John Milton illustrates this exchange so beautifully in Paradise Lost when he delivers the temptation boom in Book IX. After convincing Eve that he, as a serpent, can speak because he himself tasted the fruit of this tree and was greatly improved by it, Satan moves in for the deadly scarcity message:

"Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast 
Is open? or will God incense his ire
For such a petty trespass, and not praise
Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain
Of Death denounced, whatever thing Death be,
Deterred not from achieving what might lead
To happier life, knowledge of Good and Evil? . . .
Why then was this forbid? Why but to awe,
Why but to keep ye low and ignorant,
His worshippers?" (691-7, 703-5)

John Milton, some say, was a bit of an arrogant asshole. But he was indisputably a genius --so, I think he adeptly understood the concept of pride and ego and how Satan (who rebelled against God for the exact same frustration he senses in Eve) could target this trait in her to effect his plan. He lies to Eve in the language of her own fears of insufficiency and wounded ego. "God doesn't think much of you, does he, that he would prohibit you from partaking in this Godlike fruit that he has allowed me--a lowly snake--to eat."  But it's all a lie.  Satan is not a snake.  He has eaten no fruit.  She just doesn't know what she doesn't know.  What she knows is her own sense of self-worth.  And it's fading fast under Satan's postulations.

That was a good first reading today to illustrate how quickly I can be deterred from trusting God's will if I'm only encouraged--for even a short time, by a seemingly credible source--to be afraid of my own inadequacy.

The second reading was taken from the Gospel according to Matthew and features Jesus being tempted by the same Satan who has a knack for turning one's greatest fears against him. Jesus does not buckle, but Satan makes three attempts.  In the first temptation, he hopes to entice Jesus, who has been fasting for over a month in the desert, with food. Jesus draws from the divine scripture to respond.  Satan's second pass is to tempt Jesus to test God--"Hey, if you're so sure of this God of yours, fling yourself off this cliff and see if He saves you!" Jesus again draws from what he knows about holy teachings to respond, "Again it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test." On his third attempt, Satan goes old school --takes Jesus to the top of a mountain and says, "Look, man--ALL of that can be yours if you just forget about this God (LOVE) of yours and come follow me (FEAR)."  Jesus says, one more time, "It is written: 'The Lord, your God, shall you worship and him alone shall you serve.'"  And so Satan bails, presumably to go find less formidable temptees.

Knowing what we know about Satan (again, read: fear), we know he must have been lying to Jesus in his own language.  Jesus of Nazareth was a human being.  What human can withstand the true pain of starvation hunger? Or the call to place faith in himself and his own ability to manipulate a situation? Or a need to be significant and secure in his own earthly power? Make no mistake. Satan had Jesus' number. But Jesus never broke off from his deep-seeded trust in divine scriptures and the teachings of his faith. He threw his unbroken connection with God right back at Satan and it fortified him against the grip of a universally human fear that sometimes whispers and sometimes screams: "You are not good enough. You are unlovable."

Here's the truth. God is love. Sin is fear. Fear is not evil. It is a human condition. But it can most certainly lead to evil. I have a choice to make every minute of every day--which master I will serve.  Today, I will choose love.

Lenten Reflection: Ash Wednesday

I really love Lent. And I love Ash Wednesday --probably more than Easter. This is the hard work of reflecting on the things that hold us back from being the best version of ourselves (read: fear).

A few years ago, I made a shift in my Lenten season resolves to add in a healthy behavior, rather than just remove an unhealthy behavior. This year, along with removing the excess of sugar and attention/sympathy-seeking, I wanted to add in daily exercise (walking, really) and a regular reflective writing practice.

I blew past the opportunity to write about Ash Wednesday this week, but it is the kick off event for Lent and so should be reflected on and written about, albeit days later. I dug through some old writing and resurfaced a poem written, I believe, back in 2016:

Ash Wednesday

Hers is perfect:  

a beautiful symmetry of crossed ash

revealing the faultless state of her soul.

The black edges blend into the skin,

as if the particles knew not what it meant

to be separate from her brow—

the home of patient expression, 

inexplicable love, and assurance 

in those around her.

Everyone knows her faith today;

her ashen forehead reveals her order,

her inner-peace, her integrity.

Mine is horrid:

a smudge—something like 

marks on police reports—

revealing chaos within.

The muddled blob sits clumsily

until someone remarks:

“You have dirt on your face.”

“No,” I say, knitting my sullied brow,

“It’s Ash Wednesday.”

But the tacit truth remains:

I have dirt on my soul—

disclosed to you now

through the guise of piousness.

I can't say the sentiment has changed in the 7 years since this poem was composed.

Ashes signify the remnants of something that once was but has since passed away. A death and a resurrection. When I take the ashes on my forehead, I surrender to my imperfection and those aspects of myself that need to die so I can be reborn into clearer perspective, kinder action, more compassion and greater connection with my higher power.

Ash Wednesday is a perfect start to a season of growth and movement in the right direction: forward.

"Fit So Nice, He Said I Could Keep It": A Throwaway Line Bears Fruit in a Blog

Preamble disclaimer: If you do not have strong working knowledge of Rob Reiner's The Princess Bride (1987), this blog may not be for you. And, I highly recommend acquainting yourself with it as soon as humanly possible

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Today, while relaying a step-parent situation to my sister, I alluded to Cary Elwes' ridiculous character in the movie Liar, Liar.  This reference, of course, led us almost immediately into a quoting spree of The Princess Bride--landing on this sequence:

Wesley: What I wouldn't give for a holocaust cloak.

Indigo: There we cannot help you.

Fezzik: [pulling such a cloak out of his shirt] Would this work?

Indigo: Where did you get that?

Fezzik: At Miracle Max's--it fit so nice, he said I could keep it.

We laughed at the brilliance of the writing, as we always do, and were about to carry on with our day. But then, I just couldn't let it go.  Under what bizarre circumstances is Fezzik in a position to be modeling this cloak for Max that would prompt the latter to say, "Hey--that looks good on you; you should have it!" Why is he trying on clothes at Max's? Why does this tremendously huge cloak exist in the home of two diminutive spell casters?

So, can we imagine this off-script scene for a second? 

Here's one scenario:

Max is taking in the size of Fezzik.  He's never had a real giant in his place before.  He actually cannot wait to tell the guys at the Retired Wizard's Realm meeting next week about this delightful interruption to his Sunday bickering with his witch wife.  Suddenly, he remembers that ridiculous cloak Valerie's sister knitted for him three Winter Solstice Festivals ago.  What in God's name was she thinking? Anyone could see she should have stopped four bolts of fabric before she did.  In any case, there it sat, in his back closet, with no plans of being worn.  Maybe . . . 

"Fezzik, I think I might have something for you.  Would you follow me, please?"

The giant meekly complies with the request to follow Max down the narrow hallway to his back bedroom and the wizard extracts a tremendous lump of fabric from his closet.

"Please, try it on."

A little confused, but excited about Max's unwavering attention to him, Fezzik slips the cloak onto his shoulders.  Max adjusts the hood and finds, only to Fezzik's surprise, that it fits perfectly.

"I think this fits so nice, you should keep it."

And here's the scenario that makes me giggle with slightly more glee: 

Wesley is lying flat on a table at Miracle Max and Valerie's cottage. Fezzik is just wandering around the house, getting a lay of the land--maybe even snooping through closets.  Something catches his eye--a large, dark cloak with a hood--presumably fourteen sizes too big for any of the occupants of this house.  Fezzik pulls the cloak out of the closet and tries it on.  It really fits well! What he wouldn't give for a holocaust cloak like this?  As he struggles to position himself so the tiny mirror on the wall can reflect his gorgeousness in this cloak back to him, Max walks into the back bedroom.

Fezzik blushes with embarrassment. Not only is he in Max's room, he's wearing his clothes! 

"Oh, I . . . I . . ." Fezzik stutters.

"You know," Max smiles, "that fits so nice--I think you should keep it."

Fezzik beams with pride at his perfect showing, removes the cloak, carefully tucks it into his shirt for a later time, and gratefully accepts the mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich Max was coming to bring him.

To Narcissus

 I reflect you

and you fall in love with yourself.

Then I'm protected in your self love

until you remember you hate yourself--

and then you go.

We Wear the Mask: An Experience with Quarantine

(Another blog I began pre-divorce proceedings--originally composed in late April 2020--finished in early April 2021.  We are still in pandemic conditions, but things are looking up with some highly effective vaccines and an eager readiness to get back to "normal" life)

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I haven't blogged in a while, but it seems like a silly thing to do to let a plague pass by and not record something of the things I'm learning through it.  First, let's be clear.   Everything has changed.  There will be a time "before COVID-19" or "Coronavirus" (for after this, there will only be one that people really talk about) and a time after.  One six-month sweep of a highly contagious respiratory infection has changed human life on planet earth as we know it.  Only time will reveal the myriad ways in which this will occur.  But, we can see some at present:

I. Distance Learning: omg.  I feel like I should save this one for later, but it is kind of when my Coronavirus journey began.  And, in truth, this section needs to be split into 1. High School Seniors and 2. Elementary Homeschool.

A. Home Work: The first rule of "working at home" is to establish a work space--preferably one that is removed from the other spaces of your daily living.  I have no such space.  We quickly established the dining room table as our collective work table and dining area (and game-playing area).  I wish I had an office/library/study whereto I could retreat to teach and read and work.  Similarly, I wish my kids had at least their own desks from which to work.  One of the things that makes the homeschooling difficult is that we are all in each other's work space.  I can simultaneously oversee Joey's handwriting exercise and edit a google doc for my daughter's 4th-grade social studies homework.  While that may sound efficient and productive, it's actually confusing and chaotic--a survival state, at best.

B. Homework: By definition, homework is work a student can accomplish on his or her own.  It is meant to prepare for an upcoming lesson, practice a recently acquired skill, or (in some rare cases) extend a lesson.  The latter produces assignments that are fun for teachers to construct and grade, but difficult for students to accomplish.  And, in elementary school, those "extend the lesson" assignments get completed by parents who are involved in their kids' education.
       1. High School Seniors--the homework I have assigned to the students I am teaching is, in some         ways, in this latter category that is little work for the teacher to assign, but a lot of work for the           student to complete.  I have decided to join my students in my own research assignment--and I'm         being very transparent with them, having added them all as "peer reviewers" to my project on             Noodletools (high school teachers, if you are unfamiliar with this research tool, it is a great                 "surveillance" and communication platform--as well as a user-friendly place to record a research         journey).  I truly want the empathy gained from doing an assignment with them.  And, I always           thought, if I wouldn't want to (read, write about, learn) do this, I certainly cannot ask a group               of about 65 17-18 year olds to do it.
       2. Elementary Homeschool--the homework my kids are doing is getting a bit more manageable.
       It took the teachers of my children's school a little time to discover that they simply cannot                   replicate via "distance learning," what they accomplish in the classroom.  If there's one thing this         experience has taught me, it is that real learning happens in a classroom in a way it cannot                   happen at our dining room table--no matter who is involved.  The only recourse teachers have to gauge their students' learning is to administer assessments.  So, teachers have then effectively turned school into the one thing all students hate: homework and tests.  Barf. Rinse. Repeat.

II. Housekeeping: The thing about staying home all time --trash, laundry and dishes . . . in SPADES.  I've never had such difficulty stuffing trash bags into the bin while waiting for pick up day to roll around.  I've never had so many conversations with my children about rewearing pjs and other clothing.  And I've never washed so many frickin dishes in all my days.  It's an interesting glimpse into what life would have been like for the typical middle-class "housewife" of bygone days.

III. Self-Care:  This has been trickier than I thought it would be.  It seems reasonable with nothing but time on our hands and nowhere to go, there would be plenty of time for reading, exercise, meditation, journaling, constructive Netflix documentary binging, etc.  Not so, as it turns out.  There is some nefarious codependent core to my being that concerns itself entirely with managing everyone else's moods and recreation.  When we are all shut up in a house together, that's a lot of other-people management.  My hair has been grayer, my body heavier, my teeth scuzzier in "quarantine," than in any other time of my adult life.  The one thing I was able to do--the ultimate act of self-care--was voice my desire for a divorce.  It's the least codependent thing I've ever done.

Courage to Change

(I began composing this entry in May of 2020--just before I told my husband I wanted a divorce.  As things go, I became consumed by that process and in April of 2021, returning to the blog for probably the first time in almost a year, I finish :-))

I'm in the process of constructing another post specifically about the COVID-19 experience --because pandemic.  But I felt compelled to share on a narrower point that I can only imagine the whole world is facing in this moment-- change.

When is the best time for change?  I think the correct answer to this question is "When you are brave enough?"  None of us was brave in adjusting to pandemic conditions.  It's the same courage it takes to brace for a hurricane.  You do it out of survival.  I'm talking about elective change.  The kind of change it can take a lifetime to enact (or deny) because it entirely hinges on an active choice and consequential force of will.

Through the course of my life, I've generally allowed outside forces to direct my decisions and actions.  As a middle child of five, there was little opportunity to exert my will and be taken seriously.  I came to believe at a young age that decisions were best left to others.  As an adult, I can now see how protective that way of life was for me.  Nothing was ever truly my fault because (I told myself) I was always following someone else's plan.  If it went south--well, at least I couldn't claim "mastermind" status.  As an adult, I can also now see how much this modus operandi hinders me from coming into the fullness of my life and God's plan--the only one that works.

In a secret society I habitually frequent, we open (and sometimes close) meetings with the Serenity Prayer, originally composed by Reinhold Niebuhr in the early 1930s.

God, grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

I'm quite sure the timing was related to the state of the world during the Great Depression.  Those living between World Wars and in a time of utter economic collapse had no choice but to befriend acceptance --or just off themselves.  The prayer conflates character traits (serenity, courage, and wisdom) with actions (accept, change, know) to produce a handy, portable sanity saver for those in crisis.

Accept the things I cannot change:
Growing up as a middle child in a large family, I never felt I had any power over what was happening "out there."  Someone said "Be at this place, at this time, wearing something like this, and acting something like that," and I pretty much just went along.  We'll call it a survival skill.  It was part of my chameleon costume.  I'll adapt to you.  I'll become whatever it is you need to see to make our encounters as pleasant and conflict-free as possible.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I finally entered a recovery program and someone said, "Part of your problem is your failure to accept life on life's terms."  Whah?  All I do is accept and adapt.  Rinse and repeat. 

Well--not so, it turns out.  I have a major problem accepting what I cannot change--so much so that I would rather numb out to "life on life's terms" than accept things as they are.

Acceptance is a cornerstone of the spirituality I work daily to cultivate.  It is the founding principle of most eastern philosophies and fundamental to the notion of Christian Love.  How can I pretend to love God if I cannot accept His creation or His will?  That kind of conflict of interest can make people crazy, I'd wager.  In need of a step that can restore someone to sanity, even!
What are the things I cannot change today?

• other people (how they think, how they act, what they want, what they say -- none of it)
• a pandemic ravaging the physical, emotional, and spiritual state of the global body
• other people
• the cost of living in the San Francisco Bay Area
• other people (how they think, how they act, what they want, what they say --worth repeating)

Acceptance, like love and service and faith and hope, is a choice I make.  Therein lies my power.  I can choose to accept the things I cannot change and breathe easier as I trudge my way through that process.  Or.  I can fight and resist and kick and scream and cry and lie and steal and cheat and not be any better off, but have caused a lot more wreckage I will need to clean up eventually.  And once I can accept the things I do NOT want to accept -- only then am I free to make a change that might benefit me, and thus, those around me.

Change the things I can:

Three categories surface under this heading and within the realm of "the things I can [change]": Me, Myself, and I.  I struggle with this reality on a daily basis because I continue to bump into others' codependency (a fancy word for the spectrum of human control issues).  So the "changes" I believe I am effecting out there are a delusional fiction.  The only real change, in which I am in need and of which I am capable, is within me.  As the ubiquitous "they" proclaim: "It's an inside job."  

• I can change the way I perceive events.  
• I can change the way I react to the world.  
• I can change the food and media I choose to consume.  
• I can change the people with whom I surround myself.  
• I can change my daily schedule.  
• I can change my spending habits.  

And the most efficient and effective manner in which I come to make these changes exists in a daily prayer routine.  Herein only may I garner a wisdom to know the difference between those things I have a possibility of changing and those resembling a snowball's chance in hell.

Know the difference:

After a lifelong desire to never have a tattoo (primarily, I think, because I was inspired by nothing so much as to have a need to permanently ink it on my skin), I saw one on the inside of a woman's wrist and I immediately knew I needed to have it.  Two words.  Biblical in nature. Be still.  I have heard the quotation countless times, "Be still and know that I am God." The latter part of the excerpt always turned me away from it, but thereIN lies the difference--the knowing--between what I can and cannot change.  I am not God.  I never have been and I never will be.  Whatever God is, I am not it.  After all this time, I have come to know this.  My job, then, is to simply "be still" until I KNOW in which direction I am to walk.

A recent favorite author and fellow secret society member, Glennon Doyle, writes eloquently about knowing.  She devotes an entire chapter to it in Untamed (*shameless reading plug):

                 "[The sage wisdom here doesn't say] 'Poll your friends and know" or "Read books by experts                 and know' or "Scour the internet and know.'  It suggest[s] a different approach to                                           knowing:  Just. Stop.

                 StopMovingStopTalkingStopSearchingStopPanickingStopFlailing.

                 If you stop doing, you'll start knowing . . .

                 What I learned (even though I am afraid to say it) is that God lives in this deepness inside me."

My spiritual malady (otherwise known as the absence of a conscious contact with my higher power) is directly proportional to the amount of external sources from which I am seeking validation and guidance.  I do believe that it is healthy to consult others and bounce my ideas off of a sane and serene sounding board--but, at the end of the cliched day, it is MY life.  And no one can live it for me.  Terrifying :-)

Herein, however, is my saving awareness.  As Cat Stevens melodically sang, "The answer lies within, so why not take a look now."

Too Busy to Be Busy

This piece was published in my school's newspaper as a "teacher column" :-)

Last week, when a beautiful Lancer editor (and former student) approached me and asked if I would like to write a “faculty column” for the newspaper, my first thought was, “I would love to do that!”  My second thought was, “Oh dear Lord, I have zero time for such shenanigans.”  So, of course, I responded, “I’d be happy to.”  After a brief rundown of the specifications and then granted the freedom to write about whatever I want, I smiled and walked away with an old southern self-reproach, “What the heck and the hay are you thinking?”

            Although I frequently recalled my oral agreement over the ensuing days (they aren’t binding, are they?), I put off any actual work on this assignment until—the day it was due.   Every time the task flashed before my mind’s eye, I was obligated elsewhere:

·         tweaking a new research project in my senior class,

·         convincing my sophomores that Nathaniel Hawthorne was not engrossed in some sadistic social experiment when he published The Scarlet Letter,

·         grading essays that were submitted mid-September,

·         writing letters of recommendation for a November 1^st application deadline,

·         finalizing my family’s Halloween costumes,

·         helping my daughter track down sources for her third grade project on Central Plains Native Americans,

·         indulging my five-year old son’s constant desire to have a family Nerf war,

·         apologizing to my dog for another day with no walk,

·         apologizing to Mr. Battle for another day with no run,

·         fielding 25,000 emails

·         cooking, cleaning, laundry, eating, sleeping, driving, voting, and other essential tasks

            I have one burning consolation in this.  I know I am not alone.  The details of “swamped” may vary, but ask anyone you know, “How are you?” and if he or she is willing to honestly go there with you, the response will sound something like, “Good. Really busy.”

In a space and time where what we “have” to do cannibalizes the time we would surely devote to what we “want” to do, there can be only this solution:  you must want to do what you have to do, and you have to do what you want to do.  There is no wiser sage in this than Ferris Bueller who quipped during his famous Day Off from high school (a movie you should definitely take time to watch!), “Life moves pretty fast.  If you don’t stop and look around every once in a while, you could miss it.”

We have an amazing community at Saint Francis—there’s always something fun going on.  And we all have very full lives outside of Saint Francis—family, sports, art, hobbies, spiritual practices, etc..  If, today or tomorrow or any day hereafter, you feel you are stretched too far, spread too thin, headless chickening, or the like, please pause, breathe, and ask yourself, “If the world ended tomorrow, would I consider this a waste of my time?”  If the answer is “yes,” drop that junk like a sack of potatoes.  If the answer is “no,” lean in and have a blast with it.

As I wrap up my miraculously on-time column, I can say with some measure of confidence that I am a better person for taking a few minutes to write, to meet an obligation (would that they were all so pleasurable) and to share myself with my Saint Francis family. 

Happiness Is . . . 500 Days of Blogging?

Day 51: A Spoonful of Peanut Butter

I need not say much here.  I take this dose of happiness on a near daily basis.  It's one of my most favorite food indulgences.  There is, however (and always), a fine line between the momentary comfort and happiness of a spoonful of anything --and an addiction to numbing out and lazy eating habits.  Be honest -- do I always bring the dark cloud to the silver lining?? ;-)

While not all things in life are certain, today, I will most definitely eat peanut butter from a spoon.

But it's a lie.  I do always eat peanut butter.

Day 50: Fixing Something

If I had been keeping up with my writing schedule, Day 50 would have occurred on Valentine's Day of last year. (Just for reference and a small glimpse into my capacity for self-discipline--today is November 25).  Had I been entering on schedule that day, my post would have been very cynical--an inability to fix something that was terribly broken.  With several months of hindsight, I can see perfectly that sometimes things need to break for something stronger and better to rise up out of the debris of destruction.  I don't want to obfuscate unnecessarily here -- but if I one day have the freedom and the mettle to write publicly about the woes of an untended nuptial bond, I will.

I have fixed things before, though I do not classify myself as a "fixer" of broken things.  I can repair a toy I've assembled (usually) or replace dead batteries or lightbulbs, but if fixing requires some knowledge about the internal workings of a machine, I'm going to defer to someone more qualified.  Or a YouTube video.

When it comes to fixing my own mistakes, I can be slow to act.  My ego will waste an inordinate amount of time defending, justifying or blaming another before I squarely face an amends process.  But, thank God, in these cases, slow and steady wins the race.

Today I will help to fix what is broken.

Day 49: A Hug

Hugs are certainly happiness bringers most of the time.  There are a couple of exceptions; unwanted hugs and hugs from undesirable people can cause anxiety for me.  There is, too, that tense moment when two people do not know the correct course of action between a handshake and a hug, so a hand goes out from one and arms open from another.  It's nice to see that in 99% of these cases, the end result is a hug.  The handshaker succumbs to increased connectivity.

Today I will give and receive hugs with humility--in a spirit of willing connection with others.

Day 48: Breakfast in Bed

I see this bringing happiness to people, but I actually dislike eating in bed.  Even in the hospital with all the accoutrements and the bed-meal set up, I'm not a fan.  What I think does bring us the most joy, however, is that someone (usually someone we're fond of, usually someone we live with) was thinking of us and presents that thoughtfulness to us in this act of love.  It brings me much happiness to bring someone else breakfast in bed :-)

Today, I want my first thoughts of the day to be of how I can be of service to others.

Day 47: A Long Bath With a Good Book

Evening plans tonight??  We'll see.  I love baths, but have never been able to really sit very long in one.  And reading in a tub just seems like a wet book result.  We'll test this happiness theory without delay.

Today, I will read a good book in a long bath. (why the hell not?)

Hold the martini and up the lit value and I could be 007.

Sometimes I wonder if Dalton Trumbo just felt like the writing process wasn't hard enough.

Day 46: Having Weird Friends

I wouldn't consider myself a "weird friend" collector.  It was so important to me growing up to not be "weird," that I chose people with whom I could effectively numb out or disappear.  Occasionally, I've had a friend I cherish because he is so unabashedly himself--and that "self" includes a candor or dorkiness that makes people cringe (including myself).  I have accumulated a few more of these as I've gotten older and more comfortable with my own brand of "weirdness."  I wish I'd had the courage to know these people sooner in my life.

Today I bow to the divine weirdness in you.

Day 45: Using a Pen 'Til the Very Last Drop of Ink

As an angst-filled writer in my adolescent years, an English major in college, a graduate student in English Literature, and a high school teacher, I have had my run of pen deaths.  It's always a sad occasion because if I've kept a pen long enough for its ink to run out, I loved the pen.  If a pen and I do not connect in the first couple of uses, I discard it.  There are few things I tolerate worse than a pen that doesn't flow well.  However that makes me sound . . . so be it.

Today I will be grateful for all the pens I've loved before.

Multi-colored Papermates(sans red) = favorite grading pens

Day 44: Skiing

When I was growing up, my family was more of a beach family for vacations.  If we ever did go into the mountains, it wasn't to ski or camp.  It was because we were having a family reunion or were along on one of my dad's cardiology conferences.  In either case, it was never the dead of winter (there was never snow) and we stayed in cabins --away from any lodges or campgrounds.  But, I did ski a few times as a kid.  I would go with a friend on her church's youth group trip, or the school would have a class trip to the snow.  I always had to re-train on the bunny hills, and I never looked cool doing it.

We took our first family trip to the snow last year.  The plan to put my children in a "kids' camp" for the entire day (while Joe and I learned to ski again ourselves) nearly killed me.  I thought, Joey will never stand for this.  He will make those poor camp leaders' lives miserable for the eight hours it lasts (is that long?).  Joe urged me several times to pull myself together.

I may have never been more wrong about something.  The children loved their day (and the next) learning how to ski.  I realized, it was I who was afraid of the separation.  I had never left my children for an entire day with complete strangers to learn a brand new physical activity they might hate!  I think, too, I was scared of the day.  Scared of being terrible at skiing in front of this man I'd been with for 15 years.

As always, I broke through the fear and we all had a wonderful time.  I will always remember our first family ski trip with tremendous fondness, and I can't wait to return to the snow this year.

Today, I will wait patiently to ski again.

Day 43: Fancy Stinky Cheese

I am happy to report that I have seldom been in the presence of such a thing.  The most exotic cheese I encounter is brie, then blue cheese (which I detest more than Peeps).  I choose to be around less pronounced cheese: provolone, cheddar, maybe muenster . . .

Today, I will continue to avoid fancy, stinky cheese.

Day 42: Being Unapologetically Yourself

For as much happiness as this brings, it's both amazing and sad that this doesn't happen more often.  I'm quite familiar with being apologetically myself.  As I age into this world, I find it becomes easier.  In nine more years, I believe I will no longer care what anyone in the world thinks about anything--let alone what they think of me.

Today, I will strive to cease and desist all apologies for my me-ness.

Day 41: When Someone's Laugh is Funnier Than the Joke

I experience this happiness most often with my children.  There is no doubt that my kids laughing together is my all-time favorite sound.  My son, Joey, however, has an absolutely infectious laugh that usually emerges at the height of its being when we are driving in the car or at bedtime.  He uses it like a superpower to keep the party going.

Today I will work to evoke my children's laughter.

Day 40: Chasing Fireflies

When I was growing up in Virginia, I always loved the flash of the lightening bug (or, as some books and Yankees call them, "fireflies") because it meant a few things: SUMMER, evening, time on the Eastern Shore where my grandparents and cousins lived, outside, and achievable goals.  Lightening bugs are very slow-flying insects, like ladybugs.  Children can catch them with ease and allow nature to crawl all over them without fear of harm or pain.  Such an important interaction to have with the world.

Today, I will NOT chase fireflies, because I live in California's Bay Area, but I will trust Nature's plan for its creatures.

ESVA Lightening Bugs

Day 39: Waking Up to a Beautiful Day

Undeniably.  I think the trick to true happiness, however, is believing every day to which you awaken is beautiful.

Today (11.16.18), I will see the beauty (amid the smoke).

Day 38: Finding Coins in the Sofa

I suppose my level of happiness here depends on the denomination of the coins found.  A ton of pennies just seems like trash.  But, the sofa as a "swallower" of objects has been a lifelong problem for which I'm pretty grateful.  It means a home and a comfortable place to be.  And, of course, the coins found in the sofa, for me, have been an accidental discovery when looking for a remote control, phone, and/or keys.  They are never what I'm actually looking for--which bespeaks ease and comfort as well.

Today, I will be mindful of all that I have.

Day 37: Doggy Breath

Admittedly, this is not something that always makes me happy.  Labrador retrievers make me particularly queasy with their breath.  Now, puppy breath is a different thing entirely.  I can say in all sincerity that puppy breath is one of my all-time "happy" inducing smells.

Today, I will appreciate my dog's breath.

"Here's our darling Scarlett" (Halloween 2017)

Day 36: Saying the Same Thing at the Same Time

Rarely, but sometimes, I feel suddenly and utterly connected with another person.  When I realize I have had the exact same thought as another person, and have expressed that thought in the exact same verbiage, I experience kinship.  This happens most often with my siblings -- and with movie quotes.

Today I will listen for the sameness.

Day 35: Having Your Work Appreciated

This is certainly a happy occasion for me.  I also live for validation.  You like me! You really really like me!
I think many people want to be appreciated for not doing very much -- and when they are not, they become resentful.  At the end of school years, we have "staff appreciation" lunches and "awards" lunches.  These can breed an awkward air of competition and defensiveness in some people.  Some colleagues either don't attend, or "harrumph" through the entire event.  Others (often repeat winners) never expect that they should be publicly recognized for doing the passionate work they do.  It's a fascinating difference between people.  I suppose the real goal here is to love the work you do -- that, in and of itself, should be its own reward.

Today I will appreciate someone's work.

From me to you 

Day 34: Spinning on an Office Chair

It might be the only fun thing in an office.  The chair was designed for comfort and efficiency, no doubt (and those of us of a certain age recall the visual of Michael J. Fox as Alex P. Keaton, high on amphetamines, pulling an all-night study session).  But a little kid emerges when we take time to utilize the chair to its full potential--a boring room's merry-go-round.

Today, should I sit in an office chair, I will swivel and spin.

Day 33: A Freshly Sharpened Pencil

As a writer, a teacher, and a continuing student, writing implements are as important to me as font selection.  I don't opt for the pencil often, but when I do, I insist on a #2 and well-sharpened.  I detest mechanical pencils--even though they are always "sharpened."  For me, a new, long, sharpened yellow wooden pencil with a barely worn pink eraser is the essence of school.  And school (again, for ME) is a good place to be.

Today, I will write with a pencil--and be sure to sharpen it for later.

Day 32: Finding the Perfect Pair of Glasses

I began going blind in the 4th grade.  Apparently I was squinting so badly from the front row, my teacher thought I might need glasses.  I reluctantly wore them (in school only) until I got contacts in 6th grade.  I remember very clearly one of the "mean girls" in middle school making fun of me for getting contacts so I "wouldn't look like such a dork in glasses anymore."  Sheesh.  Mean girls--never at a loss for something to be mean about!  Long story short: I overwore my contacts.  All day, all night.  I even slept in them for 6 weeks during the summer when I was away at camp.  So, a middle schooler with little to no eye care routine set the stage for how I would continue to treat my eyes through high school, college, graduate school, and early teaching career.  Badly.  And always.
        When I returned home from El Salvador in the summer of 2008, my mother noticed that my left eye seemed to be "bulging."  She immediately diagnosed Graves Disease and said I should have my thyroid checked.  I did.  Results negative.  This led to a "Euthyroid Graves Disease" possibility--which means, simply, you have a thyroid problem, but your thyroid is showing you have no problem. After a little while longer, and a consult for plastic surgery to lower my lid (or raise the other, whichever seemed appropriate), the doctor suggested that I stop wearing contacts for a while and stick with glasses.  After a year of wearing glasses, my eyes were pretty much back to normal--I had literally been suffocating my eyes with contacts.  My left lit was retracted in a heroic effort to compensate for the oxygen deprivation and was thus giving the appearance of "bulging."
     So, to conclude a long, rambling anecdote about nothing in particular, I will say I fully embrace wearing glasses--30 years after that 4th grade shame.  I am not uber picky about my glasses style.  The lenses need to be as small as possible to avoid the coke-bottle effect.  That is all ;-)

Day 31: No Dirty Dishes in the Sink

Oh lord, is this true.  Many days, my mother-in-law is the bringer of such happiness.  Unicorn that she is, she arrives to my house in the early morning hours so she can take the children to school and my husband and I can get to work on time.  Because she's not much of a "relaxer," she will occupy herself with household chores I have not gotten to.  Yes, I admit it.  She enables the hell out of me.
I've never been one to wash a dish the instant it is dirty.  I tend to let them collect in the sink.  Luckily, my saturation point is pretty quick--about a 36 hour period.  If the cooking has been little, maybe a little longer.  There is great satisfaction in clearing the sink of dishes.

Today I will wash the dishes in the sink

One day my mini-me will help me wash dishes!!

Day 30: Being the First One Up

This is a regular occurrence in my house.  Now.  It wasn't when I was 16.  I like mornings, when it's quiet.  Often it's my most productive time of the day--time to read, fold laundry, wash dishes, grade papers, etc.  I like the sound of the Keurig (sorry, Earth!) making the first cup of coffee in the morning for me.  There's something promising about the morning--especially if I can remind myself to say a quick prayer or send my thoughts to someone else before they zero in on all I didn't get done the night before and all that stretches out before me.

Today I will enjoy the morning silence

Day 29: Looking Down On Your Hometown From a Plane

There's no place like home.  I love landing in Richmond, Virginia.  It's nothing much aesthetically, except the immense sea of green during the summer landings.  I just love knowing that I will be home, in my parents' house, with my siblings and my nieces and nephew.  No matter how long I live in California, Richmond, Virginia will always be home and I will always feel immense joy as I fly into it (and immense sadness as I fly away from it).

Today I will be grateful for my hometown

RVA

Day 28: Dancing Like Idiots

Mmmm. This is a good one.  I remember middle school dances having the same repeatable time frame: for three quarters of the event, one hangs with one's same-sex friends and scouts out the potential love matches and a final quarter of the time spent "dancing like idiots."  WHY?  Why did it take so long to break through the social anxiety in order to get to the fun part?  Every single time?  Nobody would go to dances if that last quarter of time didn't exist, and yet no one is willing to kick it off from the beginning.  And lest middle school dances get a bad rap here, I've witnessed the same thing at most weddings, holiday parties, charity auctions, etc.  But what a great feeling it is when that social barrier finally succumbs (either to alcohol or simply the passage of time) and the uninhibited dancing is underway.

I attended an away summer camp from 6th grade through 9th grade.  We had a dance every week and, although everyone loved the dances, no one wanted to actually dance for the first hour or so.  I remember the songs that were always reserved until the end that made it so we didn't want the time to end: Steve Miller Band's Greatest Hits (any, but mainly "Joker" and "Jungle Love"), Otis Day and the Knights' version of "Shout" (featured in Animal House),  Don McLean's "American Pie" and Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" --looking back I can see what a bizarre mix that was for a bunch of 11 year old kids.

Nowadays, we just have Idiot Dance Parties in my kitchen while I'm making dinner.  As Brene Brown says (and I paraphrase), "I can gauge the health of our household by how much dancing is happening in the kitchen."  For me, it's less than I'd like, but I'll certainly take it.

Today I will dance like an idiot, and I'm taking someone with me!

Day 27: Blowing Out Birthday Candles

The excitement of blowing out birthday candles for me was threefold: the extra candle for the new year (and thus the challenge to get them all in one breath!), the faith in wishes coming true, and of course eating cake afterward.  As I've aged (thank God no one feels like counting out 40 candles!), the greatest happiness is sharing the activity with my children who are so preciously excited about blowing out candles--even more than they are excited about the cake, which is almost unimaginable.

I feel like I can retrospectively say that something remarkable about making a wish and blowing out candles is the very spiritual practice of letting go.  It's a moment in which you feel as though you've taken action in your life ("I wish John Adamson would ask me to go with him!") and yet, simultaneously relinquished all control to whatever Wish Granter you believe exists "out there."  The happiness that arises from that latter feeling of "Welp, it's outta my hands now" is subtle, but powerful.

Today I will make a wish and let.it.go.

Day 26: Music That Takes You Back

For me, there is a very narrow window of early Eighties pop that makes me extremely nostalgic: Toto's "Africa," Genesis "Against All Odds," Journey "Open Arms," Men at Work "Down Under," Jackson Browne, "Somebody's Baby," and definitely 80's country: Randy Travis, Crystal Gayle, Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, etc.  This music takes me back to pre-school and early elementary at the latest.  But, these were seemingly happy times.

I detest music from the late Eighties and early Nineties.  For one, excepting a few "alt" groups like Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Jane's Addiction, it's mostly crap (Tone Loc, The Spin Doctors, Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, Paula Abdul, Firehouse--really?!).  Secondly, this time period canvases middle school and high school for me--not fun times, particularly.  Not times I care to be "taken back" to.

Today I will be grateful for where I've been--as a shaper of where and who I am today.

I used to wish I looked like Susanna Hoffs.  Did anyone else see The Allnighter?

And I wanted to BE Belinda Carlisle.

Day 25: Tropical Drinks

I'll admit, these were much more fun when I put alcohol in them.  Now they are just icy sugar liquid with coconut flavoring.  So, while these have brought happiness in the past, I cannot say they are a go to these days--with or without tropical climes.

Today I will ponder what helps me relax and get in vacation mode.

Day 24: When You're Really Excited to Show Something to Someone

This is a fun feeling.  I think the last time I was REALLY excited to show someone something it was the day I started this blog.  In wanting to share it, I do think I was trying to hold myself accountable to this formidable blog project.  But, in another self-seeking motive, I'm sure I thought,  "How many people can I get to congratulate me on what a sweet, healthy, well-adjusted person I am--on my brilliant idea and my clever execution and, of course, my excellent writing?"  Pfft.  Barf.

This excitement can actually be pure and genuine, I think, when I am excited to give something to someone--not because I need recognition for being a wonderful person, but because the thing I have to give is needed and unexpected.  Something that would communicate, "I listen to you.  I care about you."

I see this excitement most often in my children.  It's amazing how rarely they keep their experiences to themselves.  When watching movies, looking at YouTube videos, building with LEGOs, sculpting with Play Doh, coloring, reading stories, playing games, they want me to know it is happening and to verbally acknowledge the experience.  In some respects, they are constantly seeking connection with me.  In others, they are working to determine what in this huge vast world before them is real and worthwhile.  I realize the day will come when they no longer require my affirmation of their experiences (*sniff).

Today I will show something to someone.

Day 23: A Pancake Breakfast

The great thing about pancakes is the implication of free time.  Pancakes happen in my life on weekend mornings when I make them for my family.  They are mixed and made in the luxury of nothing to do but make pancakes, and that is a happy time.  OR, pancakes happen because we've decided to go out to breakfast or brunch somewhere.  The only thing better than having the time for making pancakes is having the money to pay someone to make them for you :D

Today I will cherish my free time and use (at least some of) it to provide for others.

Day 22: Bumping Into an Old Teacher

This can, in fact, be a very happy time--IF the student/teacher relationship was a good one.  God knows there are many blighted school experiences because of harmful teachers.  I have fond memories of most of my teachers from Kindergarten all the way through graduate school.

I generally do not like bumping into students outside of school--especially if they are currently in my class.  At best, it is awkward.

Today I will make a friendly approach to people I recognize out in public . . .

Day 21: Joining a Line Just Before It Gets Really Long

I often find this happening in food and beverage places--especially Starbucks and Pancho Villa (Mexican restaurant a few blocks from my house).  It's happened so often at the latter location that as I begin to say, "Jeez, I'm glad . . ." my kids cut me off and finish with "we got here when we did?  Look at the line?"  Shhhee.  I really have turned into my mother . . .

Really, if I'm standing in a really long line, it's probably worth the time I'm taking to wait.  Otherwise, why would there be a line?  So, while there is always a negative view to take when we don't get what we want right when we want it--the waiting, while perhaps "the hardest part" (in the words of Tom Petty), may often be the best thing for us.

Today I will be grateful for where I am in life (and line).

I realize this image has seemingly NOTHING to do with the above post, but in terms of being grateful for where I am in life--thank holy God I did not come up in an era where ads for booklets like this were being published and circulated.

Day 20: An Unexpected Upgrade to Business Class

Though I've heard of such things happening, I've never experienced the "unexpected upgrade" in airplane seats.  What a happiness-bringer this would be!

Today I will be grateful for "unexpected" gifts.

Day 19: A Rocking Chair

In college I dated someone who lived with a guy who sat all.day. rocking in a chair on their front porch with a stack of books beside him.  He ultimately failed out of school because he never went to class.  But he completed about 3 books a week.  He was probably the most educated student at NC State.

My dream house has a wrap around porch with rocking chairs and a view.  The rocking chair, in my opinion, is as good as the nook in which it is placed.

Today I will find a comfortable place to rest.

Dream House Reading Nook (w/ rocking chair!)

Day 18: Piggyback Rides

I love giving piggyback rides to my children.  I'm not sure there's more to say on this point :-)

Today I will give a piggyback ride.

Day 17: Falling Asleep to the Sound of Your Cat Purring

It has been quite a while since I had a cat.  As an inherent "pleaser," cats can break my heart.  What an aloof group of animals who could not care less what others want or need from them!  I remember my Intro to Western Philosophy professor talking about innateness and using cats as an example: "If you don't want a pet that will scratch up your furniture, only show affection when it wants something, and bring dead animals into the house, don't get a cat.  Because that's what cats do."

There is something extremely satisfying about feeling as though I've made a cat so content that it is purring.  I don't recall if I ever "fell asleep" to this sound, but I imagine it would be the kind of sound that would instill enough peace to drift into slumber.

Today I will seek serenity in helping others to be comfortable.

Day 16: School Friends

My friends have always been school friends.  I was lucky enough to grow up in a neighborhood where the kids with whom I rode bikes and scouted the woods were also the kids I sat next to year after year in school.  I was also lucky enough to attend the same small school from Kindergarten through 12th grade--so we emerged more like siblings after thirteen years of tests and projects and holidays and birthdays and fights and awards and slumber parties and dances and crushes and sports teams and car crashes and auditions and groundings and detention study halls and concerts and late night phone calls and first times and trouble and . . . everything.

When I left for college I actually had to make friends with new people for the first time.  And I was one of 27,000 undergrads at NC State University.  So, I joined a sorority--where God brought into my life the best group of women I could have asked for.  Though I rarely see them anymore (thank you Facebook for giving me a front row seat to the passage of their days), when we do reunite we pick up where we left off.

I maintain TWO good friends from graduate school (who married each other) and make it a point to see them as often as possible.

As a teacher, the majority of my adult friendships were formed in faculty lounges and dining rooms, where we discuss the daily proceedings of high school students and, occasionally, our lives outside of school.

My most recent friendships have formed also in educational settings--learning to be stronger, healthier human beings (prayer groups, book circles, Mom clubs, etc.).  I am grateful for the "school" settings in which my best friendships have formed--with substance and common interest and struggle and fellowship.

Yesterday, I was driving from an appointment to pick up my children from my in-laws' house.  Along the road I always travel, I slowed down for someone who was getting into his car (the driver's side door was opened into the street).  After a quick double take, I realized the driver was a friend from high school (in Virginia) who recently moved from San Francisco into my mother-in-law's neighborhood on the peninsula.  The odds of this encounter are so slim that I could only attribute the moment to a "god shot."  In an afternoon of depression and anxiety--of generally feeling lost in life, I bumped into someone who immediately grounds me in myself and reminds me who I am.  I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Today I will get in touch with school friends.

Winter 1996 (age 18)

September 2017 (age 39)

Day 15: Simplicity

What a great one.  From our advertising, to our educational system, to social media, to  . . . everything, our culture tells us "more is better." Meanwhile, one in six Americans take prescription medication to deal with life--most of these are antidepressants with anti-anxiety and attention aids just behind.  I think there exists no better evidence that a culture of "get more!" does not make us happy humans.  Henry David Thoreau wrote in Walden, "Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!  I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand . . . Our life is frittered away by detail . . . Simplify, simplify!" practically begging his 19th-century readers to de-complicate their lives.  How much more frivolous and complicated and cluttered have things gotten in the past 200 years?! 

When we accept the need for another apple device or lip gloss or bank account or pair of shoes, we are implying that the marketers of such things know better what we need than we do ourselves.   My favorite Thoreau quotation is this: "Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."  Truth--as simple as it gets--is the great channel to freedom.

Today I will keep it simple.

Day 14: Talking Music With Someone Who Gets It

This is a tricky one--and it all comes down to the meaning of "it."  Talking music with someone who shares my taste in music seems like it would be a happy time, if it didn't (as it often can with people who like to "talk music") turn into a competition about who is more intelligent with their music details or who has seen more live performances.  I like such a variety of music, I often feel inferior to "music talkers"--like I'm not discerning enough in my taste to even be allowed an opinion.  The only genres I shy away from are really heavy metal (like Slayer and Megadeath--sorry to al the ex-boyfriends with whom I pretended to like this noise) and techno/house music.  Beyond that, I'll take it: classic rock, R&B, pop, oldies, country, jazz, rap, show tunes (some), classical, movie scores, etc. etc. etc.  There are, of course, individual artists I dislike among the broader genres: Kenny Chesney, Neil Young, Steely Dan, Kanye--but, this does not make me special.

One of my favorite things is playing music off my iPhone and hearing my little children singing along--Jackson Five and Dolly Parton are among their favorites.  And it makes my heart happy.

Today I will share music with someone

Day 13: Growing a Good Beard

Okay--item #2 that I've never experienced.  But.  I totally see myself as a beard person if I were of a gender wherein it is socially acceptable to have hair anywhere off the head.  My only hope is that I would be able to grow a decent beard.  The men in my family are not bearded men--and there is probably a reason for that.

Today I will appreciate individual style choices.

The beard I fear I would grow

The beard I would LOVE to have

Day 12: Free Hotel Breakfast

Depending on the hotel, of course, this is always a wonderful thing to wake up to.  Truly, anything that takes the guesswork out of my day brings happiness (redefined, as I have, to mean "serenity").  Recently, my husband booked a beautiful trip to Maui for my 40th birthday.  The "free" breakfast (thrown in to make us feel better about the exorbitant resort cost) had anything one could possibly desire for breakfast and served as a good hunger satisfier until our embarrassingly early dinner reservations.

Today I will take my free opportunities where I find them.

Day 11: Hitting a Piñata

I don't think I saw a real piñata (outside of the "plethora" at El Guapo's 40th birthday party in The Three Amigos) until I lived in California and began attending kid birthday parties --circa 2005.  In fact, I don't know if I have even hit a piñata before.  I'm sure it's a blast.
This "happiness" item begs the question, a bit, what is our fascination with smacking the heck out of a donkey or Elmo or President Trump's toupeed head (okay, I get the last one)?  I don't think it's the candy or money prize that falls out of it.  I truly think it's the cathartic release of knocking something six ways from Sunday until it cracks open.  Yeeps.

Today I will destress in a non-violent way.

Day 10: A Picnic

Picnics are great and I do not do them enough.  Having said that, I kind of hate them--in the same way I kind of hate camping.  Both require anticipation of and planning for future needs (something in which I am not super adept).  I do not hail from a family of pinickers, so it was not a regular activity to practice and learn from as I grew up.  I believe the people who do these things well are people who do them early and often.  You'll notice, if you vacation with people who own beach houses and spend a lot of time on the coast, there is a "good" way to pack for a day at the beach.  They think of things like rolling carts and canopies, they have adequate chairs and beer koozies.  They know that spray sunscreen is better for reapplying than lotion--once the hands have gotten all salty and sandy.  And they always have hats.

I think picnics are the same way.  It seems like a fun idea: eating food outside.  In nature.  Until I am actually doing it.  Usually I have only thought to pack the food that I think will be manageable at an outdoor venue.  I might forget napkins or a table cloth or something to weigh down these items against strong breezes that often occur during picnics.  I will forget cups and utensils if they are necessary.

But, yeah, a picnic sounds nice--we should take one soon.

Today I will plan a pause in my day to spend time with loved ones.  Maybe outside, maybe not.

Day 9: When a Ladybug Lands on You

This has always been a happy moment, because I feel so trustworthy.  I understand the initial contact is mere luck--right place at the right time (for me, at least, I certainly cannot presume to speak for how the ladybugs feel about these encounters).  It's also a good reminder that I am not in control of how my day goes.  I rarely coax a ladybug to me.  Much more often, our paths fortuitously converge for a brief moment and it is something I have neither anticipated or directed in any way.

So--the bump-into is fun in its unexpectedness, but when the harmless insect decides not to fly away immediately, it's a very serene moment.  It is impossible to not be IN that moment with the ladybug--watching where it walks, wondering how long it will stay, contemplating the "good luck" it is rumored to bring, etc.  Any occurence that makes me undeniably aware of the present moment is a gift.

Today I will be present to the day--as it comes to me.

Day 8: Pottery on the Wheel

When I began this blog, I assumed there would be some "Happiness" experiences among the 500 (!) with which I would not have personal experience.  Here's the first!  My only experience with pottery on a wheel is watching the scene in Ghost and any number of hilarious spoofs of said scene.  I can imagine that throwing pottery on a wheel would be fun (especially if late-Eighties Patrick Swayze was nearby), because any creative process is fun.  It is impossible to be bored when we are using our minds and hands to mold or bring shape to something.

Today, in any form it takes, I will do something creative.

I.love.Family.Guy.

Day 7: Extra Pepperoni

Pizza is my favorite food and I would be hard-pressed to remember at time when this wasn't so.  During "adult" conversations about "desert island" picks, often it is asked, "If you could only have one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?"  My answer, unflinchingly, is always the same: pepperoni pizza.  Extra pepperonis would always make me happy.  And to expand the thought (why not?), there seems to be a belief that "extra" or more of anything we love would be a happiness inducer.  There is also an adage, however, that warns "Everything in moderation, nothing to excess."  Extra pepperoni makes me very happy, until my scale exceeds a certain number, or my doctor thinks my cholesterol is too high, or whatever consequence may follow my potential for gluttony.

Another thing that always brings happiness about pizza is not having cooked.  I suppose the day might come when I actually prep, assemble, and bake my own pizza from scratch, but for now it means less work :D

And, lastly, I don't need pizza to eat pepperonis.  My daughter and I can kill a pack of pepperonis by looking at it.

Today I will be grateful for extra pepperoni and all the gifts and comforts in my life it implies.

Day 6: Spooning

Spooning was a common practice in my romantic relationship before children came along.  Since then, it only exists with my children or my dog.  There is something very secure about the spoon position.  "I've got you," one says to another.  "I love you, and you are mine."

Today I will spoon with someone I love.

Day 5: A View of Rooftops

When I think about seeing rooftops, I think about flying in somewhere on an airplane.  I remember when I first moved from the east coast to California in the summer of 2002, I flew into Oakland and noticed that the rooftops created a sea of orange, punctuated with the tops of green palm trees.  The landscape was was so unfamiliar, emphasizing the great change about to occur--at once both exciting and terrifying.  I was, incidentally, obSESSED with palm trees when I first moved to the Bay Area because they were synonymous with islands and "vacation."  The only time I ever saw palm trees prior to living in CA was during family trips to southeast destinations like Hilton Head, SC, Kiawah Island, SC, and Amelia Island, FL.  We always knew we were getting close to the end of the long drive when the palm trees came into view.

To be at an angle for rooftop viewing signals being present to life in some way.  Either I have hiked to a high point in a town, I am flying through the air, or I am standing on a balcony of a building I do not live in.  One way or another, I am not stuck in the mundanity of my day-to-day if I am viewing rooftops.

Today I will consider another perspective before speaking or acting.

Suburbs of Richmond, VA

Suburbs of San Francisco, CA

Day 4: When the Vending Machine Gives You Extra

Certainly the concept of getting something for nothing is one I can get behind as a happiness-bringer.  What comes to mind when I think about vending machines is the loss of money.  What occurs more often than the fortuitous "extra," is the stuck item that forces you to either buy a second item to free the dangling hostage or abandon the machine (perhaps after a few slams on the side), and thus make possible the next person's "thing to be happy about."  In fact, this latter occurrence happened often enough that I found myself being happy when the item I selected actually came clear of its shelf prison without incident. 

This concept, in many religious contexts, is the concept of grace--a free, undeserved gift.  We can pass this on in many forms: helping someone who struggles to make exact change at the check stand, putting extra money in the meter before leaving the parking lot, giving a no-strings-attached compliment, wishing a stranger well, or just listening when someone needs to talk.

Today I will be aware of opportunity to give a little extra, for no reason at all.

From Oprah & Deepak Chopra's 21-Day Meditation Experience

Day 3: The Chocolate Bar You Forgot You Had

So, the timing of this one is funny.  I stepped on the scale this morning and weighed in juuuuust shy of 165.  At 5'9'', this is 15-20 pounds heavier than I want to be.  NOT a "happy" moment.  The negative self-talk immediately commenced--"Alright, you fat @#$%, it's time to cut sugar--entirely."  Under normal circumstances, I would be delighted to happen upon a chocolate anything, though I cannot recall in the history of my life one single instance of "forgetting" I had chocolate.  Like champagne, it never had much of a chance to get misplaced.  Once secured, it was as good as consumed.

So, I will do what I often force my students to do in the English classroom: I will interpret chocolate as a rich symbol of any forgotten sweetness, whether it be the $10 I left in a random pocket of my coat, or the God of my understanding I've neglected to consider for days.  And should I stumble upon actual forgotten chocolate, I will most certainly pay that good fortune forward.

Today I will be grateful for the retrieval of lost treasures.

Day 2: A Pinky Promise

I've never been one for "pinky promises," but I think they imply two things which definitely bring joy into my life: 1. children, and 2. accountability.  Kids make pinky promises.  The only people with whom I've ever made a pinky promise are my children.  These usually entail me promising to do something for or with them and it's an insurance of follow-through on my end.  For example, Joey (my 4-year-old) asks me to construct his latest 768-piece Lego contraption to which I reply, "I can't do it right now I'm (fill in the menial housework chore), but we can do it this afternoon.  Pinky promise?"  And then we are entered into an unbreakable contract.

Today I will make a pinky promise with my children.

Day 1: The Start of a Journey

I'm a mess . . . again.  I need an outlet.  Santa gave my 7-year-old a book in her stocking titled Happiness is . . .: 500 Things to Be Happy About (Chronicle Books, 2014).  Santa was having a projection moment as [s]he scanned the discount aisle in Target, apparently.  Though my daughter loves this stuff, the first thing she said when seeing it was, "I think Santa meant to put this in Daddy's stocking."  Both hilarious and heartbreaking.  And I would be lying to say I wasn't a tad relieved she picked her other parent to assess in this way.  But, the truth is, I need the book too.

I feel like I have become a bit of a Happiness Agnostic.  Happiness, as a state of being, may be good for other people to believe in and strive for, but it's not for me.  I've actually gotten to a place where I don't even know what the word means.  I used to think it meant laughing, smiling, excitement, joy--like seeing a Christmas tree with a truck-load of wrapped presents beneath it.  I used to think "happy" was something we get from external circumstances.  When things go our way, when people give us what we want, when the outside world stimulates us, we can be happy.  I think, at age 40, I now have enough spiritual footing to understand that whatever "happy" is, it comes from within.  It's not a reactive emotion, but a proactive choice--an exciting and daunting revelation.  I can make the choice to be happy or miserable, and if I choose the former, my work has just begun.  Rabbi Rami Shapiro writes, "I made the choice for heaven, and having done so, I went in search of tools for living it."  According to this spiritual leader (and many others worth reading), "heaven" is a state of mind that exists here and now, but not without some effort on our part to cultivate it.  We have to work to access it--but it's there.  Perhaps among these pages of "500 things to be happy about," I will unearth some useful tools.

And I need to re-engage with my blog.

And I need daily time for prayer, reading, and reflection/self-examination.

So, here we go with another daily project--devoted not to physical fitness or emotional well-being, but to spiritual uplift (with maybe a bit of bummer honesty thrown in from time to time--it's just what I do).  One of my favorite things is BEGINNING something new.  And I'm especially good at ENDING things.  I get a little more resistant to the maintenance phase . . . the struggle will be real by about Day 10.  As self-discipline is a practice I shirk on a regular basis, I've set myself on an ambitious journey to be sure.  If I can be faithful to this task, my last blog post will occur Saturday, May 11, 2019 (the day after my son's 6th birthday).  We shall see if, in fact, I have cultivated some "happiness" through the regular practices of reflection, writing, and being grateful for the abundance of gifts present in my daily life.
Thank God no one reads this thing ;-)

Today I will start a journey toward happiness (which I understand to be serenity and "right" living).

Some wisdom to set me on my way:

• "The LORD [love] makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Him [it]; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD [love] upholds him with His [its] hand." --Psalm 37:23-24
• "Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony." --Gandhi
• "Suffering is due to attachment" --2nd Noble Truth of Buddhism
• "Right concentration is meditating in such a way as to progressively realize a true understanding of imperfection, impermanence, and non-separateness." #8 of the Buddhist Eight Fold Path
• "When temptation comes, I don't say, 'Yes,' and I don't say, 'No.' I say, 'Later,' I just keep walking the Red Road -- down the middle.  When you're in the middle, you don't go to either extreme.  You allow both sides to exist." --Dr. A.C. Ross (Ehanamani), LAKOTA

Inspired By:
Swerling, Lisa & Ralph Lazar.  Happiness Is . . .: 500 Things to Be Happy About. San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 2014.