When I was a little girl my grandparents would come over to our house for dinner from time to time. After the meal was over, Grandma, Grandpa and the rest of the family would then gather in the living room to talk. I’m not sure what prompted him, but on one particular night, before the conversation got going, Grandpa began to sing. It was a silly song and as he sang, he started to giggle. Grandma didn’t see the humor in the little ditty and, pretending to be annoyed, kept telling him, “Hush up, William!” He didn’t listen and the more Grandma protested, the louder he sang--and the more he laughed. Grandpa laughed so hard he wheezed and we couldn't help but laugh with him. His delight was contagious. What a sight it was for me to see an adult lose himself in the ridiculous. It's been about 35 years, but I’ve never forgotten that scene. It’s one of my favorite memories of my grandpa.
Have you yukked it up lately? When was the last time your family witnessed you having a belly-laugh and heard the sweet sound of you snorting and howling with laughter? It’s easy to become so focused on the bills piling up, the toddler refusing to be potty-trained, the waistline that won’t shrink and the disturbing headlines on the front page that we don’t see the humor in our daily lives. I’m not suggesting we stop taking things seriously, but what about taking some things lightly? Finding the humor in life and enjoying a good laugh will not only bring us pleasure, but it will be a gift to our family as well. Laughter and a light heart are contagious. Having a sense of humor is attractive (hey, we even burn calories when we giggle!) and it relieves stress.
So, throw your head back and crack up. Watch a knee-slapping comedy, (Jack Black does it for me), share a humorous comic strip, laugh at yourself and increase the laugh lines on your face. It’s good for you! Your giggles are a blessing to others, as well.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven…a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance…” Ecclesiastes 3:1 and 4
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Cheap Therapy
I have a soft spot for cats. I'm not exactly sure when it started; growing up I had dogs. But somewhere along the line I became a "cat person." My family teases me, saying I am more than that. At times they've accused me of being one of those weird cat ladies. You know the type. While I don't have eighteen flea-infested furballs roaming the house, taking over the furniture, (I also don't wear an apron throughout the day with its pockets stuffed with kitty treats), I find I do sleep better if I have a cat at the foot of my bed. I tend to share the last spoonful of milk from my cereal bowl with whichever cat is begging for a taste. And yes, on occasion, I have been known to talk babytalk with my sweet babyboo honeypie cutiefaces. I ADMIT it! So sue me. The truth is these cats of mine give me much pleasure. Hearing them purr while I pet them is relaxing. They entertain me when they're curious and playful and they don't drool.
I "lost" one of our three cats two weeks ago. He was hit by a car and had to be put down. It had already been a difficult week for our family as we were walking through a more serious tragedy with some friends. And now this. I was heartbroken by the loss of our pet. My eyes still well up with tears when I think about it. But life goes on. Our family bawled as we said our goodbyes that night at the animal hospital. We drove home in silence, but another wave of tears hit us as we arrived back home. It was a Thursday night, so to help take our mind off our tragedy we flipped on Survivor. Some tears and whimpers slipped out in between the tribal challenges and strategic back-biting, but the kids and I began to calm down. During commercials we blew our noses and talked about how much we'd miss Chester. But the most healing part of the night came when our youngest cat entered the room. Rocky bounced around the living room, clueless of our loss. He snapped at our toes and begged us to play with him. Even though we didn't feel like it, our kitten made us laugh and thankful for the cats we still had.
Take it from this weird cat lady: pets are cheap therapy. (They can also be the reason you need therapy in the first place.)
I "lost" one of our three cats two weeks ago. He was hit by a car and had to be put down. It had already been a difficult week for our family as we were walking through a more serious tragedy with some friends. And now this. I was heartbroken by the loss of our pet. My eyes still well up with tears when I think about it. But life goes on. Our family bawled as we said our goodbyes that night at the animal hospital. We drove home in silence, but another wave of tears hit us as we arrived back home. It was a Thursday night, so to help take our mind off our tragedy we flipped on Survivor. Some tears and whimpers slipped out in between the tribal challenges and strategic back-biting, but the kids and I began to calm down. During commercials we blew our noses and talked about how much we'd miss Chester. But the most healing part of the night came when our youngest cat entered the room. Rocky bounced around the living room, clueless of our loss. He snapped at our toes and begged us to play with him. Even though we didn't feel like it, our kitten made us laugh and thankful for the cats we still had.
Take it from this weird cat lady: pets are cheap therapy. (They can also be the reason you need therapy in the first place.)
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Adoption is a Good Thing
Adoption is near and dear to my heart. When I was a little girl playing with dolls, I had babies that I "gave birth to" and others that I would pretend I adopted. It seems God was speaking to me and softening my heart toward adoption even as a child. Three of my friends growing up were adopted, (I'm sure there were more I never knew about), and I was intrigued to learn that my own grandfather had been adopted, as well. Years later, as I enjoyed one of my first dates with my future husband, I asked him how he felt about adopting children someday. "Great!" that adorable man answered. For some reason my premature comments didn't scare him off and, after making two babies ourselves, we adopted two more and completed our family. Adoption is a good thing.
Saturday, November 15th is National Adoption Day. This special day was established several years ago to help raise awareness of the need for foster care and adoption in this country. Currently 129,000 children in foster care are waiting to be adopted. For more information check out nationaladoptionday.org.
For an inspiring read on the subject, pick up Chicken Soup for the Adopted Soul. In it, under "Defining Moments", you'll find a piece I wrote entitled, "Appropriately Impolite".
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Don't MIND Me
I’m not a deep thinker, but I'm a thinker nevertheless. Often my thoughts are quite simple, really, but my mind can become so full. Ideas for articles, chapter titles and character development for various writing projects swirl around in my head and I must interrupt my current activity in order to jot them down on receipts and slightly used napkins. I need to remember to tell our landlord about the broken lock on the sliding glass door. Should I defrost the pork chops for tonight or make it easy and go with spaghetti? I can’t forget to help Noah with his campaign speech. Telling the students at Park Elementary School that he wants to be their Vice President, “’cause, like I don’t know, I just want to,” may not impress the voters, although you never know. He does have really nice hair and he’s a champ at wall-ball so he’s probably a shoo-in.
A tale-tell sign that perhaps I needed a break from my thoughts and a chance to breath deep for a while hit me afresh recently when I finished brushing my teeth at bedtime and realized that I had, once again, used my son’s toothbrush for the job. Ugh! “What’s wrong with me? Where’s my head?” After gagging twice I climbed into bed and decided to give my thoughts some thought. “What was going on in my mind?” I smiled to myself as I took a moment to remember what I had been thinking about while at the bathroom sink. It went something like this: I hope when it comes time for me to have a colonoscopy someone invents a way to do it without going up my colon. Maybe I should wear something sexier to bed for my husband, but then I’d be cold and I hate to be cold. If I owned a sharper knife I could cut up a whole chicken myself, which would be cheaper than buying the pieces already cut….
As I lay in bed, reviewing my thoughts, I received the break I needed and deep breathing followed—a full eight-hour vacation. Zzzzzz…
A tale-tell sign that perhaps I needed a break from my thoughts and a chance to breath deep for a while hit me afresh recently when I finished brushing my teeth at bedtime and realized that I had, once again, used my son’s toothbrush for the job. Ugh! “What’s wrong with me? Where’s my head?” After gagging twice I climbed into bed and decided to give my thoughts some thought. “What was going on in my mind?” I smiled to myself as I took a moment to remember what I had been thinking about while at the bathroom sink. It went something like this: I hope when it comes time for me to have a colonoscopy someone invents a way to do it without going up my colon. Maybe I should wear something sexier to bed for my husband, but then I’d be cold and I hate to be cold. If I owned a sharper knife I could cut up a whole chicken myself, which would be cheaper than buying the pieces already cut….
As I lay in bed, reviewing my thoughts, I received the break I needed and deep breathing followed—a full eight-hour vacation. Zzzzzz…
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
A Part-time Job With Inspiration On The Side
I am now a part-time seasonal employee at a small, upscale home and garden store and I must say, it ain’t a bad gig. My boss and co-workers are easy-going and friendly. During each four or five hour shift I am surrounded by beautiful, high-quality home décor and patio furniture. Of course I can’t afford to own any of it, but I enjoy it for what and where it is and keep my credit card at home in the freezer. And then there’s the most exciting benefit of all: the customers. I admit that when the reality of my need to get some part-time work hit me, I went into mourning. I long to spend my days with my laptop, creating the next great American middle-grade historical novel and not worrying about paying for groceries. Now that I have this job, however, I’m no longer in mourning—I’m inspired.
I have found at my new job that the sweet, demanding, quirky customers provide—free of charge—the humor and substance I need for the characters in my current manuscript and manuscripts yet to come. In a mere two weeks I have found a goldmine in the rich old ladies who march into the store wearing matted lipstick (mostly in a shade of orange), declaring exactly what they are looking for as if they were up half the night planning their attack, I mean, purchase. Then, there are the 30-something year old women who stroll into the store sporting name brand tennis garb and blonde highlights. On a whim they buy expensive exotic plants as gifts for girlfriends and garden do-dads they don’t need for their yard. The customers I like the best, though, are the ones who surprise me. Like the biker-dude I waited on today. He sauntered over to the register with his bulging muscles, black boots, tight blue jeans embellished with leather, hair greased back with a slight indention from his helmet and a creepy tattoo on his forearm. He plopped his purchase on the counter: Two boxes of decorative snowball lights, two bags of potpourri and some scented oil to keep it smelling good. (He hates it when potpourri loses its scent. He actually told me that.) The biker-dude was surprisingly endearing—in a Hell’s Angel sort of way. I think I may give him his own chapter someday.
Ahhhh, inspiration!
I am now a part-time seasonal employee at a small, upscale home and garden store and I must say, it ain’t a bad gig. My boss and co-workers are easy-going and friendly. During each four or five hour shift I am surrounded by beautiful, high-quality home décor and patio furniture. Of course I can’t afford to own any of it, but I enjoy it for what and where it is and keep my credit card at home in the freezer. And then there’s the most exciting benefit of all: the customers. I admit that when the reality of my need to get some part-time work hit me, I went into mourning. I long to spend my days with my laptop, creating the next great American middle-grade historical novel and not worrying about paying for groceries. Now that I have this job, however, I’m no longer in mourning—I’m inspired.
I have found at my new job that the sweet, demanding, quirky customers provide—free of charge—the humor and substance I need for the characters in my current manuscript and manuscripts yet to come. In a mere two weeks I have found a goldmine in the rich old ladies who march into the store wearing matted lipstick (mostly in a shade of orange), declaring exactly what they are looking for as if they were up half the night planning their attack, I mean, purchase. Then, there are the 30-something year old women who stroll into the store sporting name brand tennis garb and blonde highlights. On a whim they buy expensive exotic plants as gifts for girlfriends and garden do-dads they don’t need for their yard. The customers I like the best, though, are the ones who surprise me. Like the biker-dude I waited on today. He sauntered over to the register with his bulging muscles, black boots, tight blue jeans embellished with leather, hair greased back with a slight indention from his helmet and a creepy tattoo on his forearm. He plopped his purchase on the counter: Two boxes of decorative snowball lights, two bags of potpourri and some scented oil to keep it smelling good. (He hates it when potpourri loses its scent. He actually told me that.) The biker-dude was surprisingly endearing—in a Hell’s Angel sort of way. I think I may give him his own chapter someday.
Ahhhh, inspiration!
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