This started out as a somewhat whiny post about something that I seem to lack in my life. Then I reconsidered because I actually do have a few of these, they just aren't ideal. What am I talking about? That's the next secret:
Have a sanctuary
I'm not talking about a literal sanctuary with a pulpit and a large choir standing behind you. I'm talking figuratively, though I still mean a concrete place or places.
On most days, my sanctuaries are:
1) My office at work: not perfect because I am subject to interruptions (which is ok, after all, I am at work); this place works best after 5 pm when most folks have left for the day
2) My car during the commute: I have a fairly long commute (about 35 miles) and I use this commute in a number of ways. I listen to music or comedy, or, if I am lonely, I make phone calls (yes, I talk and drive...I have a Bluetooth earpiece that I only use for this particular activity, I feel stupid wearing it during the day,) or I think about things. This latter activity is what makes it a decent sanctuary
3) My time in the dining room or breakfast nook in the morning hours before the rest of the family wakes up; this is usually the time that I post here, too
4) Like most everyone, the water closet or the bathroom serves as a decent sanctuary. Unfortunately, to use this particular sanctuary usually requires a valid reason for being there (though I have faked it, just to get some quiet time...ssshhhh! Don't let Jocelyn know)
Those are my most common places. Some of you use these same places or you have a study/office at home, or you use a library, or maybe you go outside to a garden or just on a contemplative walk or bike ride.
I should explain what I mean by sanctuary.
For me, a sanctuary is a place where I can be alone with my thoughts, uninterrupted. I love other people. I am a pretty decent socializer, but each day, I need time to myself. I think we all do. This isn't time spent doing something alone, such as watching TV or playing a video game. This is time spent thinking or reading (not pulp novels (and, yes, I mean King, Steel, Rowling, Grisham, Grafton and all of the other blockbuster writers,) which I enjoy, but they don't count for this activity) things that trigger contemplative or critical thinking. I would also include creative endeavors such as writing, painting, sculpting or composing. Add crafts and technology, too, if they don't involve just following instructions.
We need to tap into ourselves and understand ourselves. Having a sanctuary is necessary to be able to do that effectively.
So, let me explain how this not-so-secret secret popped up. I started Christmas break back on the 20th. Before that I was fairly swamped with a particularly nasty problem at work which had been sapping most of my creative energy. After starting vacation, I was immediately thrust into holiday preparations. The goose is my responsibility (see previous post). The kids and I needed to do our annual foray into the shopping world for Jocelyn's gifts. This is excellent quality time with the three of us and it gives Jocelyn time to wrap.
Then there are parties and visits and the holiday itself. Then there are car problems and house problems and trips to plan and to cancel. And through all of this I don't have access to sanctuaries (1) and (2) above, because I am not going to work. My most important sanctuary, (3) was taken from me for about a week because the tables in both the dining room and nook were either in use for wrapping or holding precious holiday decor.
I don't have an office here at home. Well, we have an office, but it is used primarily by Jocelyn and Monica. It isn't my space. It does not work for me. I can't think in there.
I certainly couldn't spend hours in the bathroom.
After a while, this has taken a big toll on me mentally. I haven't been writing. I needed a sanctuary. I need a permanent one, too. But that is another activity for another day.
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Saturday, December 29, 2007
Secrets to Happiness: Secret #15
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The Cratchits' Christmas Dinner
A belated Merry Christmas to everyone.
We had a goose yesterday. We try to recreate the Dicken's dinner scene from "A Christmas Carol" each year when we're at home. Though this year, I did not make a pudding. The stuffing was wild rice and chestnut. Delicious.
Here's an excerpt from the story:
Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course-and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!
There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs Cratchit left the room alone-too nervous to bear witnesses-to take the pudding up and bring it in.
Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out. Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose-a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.
Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs Cratchit entered-flushed, but smiling proudly-with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.
Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:
'A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!'
Which all the family re-echoed.
'God bless us every one!' said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
I think that I'm hate-free
(post-it note cartoon from Savage Chickens...hilarious stuff)
I can honestly say that as of right now, I don't hate anyone. And I am sure that the feeling is not mutual.
I know that I have upset a lot of people over the years, usually via an insensitive comment or by inactivity on my part, like never returning a call or writing a letter or sending an email.
It's always puzzling when someone gets so upset that they stop talking to someone else. I can't imagine doing that. Sure, there are people that I'll never be friends with, but I would never go out of my way to avoid them. And I cannot imagine (any longer) being so upset with someone that I would think of them as an enemy.
Now, I'm talking on a personal level. But even on a general level, I can't hate a group of people. What I really hate isn't so much the person as it is the behavior. That's what matters. Everyone is capable of good and bad. I like it when people do good things. (To be sure, there is a tough discussion about good and bad and right and wrong that would fit nicely right here, but I'm not going to tackle that at this time.)
When I say on a personal level, I mean when someone says, "I hate X." X, in this case, is another specific person. I don't get it (any more). Think of all the effort that actively hating requires. I've said this on the blog before, but I believe the opposite of love is indifference. The absence of love is not hate. It seems that hate requires as much emotion and effort as love. To hate, someone needs to be on your mind. They need to have hurt you in some way, or like the chickens above suggest, to personify something that you do not like.
I used to hate. I've been angry at people before, but there was only one person that I ever really hated. I've long since given up that hatred. It was a complete waste of time. Unfortunately, I still live with the legacy that my hatred caused. I wouldn't wish that sort of self-destructive feeling on anyone.
(And, no, I didn't physically harm anyone...I'm not an ex-con...sheesh. I'm estranged from family members to whom I would love to be close. And, I'm too stupid or selfish, for now, to overcome it. Maybe, there will come a point when I'll be able to write about it here. I'd like to empty all of this stuff out and have a look at it dispassionately.)
But I don't hate anyone. And I can't imagine ever feeling that way about anyone again. I don't know if that is normal or if I am suppressing something. When I set out to write this post, I thought that I would be writing something uplifting and positive. It started when I read on another blog about someone having a "mortal enemy" which I thought was a bit over the top. However, it led me to think that what the person meant was that they passionately hated this other human being. How? Why?
Now I'm wondering if that is normal and whether being hate-free is abnormal.
I'm just confusing myself (and probably you, too.) I think I mean that we can only be capable of hate if we open ourselves up to hurt (again this is all on a personal level.) Or maybe my hate has just taken another form. Maybe what I am labeling "indifference" is really a low-key hate. I don't need to set someone up as an "enemy" but rather I just dismiss them from my world of concern. But even as I say that, I would never be uncivil to the person. It all comes back to disliking the particular behavior, not the person.
Is this making any sense? Maybe I'm just not getting enough sleep.
You have someone you hate? Do you find yourself wondering why you do?
Friday, December 14, 2007
Turning to gold, our first new stock
Is this a real company? Goldcorp, Inc.? Yes, they are very real and well respected. What do they do? They're alchemists. They take ordinary iron and lead and convert it to gold. It's an amazing process that will change the world economy.
Ah, no. I'm kidding. They are a "materials extraction" company. That means that they own and operate mines. Here is the official description from Fidelity:
Goldcorp, Inc. engages in the acquisition, exploration, development, and operation of precious metal properties in the Americas and Australia. It focuses on gold, silver, and copper.
There you have it. Most all of their activity is in the Americas. There's more gold here than even Coronado could imagine.
So, why did I take a position (buy) this stock? Well, I wanted to diversify from owning only my own company's stock (which I will not be discussing, though it is an outstanding stock.) There are many technology companies that I am interested in, but I didn't want to totally focus there either. So, I looked around for an industry with a positive outlook and then chose a couple of the best companies in that industry. Gold mining is a sub industry of materials extraction. Goldcorp, a Canadian company(!), is one of the largest and most successful companies in this sector.
I'm not going to delve into the numbers like P/E Ratio and revenue projections and EPS, even though I did research these things. I read about the company, checked out their website, read a variety of analysts' opinions, used my common sense about running a business, and decided to roll the dice. The stock could be a little overvalued, currently hovering around $33 per share, but, what the heck, I want to own a piece of a gold mining company. So, I bought 90 shares.
When I can find a decent stock ticker widget, I'll slap it on the right side and we can follow these investments.
In the meantime, here are a few rules: I don't panic. I'm in on this stock for at least one year. I might add to the number of shares as the year rolls along, but I do not intend to sell. This particular stock is fairly stable, but fluctuations are always possible. We can't get too excited if it moves up and we can't get too crazy if it drops in value. Sometimes the best thing to do is to periodically forget that you have any savings or investments. Tinkering can be the worst thing. Every trade costs money and those costs bite into any capital gains. We're going to watch.
(I realize, after re-reading this, that I am actually tinkering with my investment savings. But I am doing that to correct a fundamental flaw of investing: I had all of my stock investments in a single company. Feels good when they are rocking and rolling, but can be devastating when things go bad. And just wait until I build a bond ladder next month!)
Anyone out there have any experience with Goldcorp? Or the gold mining industry? If you are an insider at Goldcorp, please ignore these questions.
Anyone know of a good widget that will work with Blogger?
This weekend I will be joyful
(Image is from the Joyful Voices of Inspiration, a gospel choir from Massachusetts. I've said this before, but even though I am not a Christian, I really love the sound and the feelings that gospel music produces. The feeling fits with this post.)
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Today is investing day...just because
Ah, geez, here's the sucky part of money. In order to do anything with it, you have to save some first or receive a windfall (like a gambling win or being the missing heir.) Chances are fairly decent that you'll have to take the savings route.
Now, I don't want you to think that I am assuming that you do not or have not saved. Many of us do. But it's tough to invest if you don't have any money to do so. It's also difficult to invest in somewhat illiquid assets if you might need the money. The flip side of that is the problem that many of us have when cash is available: we feel compelled to use it.
There's this need to save so that we can make money with money, but then we have this need to acquire with the money we save. It's a game that can be hard to play, but only if you pay too much attention. The best way to save is to set it up automatically and forget about for six months. (This is where I remind you that I am not an investment professional.)
For a lot of people the best way to do this is to set up some sort of automatic payment to a separate savings account (and later to a money market account.) When you have saved about 3 to 6 months worth of income (and this is actually very simple to do, it just takes some time) then you can start thinking about investments. Of course, you need to save for those, too, and one of the best ways is to take advantage is a 401K, if you work for a company that offers one. Self-employed folks have options, too. But I'm not self-employed so I don't know much about that.
And once you develop the habit of blind saving, you shouldn't give it up (the IRS takes advantage of our capability to do this by automatic payroll deductions for income taxes.) Keep saving even after you hit the six months of income target. That extra money can be invested or you can use the excess to splurge on travel or some other things you've always wanted.
There are hundreds of books out there on investing and I can't really recommend any of them because I'm not a big reader of that type of work. The important part is saving. After that, reading about the types of investments and becomes much more important. Many websites contain this info, too. My favorites are MSN Money and Fidelity.
The whole reason for this post, besides the fact that my mom had this same piggy bank, though in a more amberish hue (and I chipped the protruding opening for the coin) is to set us up for talking about some of the investing experiments that I am going to tackle. I've been saving for years. I have some investments already, but I want to do a few things I have never done before. If this sounds a recipe for loss, well, maybe it is. Let's find out how much.
Don't worry--the blog will remain random and haphazard as ever.
Thanks for reading. If you want to subscribe, you can do it for free, via email or a reader.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
The history books of my youth
So, anonymous told us his or her favorite kid's book and I had to find out what it was. Published in 1950 and written by Morrell Gipson. She tells the story of a bear who sits on all the other animals' houses until karma catches up with him. Apparently, Gary Larsen, creator of The Far Side, is a big fan, too.
I need to find this book, if only because I had never heard of it.
Does anyone remember the series of American history books published back in the 1960s and written by Earl Schenck Meiers? It was the Golden Book History of the United States. It was in 10 volumes with an additional two volume bibliographic index. My mother bought them one at a time from either Kroger or some other store. For the longest time, we were missing volume 12, but my cousin had it, so I finally was able to read about great Americans M-Z. I'll never forget Vladimir Zworykin and how confused I was that he was considered a famous American. But these books were published in 1963 and the Cold War was raging as strongly as it ever would, so claiming this guy and his incredible invention (which is still in use today, but is slowly being replaced by better technology) was pretty important, especially because he was born in Russia.
I read and reread these books. I learned more basic American history from these than I ever would in school. When I think about it, most of my knowledge on the topic is rooted and framed by these books. They served as a guide for all the history books that I would consume as a kid. This is when I first learned that not all history books agree on all of the facts. This is probably the time I developed a taste for lists and organizing information.
I learned about Bjarni Herjulfsson and Leif Erikson and the naming of Greenland and Iceland, Columbus, DeSoto, Cortez, and LaSalle; Plymouth and Jamestown and how each colony was formed; Bunker Hill, Benedict Arnold, and the Declaration of Independence; the Barbary pirates, Aaron Burr, and the building of canals; the lopsided Mexican War and the despicable Dred Scott case (which jumped into my mind unannounced when Kansas played Missouri a couple of weeks ago in college football); Shiloh, Gettysburg and "...with malice toward none..." & "Now he belongs to the ages"; Custer's Last Stand, the Haymarket riot, and the Johnstown flood; the rise of labor, the busting of monopolies and Teddy Roosevelt; Pancho Villa, John J. Pershing and Wilson's Fourteen Points; Teapot Dome, Prohibition and the Crash of '29; World War II; nucear bombs, the Marshall Plan, and the space race...
There it ends because we hadn't even made it to the moon by this point.
These books were loaded with paintings (by Alton S. Tobey) and photographs. They were the prototypes for Dorling Kindersley and other similar publishers. Most, if not all, books had a large fold out painting. I used to leaf through the books just to look at the art. Geez, do I miss these books. I think my mother still has them. I know that I've asked for them before, but she hasn't wanted to part with them. I don't blame her. But wasn't I the primary reader of these books? (Click on the link above to take you to the artist's website and the covers of all 12 volumes, plus some samples from the volumes.)
Anyone else read these?
Monday, December 10, 2007
Creating a Will Not Do List
We all have To Do Lists. Whether we keep them on paper or in the laptop or in our heads, we have a checklist of activities large and small that we want to accomplish. Some of these are mundane, like filling the gas tank or planning our lunches (can you tell it's morning for me?) Some are large life goals like getting that Spring Break trip planned or getting that cholesterol down.
Then there are those nebulous fantasy dreamy goals that we never seem to take action on but we claim, either publicly or privately, that we want to do. Examples include: writing a novel, losing some certain amount of weight, or taking an around the world cruise. Things we could all accomplish for sure, but we don't break it down into small easily achievable steps and so we never make any progress toward these goals.
We can talk about the details of setting and achieving goals at some other time. Right now, I want to clear my mind of stuff that I am certain that I will never do, nor do I particularly desire to do these things. Of course, the list is infinite in size, but I'll limit this to 5 things that commonly crops up on these lists.
I will never:
1) climb Everest (or any other mountain, except maybe Kilimanjaro): I consider this far too dangerous and expensive for the potential upside. Who do I share the experience with? "Yeah, that's great, Doug. Yeah. How cold was it? Yeah. Wow, I can't imagine. So, how about those Patriots?"
2) skydive: Certainly easy enough and affordable, but I just don't have the desire. Maybe it's my irrational fear of heights, but it has never really been one of those things that I feel like I have to do. (Go ahead and add base jumping, bungee jumping, tightrope walking, and trapeze work right here.)
3) try out for American Idol (or any reality show): I've never seen the aforementioned show and therefore I am left out of many pop culture conversations, but, really, I am not about to place myself at the mercy of producers of any reality show.
4) become the CEO of a Fortune 1000 company: I'm passed the age where devoting my life to a company is worth the millions in compensation.
5) ride a motorcycle for pleasure: it has never interested me. If I want the wind in my hair, I can put the top down. I like relaxing in a vehicle. Somehow a motorcycle doesn't seem like a fun way to travel. Notice I said "for pleasure" because if I had to escape the bad guys, then I would hop right on.
I feel good knowing that I won't have to plan or worry about doing any of these things.
Am I wrong about these things? Have I severely limited the thrill of living? Do you know why Kilimanjaro is still a possibility?
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Reminiscing on childhood games
Everyone should own a set of their favorite picture books.
This is one of mine. Ezra Jack Keats wrote and illustrated books that he set in city environments. Whistle for Willie and Hi, Cat! were two other favorites of mine. The Snowy Day in particular taught me how to play in the snow.
I feel at home when I read these books. The games the kids play with cardboard boxes in Whistle for Willie were just the types of things we did. We used to play all sorts of games on our little deadend street in Cincinnati, especially when we lived at 1015 Rapid Ave. We lived in the upper floor of a duplex. My older sister and I had some great times there. (Aimee would not be born for a couple more years, after we had moved to a more rural area in Clermont County [which, sadly, is now a non-descript bustling suburb...boring.])
We played Kick the Can, Freeze Tag, and Hide and Go Seek. Very common games. We also played Kickball in the street and Pickle on the sidewalk. There was a slight slope on the street and a ball could get away from you and go down the storm sewer. We were very adept at levering the sewer lid off. I was one of the smaller kids, so I was often dropped in to get the ball. I shudder at the thought of that now. I would not let Gabe do that in a million years. My mom probably didn't even know.
We played board games on the front porches like Monopoly, Life, Payday, Trouble and Sorry. I had a Gnip Gnop that was very popular. Oh, and Yahtzee was huge. At other times, the older kids would lead us in huge reproductions of television shows and commercials. Partridge Family and Gilligan's Island were common sources. Trying to do the Nutter Butter and the famous Big Mac commercial from McDonald's were fun, too. Too bad we didn't have cameras rolling for those. Someone would invariably bring out their portable 45 rpm record player and we would listen to music on the porch and in the front yard. That often lead to lip-synching and lots of clowning around.
I haven't thought about those days for a long time. All of these memories were triggered by looking my copy of The Snowy Day (which I bought for my kids before they were born.) Good books sure do wield a lot of power.
What were your favorite books and games as a kid? What kind of neighborhood did you grow up in?
More notes on content
The Happiness Notebook continues to evolve. Here are the latest notes on content:
1) no more mixtape solicitations until after the New Year
2) videos will still be posted but they will not be limited to hair metal, the diffidence of your opinions was deafening
3) clearly, one of the things that brings me great joy is reading, therefore I will start sharing what I am reading with you (but I will not link to Amazon or any other bookstore) but I will link to a related website where you can read about the author or the book or both
4) rather than not post, when I am having a mental or emotional down time, I will write about the unhappy feelings because, really, can we have happiness without either sadness or ennui? No, so it is time to talk about those feeling directly
5) whether you like it or not, I will continue to post my attempts at fiction, derivative or not, good or bad (though I promise to stick to my self-imposed PG or PG-13 rating) [there is a Frosty the Snowman story coming soon...]
6) the Secrets to Happiness will continue, but, if you can, I need feedback on these. Plus, if you have your own secrets, let us know, because if they work for you, then they probably will work for many others. Stop keeping such important secrets to yourself.
7) while I am not an investment expert, I plan on toying with some of our money by trying a few different strategies and investment options. I was considering posting about the experience here. This will not be a blog dispensing financial advice, but posts related to money will simply be a narrative of the investing experience. That means that I will undoubtedly do stupid things with my precious dollars. Why should that aspect of my life suddenly change?
8) it looks like in the next year, we will be buying and selling a house (not in that order, necessarily) and I'll be blogging about that experience, too
9) Suzzie (Monica's rat) is not recovering as quickly from the surgery as we had hoped. She seems to have lost the strength in her right arm. However, she doesn't seem to be in any pain and the last few days have seen her eating better. We are trying to make sure that she gets adequate exercise and that she stretches and uses her muscles. We were used to her bouncing back from operations as if nothing happened, but she is about 75 years old now in rat years. This is her third Christmas coming up. I'll provide updates on Suzzie's health as she nears the end of her days.
10) I use Yahoo! Messenger. My ID is jdthorntonii. If you don't want to email or post a comment, you can message me there.
A weeklong confessional of procrastination
Well, it took a full week before I could do this post. I wrote NOTHING last week. Early on, that was just the way it had to be, but by Thursday, the feelings that I should be writing were taking root in my psyche. Yesterday, it turned to full-on guilt, but I still didn't want to write. I think it has something to do with the fact that I archive by the week versus the month.
Before I talk about procrastination, first let me give you a run down of what happened this past week, and, no, it was nothing dramatic. Then I'd like to discuss content for a minute. Then we'll get to procrastination. Like how I put that off even within the post?
SUNDAY: Okay then, last Sunday, I chose not to post anything about the mixtape. My sister, Aimee, came through with a couple of suggestions, and while they were fine, I just wasn't feeling the energy for the mixtape. Therefore, the mixtape project is on hiatus until after the holidays.
I spent all day doing manual labor, completing many things on the chore list. We also shopped for tile and bought our Christmas tree (yeah, we buy a recently murdered tree each year.) After the holidays we are redoing our kitchen and nook floors. We will post before and after photographs. Plus a running commentary on having contractors invade the home everyday and the challenges of living while the kitchen floor is in transition. Should be enlightening.
By Sunday night, I was only interested in watching football. Which I did. Which I wished I hadn't. But that's for another blog and another time. Suffice to say that I don't take sports outcomes, whether spectating or participating, too seriously anymore. I enjoy the drama or the competition, but I'm over it when the game ends.
MONDAY: I had to get to work right away to attend an all day meeting. The tone was set when I hit a traffic snarl and arrived right as the meeting was supposed to begin. Others arrived late, but this was important, so I let it bother me. Anyway, the meeting was with my supervisor, the CIO, and my peers. We spent the entire day doing a "talent review" of each person who reported directly to one of us that had a supervisory role or some other leadership role. We'll be devoting an entire post to the challenges, rewards, and concerns that I have with this potentially problematic process. By the end of the day, I was mentally exhausted and posting seemed the farthest thing from my mind.
TUESDAY: Another long meeting, this time about our strategy plan for the next three fiscal years. Again, there were pluses and minuses about the process. I might do a post on this, though it is dangerously close to shop talk. We'll see. This meeting took a little more than half a day. I skipped lunch, a very stupid thing to do, and by the end of the day I was brain dead. But that didn't matter because we had a surprise retirement party for one of my colleagues at a decent Italian restaurant. About 40 people were there and a wonderful time was had by all, especially the retiree. I wore a red shirt with green pants and a pair of silly Christmas socks during the day to throw the retiree off the scent of a surprise party. It's the little things that make the con work. Watch "The Sting" to get all the training you need in this area. Needless to say, the party consumed my Tuesday night.
WEDNESDAY: Another full day of "talent review" meetings. Once again I arrived home mentally drained. I went to bed around 8:30, read, took a cat nap, read some more, fell asleep again, woken by noisy kids getting ready for bed, and then couldn't go back to sleep. I went downstairs, tired, but awake, and read until about 1:30 a.m. Finally, I went to sleep and got up again at 5:30.
THURSDAY: So, I was pretty tired with the choppy sleep patterns. And this was my logical Friday. And I was itching to post something, but because I was tired, I wasn't feeling too upbeat about anything. I didn't feel coherent enough to string together sentences. I don't remember doing anything on Thursday night except reading and watching the recorded episode of "30 Rock", which besides "the Office", is the only comedy we watch regularly. I did some listening to contemporary classical, too. And I added some music to Monica's iPod for her and I worked on our investment portfolio. And I slept.
FRIDAY: My "off" day or so I thought. I was going to rise and right all morning. Oh, you readers were going to be blinded by my brilliance and my insightful commentary on the workaday world. The Happy Guy would be back with renewed vigor and purpose. But, uhm, well, Monica is trying out for regional orchestra, so she had to be at practice by 7:30. So I drove her to school. Then, Jocelyn had to go get her hair done and that is actually just a mile from where I work, and she planned on me going with her, so I had to hurry up and get ready. Gabe missed his bus for some reason, so we had to leave even earlier to drop him off at school.
When we got to exit for the salon, we saw the aftermath of a seven car accident that had the main road (Broad St.) through Richmond blocked in both directions. Jocelyn forgot her cell phone. I chided her for it and then discovered that I forgot mine, too. I forgot to bring the novel that I've been reading. So, while Jocelyn got her hair done, I went across the street to Books-A-Million. I browsed for about an hour and bought a book and a magazine. I'll be posting about both of them, I think; the magazine for certain. When I went back to pick up Jocelyn, it was after 11.
So, we were hungry and we went to lunch at the Italian restaurant that I had been to Tueday night for the retirement party. Jocelyn had the veal piccata and a glass of chianti. I had a green peppercorn steak and water. (She also had a Caesar salad.) For desert, we split an "apple crostada" that had a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream in the middle and was dribbled with caramel and powdered sugar. I bought a bottle of a desert wine to go with it. After that, we made the long trek home and being the nascent senior citizens that we are, we slept until Monica arrived home. Well, until 3. Monica's bus had a mechanical problem, so she didn't get home until 3:30.
Gabe arrived home shortly (he is in elementary school and Monica is in middle school.) Then we fiddled around the house--I read my new magazine--and Jocelyn packed some eBay sales up for shipping. She had been complaining about how nothing was selling, then within two hours, she sold nearly a dozen items from her modest online store. We had until six to drop off a couple of packages at the DHL pick-up point. We got there at ten till six. The DHL guy had already been by. Frustration ensued. But, apparently, he came back to pick up our packages. Jocelyn had checked online later that evening.
Monica was starving so we went to Sonic. Great drinks, terrible food. We went to Target and Gabe and I stayed in the car. Again, I had forgotten to bring a book. I wasn't feeling too great and I was getting tired again. Writing was not on my mind. The girls were taking forever. I called. They had run into a mother from field hockey (one of Monica's sports) and were in the midst of a conversation. Finally, it ended, we left, we arrived home, I read, I fell asleep.
SATURDAY: Surely, I could post something on a Saturday. I couldn't. It was the last day of the week. At that point, I didn't want to. I hadn't even gone to see if anyone was reading the blog. I spent Saturday morning sitting at the breakfast counter reading my book (not the new one, but the novel.) Once again, plans were hatched that I was only vaguely familiar with. We were to pick up one of Monica's friends and all of us were going to see a movie. We saw the first showing of "The Golden Compass". I normally read rottentomatoes before I decide to spend money on a movie. I didn't do that this time. Save this one for your Netflix account. Let's see, $34 for movie tickets, plus $32 for popcorn and drinks. Nothing like a $66 afternoon for a pretty mediocre film.
Then we walked around the mall so that my daughter and her friend could shop for other friends. This was not the highest and best use of mine or Gabe's time. We soldiered through it though. By Saturday night, Gabe was immersed in homework and I was back to reading my novel. I was doing nothing of benefit to me or my family. No way was I going to write.
Which brings us to this morning. I haven't even had any food yet, but I had to get ALL of this off my chest.
This post is fairly long, so the next post will be about content.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Secrets to Happiness: Secret #14
We have another physical secret today. It's one that some people swear by and others see it as too intimate (they don't want to be touched by a stranger) or embarrassing (they don't want to be nude in front of a stranger.)
I'm talking about our latest secret:
Get a massage
And don't just get one, but try to budget to have one regularly, about every four to six weeks, more often if you can. Schedule it before your hair or nail appointments (we'll get to the wonders of a pedicure for men at some point, just believe that it is worth the money.)
What about the objections? Well, massage therapists are not sex workers. They are licensed (trained) practitioners in giving massages. Not all masseurs (or masseuses) are equal and they're not all comfortable with every type of massage. But they are all used to touching their clients for the purpose of massage.
And they have seen all body types. A former co-worker of mine who obtained her license specializes in geriatric and Hospice massage, providing comfort and therapy for folks that aren't too worried about their looks.
A good massage therapist will strive to make you comfortable. The massage tables are heated. They use warm oils. Warms towels protect your modesty. Usually soft relaxing music is playing.
There are all types of massages from light Swedish to hot stones to sports massages to intense deep tissue. If you are new to massage, I don't recommend (and no therapist would perform) a deep tissue massage. Most massages last an hour, though they can be as short as ten or fifteen minute chair massages where you remained clothed to two hour full body sessions.
If you're just beginning, I recommend a 45 to 60 minute mild Swedish massage. You will leave feeling relaxed and rejuvenated. Remember, as I said in my post about Jocelyn's Christmas gift from last year, you should have someone drive you just to be safe. The more massages you have, the more you can experiment with the various types, times, and intensities. There are no right or wrong ways, except that it should never cause you lasting pain.
The goal with bodywork is to determine where you are storing your stress. Many keep it in their neck and shoulders and poor posture adds to the tension. Massage can help loosen and relax those muscles, helping you make your own improvements to your body. Bodywork is also helpful if you are regularly exercising. All pro teams employ a massage therapist. It is an essential part of training.
If you do this regularly, you will feel better over time. You will set yourself up to feel happier. Like all of the other secrets, it is such a simple thing, yet most of us never even consider it.
It'll cost anywhere from $45 to $100 or so at most places, depending on the area and the facility (ranging from spartan gyms to ultra exclusive spas.) The typical charge averages from $1 to $2 per minute. If you do use a spa you might want to add in another service, such as a facial treatment or a sauna. If you use a gym, maybe you could get a workout in or sign up for a session with a personal trainer.
What is your experience with bodywork? Do you think it's worth the money? Do you trade massages with your significant other? What are your recommendations?
Friday, November 30, 2007
Knowing what alters our moods
(This logo is from a jazz ensemble in Seattle. Love it. Love the logo. Love the fact that they're all female. Swing, girls.)
There is actually almost too much to say about this topic, but like Alice when talking to the King and Queen of Hearts, we should "begin at the beginning..."
We tend to think of mood as that general feeling caused by our emotions. Our emotions, in turn, are the coloring of our internal responses to both external stimulation and other internal thoughts. (By the way, this is all my conjecture. I'm not a psychology expert in any way.)
Moods, when we notice them, are usually graded as either good, bad, indifferent, or restless. As a matter of fact, that seems like a good structure for mood evaluation. We'll use good/bad as the x-axis and calm/agitated on the y-axis.
All of the feelings in the top two quandrants we would say are positive and good. This is the way we'd prefer to feel if we had a choice.
The stuff below the horizontal axis is stuff that we don't particularly want to feel.
There is an entire self-help industry and medical profession built around avoiding the bad feelings and having the good feelings.
In the self-improvement world, there is a tendency to put our power to choose how we feel to the forefront. How we choose to respond to external stimuli determines whether we are above or below the line. The medical profession would likely say that while you do have the power to choose, those responsorial choices can be limited by your physiology. Diet, exercise, and perhaps a prescription can help in that regard. Those that object to drug therapy usually point to the "artificiality" of the mood created and the tendency for it to inhibit creative, energetic action.
Again, I'm clearly not an MD or PhD in psychology or even a student of self-improvement books (I've not read Seligman or Buscaglia or Robbins, though I did read Covey years ago.) I'm just trying to make sense of my moods and why they change and why it seems like that even though I am completely aware of them, I sometimes still lose control over them.
Why do certain images make me sad? (I remember watching Gabriele Andersen-Schiess finishing the marathon at the LA Games in 1984 and bursting into tears at her suffering as millions of people watched. I thought she was going to die while we all cheered her on.) Why do so-called "pet peeves" really cause a genuine flare of anger? (I hate dropping food.) Where does intense envy that I feel come from?
We all have these types of questions we can ask about ourselves. Sometimes the answers seem to come from our choices, yet other times they do seem to be related to something physical.
Illness can make us irritable or depressed. Lack of sleep is a big cause of easy anger for me. Hunger causes me to become listless and can look like depression. Overeating can do the same thing.
I think the first step in controlling the moods and moving them to the positive side of the diagram is to understand the triggers for bad moods and take steps to avoid them. Those steps are roughly the same as the Secrets to Happiness that I so tongue-in-cheekily list over on the right. I do take them seriously, though.
However, even if we follow all of them perfectly, we're still not going to avoid moods that are below the line. No one is saying that we should smile through a funeral or laugh about being a victim of a crime. Rather, we need to accept that "bad" feelings serve a purpose. They're telling us that something is wrong in our lives. Our responses should be about righting the wrong or accepting the loss, not artificially changing our mood.
I realize that this post seems to be rambling and directionless, at least it feels that way to me, but I've been trying to deal with the fact that there are times when it seems that I am not quite the emotional pilot I could be. I think that's why I'm writing this blog. I want to better understand how to steer (and where to navigate) while I'm on this journey.
If answers were easy, we'd all be super happy. I say if answers are easy, we're probably not asking the right questions. There are no cookie-cutter solutions. Unlike what Tolstoy says about families at the beginning of Anna Karenina, individuals are happy in their own way. I'm trying to figure out my way. I'd like you to contemplate yours and feel free to share it. There are no right and wrong answers, just different levels of effectiveness.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
No music? And a couple of notes on content
Even I haven't nominated a happy tune this week? Maybe I should put the Mixtape project on hiatus until after the holidays.
Or maybe not.
If you want to recommend a song for the H-N Mixtape project, leave it in the comments.
Barring anything crazy that prevents it from qualifying (nothing R rated, please and no "Billy Don't Be a Hero" type songs) we'll add it to the list over on the right on Saturday.
REQUEST: Please vote in the poll about whether we continue with hair metal videos. I know I didn't give a choice like "I Don't Care" because if you were too apathetic to care, then I doubted you'd have the gumption to vote.
I can't tell who is voting or how they voted. I just get the results like you do. I will not be voting. So far, the unanimous choice is to continue with them. Before I post anymore videos, I will await the results.
There's nothing that will kill an audience more than one long post and then no other posts for a day or two. Sorry about that, but writing that story, derivative as it is, sapped the creative energy. The 100 nouns post did the same thing. Unfortunately for us, I'm going to be doing that periodically. The best way to change my behavior is to give me your opinion. Otherwise, I will believe that you love everything I write. (If you do, you can leave that opinion, also.)
An act of kindness kills a post, but saves my Saturday
Every fall, like so many other homeowning saps around the world, I have the task of raking leaves two or three times. I sometimes have to do this in the spring, too, because of the stubborness of oak leaves.
My lot is surrounded by trees and they dump leaves and needles and cones and seeds all over the place. A crunchy brown blanket covers everything. The leaves must be removed or the grass will die and the forest will take over my lawn. Mulching works in the early stages, but after a nice windy day, mulching does nothing but make the big leaves little. Everything is still covered in that dusty reddish brown.
To tackle this task, I have a very large rake, a backpack leaf blower, and a monstrous blue tarpaulin that is used exclusively for leaf removal. Because I am surrounded by woods, I merely have to cart the leaves off into them. No bagging, no burning, no leaving them in the ditch for the county to pick up.
But I have a large yard and up until this year, I worked alone. The kids are finally old and strong enough to really help and not hinder the completion of this task.
Imagine my surprise when I arrived home this evening and was met outside by the family (Monica was going with me to the library.) I could see hints of grass in the lights from the house, my headlights show on a black driveway, when I got out of the car I didn't hear any crunching sounds. My family was outside hinting that they worked the whole afternoon raking my fairly large front yard. No way.
Not that they couldn't, but why would they? Then I thought: Jocelyn paid someone to do work that I can do, that I need to do. For some reason, this bothered me. I hate raking leaves, but it is my responsibility, therefore if anyone decides to hire someone to do the chore, that person should be me.
But they were all laughing.
It turns out that my neighbor rented one of the huge hurricane force wind generating blowers. After he did his smaller yard in about 10 minutes, he came over and I did my large yard in about 15 minutes...just because he felt like it. Then he crossed the street to help our neighbor do his gigantic yard.
Of course I said, "Did he do the backyard, too?"
"I knew he would say that!" Monica blurted.
What did we give him for doing this? I was thinking splitting the rental cost. (He has borrowed my power washer before. I'm so neighborly.) Instead he wanted a glass of water.
Jocelyn gave him that and promised a batch of her Christmas cookies.
I was planning a big post about a family working together to accomplish a task and have a little fun at the same time. So much for that.
Thanks Mike for the leaf cleanup. Where were you over the weekend when I installed that shower door?
Science Fair season is upon us
Last year, Monica performed the famous vacuum cleaner bag fill level vs vacuum cleaner performance experiment.
Setting up the experiment with the right surface, the exact size of the vacuumed area, and the exact same choreography for the movement of the vacuum over the area was a major challenge. She also had to set up the various bags with differing amounts of "dirt", which wound up being bird seed.
It was a successful experiment. I would love to link to her subsequent article in Scientific American, but she decided against publishing. She got an "A" on the project. And the result? For our particular vacuum, the cleaning performance doesn't decline until the bag is over 3/4 full. At that point, Monica determined it was probably worth the time to change the bag rather than try to clean with a poor performing vacuum.
But that was all last year.
When I arrived home from work, Monica hopped in the car and we went to the library. Yes, we could've gone online, but she needed to be in a quiet IM-less place where cell phone use is discouraged. We found a multitude of books that had ideas for projects. She has to present three and her science teacher will select one.
Here is what she's proposing:
1) The effects of freezing popcorn on popability, including both microwave and loose kernels.
2) Does home field advantage exist at a team and individual level? This is the one that she is most excited about. (I have to admit that I am, too.)
3) The effects of various types of music on heart rate and blood pressure (yes, we have a sphygmomanmeter, actually two, an electric and a manual.)
We'll here in a week or so which one she'll be doing. So much for January.
For some reason, I never did a science fair project in middle or high school. Did you? Did you enjoy it?
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Twice-Told Christmas Tales #1
Six hundred and ninety dollars. That was the total, with two hundred or so of it in loose change and small bills. Money scrounged from her pocketbook and saved by packing her lunches and skipping the happy hours and avoiding the additions to her own personal collections. Delia counted the money a third time. Six hundred and ninety dollars. Christmas was tomorrow.
She could feel a panic attack coming on. She had dreaded counting the money knowing she would fall far short of her goal. Why did she think she could do this? She didn’t have the discipline to save. She could’ve stopped buying wine. She didn’t need a vanilla latte each morning. Delia, lost in self-accusations, wept.
She sat on a brown leather sofa, staring at the mahogany coffee table where her secret pile of money lay. Her feet shuffled uncontrolled on the Anatolian carpet. The flat paneled television hung silently on the wall displaying the Weather Channel. The Christmas tree stood in her periphery, dark, silent, expectant, as if it were ready to browbeat her into action.
A stack of envelopes and magazines lay next to the money. Bills, mostly, addressed to James Henry Grant, would remain unpaid until after the holiday season. Jimmy’s old firm terminated his contract in October and he didn’t find another position until the week before Thanksgiving, and at only two-thirds his prior rate. He worked the Friday after Thanksgiving and now he was working on Christmas Eve.
For a while, the Grants seriously considered selling the house. Delia barely held back the secret fund she had saved since last Christmas. She decided she would keep it and use it for its original purpose no matter what happened. When Jimmy started a new job, she relaxed a little, suppressing the question of whether she had enough for the purchase until after the November holiday.
Delia selected one of Jimmy’s new magazines, the latest issue of Audiophile, and flipped the pages rapidly. The advertisement appeared as if she had summoned it. Christmas Eve had arrived and she was looking at an ad for the exact item she couldn’t afford. Coincidence was mocking her.
She tossed the magazine back on the stack and drying her eyes walked to the bay window. The icicles hanging from the roof looked like cold iron in the cloudy gloom. The neighbor’s cat trotted quickly across the icy hard packed front walk on some unknown feline mission. Seeing the bright orange tabby on the whites and grays of the snow-covered lawn startled Delia.
She whirled around and lightly jogged to the bedroom. Dropping to her knees, she looked under the bed and pull out two large boxes. She opened one of them and removed wads of tissue paper.
The Grants enjoy fine things. In this, they are somewhat normal. However, each of them has a peculiar passion for collecting. Jimmy has his collection of high fidelity vinyl records and Delia Grant has her collection of rare Precious Moments porcelain figurines.
At every dinner party, Jimmy never failed, by his third glass of wine, to take someone into the spare bedroom and show off his Mobile Fidelity Sound Labs long playing records. He would never play them because he believed his equipment was not adequate and could damage his precious vinyl platters. Still, in a reverie, he would describe their sound as having all the subtlety and nuance of a live performance without the clinical sterility that characterized the sounds of the digital age.
Not to be outdone, Delia would dazzle whoever demonstrated the least bit of interest in curios with a sampling of her prized bisque figures with their adorable cherubic cheeks and tear-drop eyes. She had collected all twenty-one of the “Original 21” and she had a few dozen other retired pieces, but she never displayed them. Instead, she set cheap little curios along the fireplace mantel hoping to lure someone into a Precious Moments figurine show.
Delia sat on the bed looking at a little blonde haired porcelain boy holding a shepherd’s crook and a wooly lamb. Her tears plopped onto the tissue paper in her lap. She rewrapped the figurine and placed it gently back in the box. Gathering the two boxes, she set them by the front door.
She stood before the coat closet biting her thumbnail. Then feeling shame at her hesitation, she grabbed her coat, scarf, and gloves and taking the boxes, she set out in her SUV to Molly’s store.
Molly owned a successful collectibles shop in the old part of downtown at First and Main. Delia loved shopping there and never failed to find something to add to her collection. This year, though, Delia had made a point of not buying. Yet staying away from Molly’s store was never an option. She still visited about once per month, just to stay on top of things, to see what she was missing. But this year, she didn’t buy anything.
Now here she was on Christmas Eve, arriving not to purchase, but to sell.
“Merry Christmas, Molly,” Delia said as she set her boxes on the counter.
“And a Merry Christmas to you, too, dear,” said Molly. She was about thirty years older than Delia. She had worked in the shop since the 1960s before buying out the old owner in 1975. She survived two incursions by Hallmark onto old Main Street over the years. She was a tough businessperson, but a smiling charmer to her devoted customers. That charm paid off, for the store was packed with browsing shoppers.
“What can I do fo you, sweetheart?”
“I want you to buy my Precious Moments collection.”
“Ah, don’t you think you’d get a little more selling them yourself?” Molly asked. “Say on eBay?”
“I don’t have time,” Delia said. She looked on the verge of tears as she thought of the wasted days leading up to Christmas.
Molly tilted her head in sympathy, looking with pity on anyone who would have to stoop to selling their cherished collection for less than it was worth. She started to speak and seeing Delia’s bowed head and, perhaps, feeling the Christmas spirit flow through her, she changed tack and said, “Ok, let’s have a look at what you’ve got here.”
They opened the boxes and Delia felt a crushing pressure on her heart as she looked upon treasures she had buried away under her bed. Molly “oohed” and “aahed” as she took each one out and examined it for imperfections. Delia’s hands shook, but she held up as she emptied the second box. Over sixty figures, including the Original 21 sat on the counter.
“They’re all lovely,” Molly said. “But honey,” she whispered. “I only have about $500 in the store right now. Everyone pays with debit and credit cards these days. I’m assuming you need cash.”
“Yes,” Delia said. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t given any thought to how much they were worth. Her only thought was that they would bring enough to make up the difference.
“I have an idea, if you don’t mind,” Molly said, and then she whispered her thoughts to Delia.
After Delia reluctantly agreed, Molly raised her voice and got the attention of everyone in the store. Without knowing why Delia needed the money, Molly stated for all to hear that Delia needed to raise funds for a special last minute gift for a loved one and that she had fallen on difficult times. Would the good patrons of Molly’s be willing to buy one or two of this young woman’s Precious Moments figurines? They just had to come up to the counter and make an offer. Cash only, please.
Embarrassed, Delia tried to raise her head and smile at the customers. Then a mother walked over with her young daughter and offered twenty dollars for the little blonde shepherd boy holding the crook and the lamb. Delia accepted with tears in her eyes. Upon seeing this, the customers must have felt a wave of sympathy and that Christmas spirit that grips us all at one time or another each December, for they lined up and purchased her figurines and walked away beaming, clutching them to their hearts.
Molly herself paid one hundred dollars for a little girl standing over a manger, far more than it was worth. Delia was openly crying now, but the tears were joyful and cleansing. These people seemed so happy to help her and they seemed genuinely to love the pieces from her collection. She thought about how happy Jimmy would be. Her feelings of gratitude left her speechless.
When she counted the money, she had more than one thousand three hundred dollars. Combined with her savings, this was more than enough.
After her sincere thanks and hugs and many Merry Christmases, Delia drove directly to the edge of the industrial section of town to a little store called The Sound Shack. There she confidently purchased a Thorens TD-201 turntable with its space-age shiny acrylic body and all the bells and whistles that Jimmy could want. She knew this was the one because Jimmy always stared at the ad and read the reviews in all of his magazines. She knew this is the one that Jimmy felt was worthy of his record collection. Only a turntable like this could bring out the depth of sound that he craved from his music. She imagined Jimmy hooking it up immediately and then spending precious minutes agonizing on which album he would grant the honor of playing first.
She hurried home hoping to get there before Jimmy returned from work. Relief washed over her when she arrived and saw that his car wasn’t there. Bolting from the car she fumbled with the keys and threw open the door. She ran upstairs and found the giftwrap and matching ribbon.
The wrap was white with red musical notes on a green staff. She had found this paper after last Christmas. It was the original inspiration for buying this gift for him. Her excitement made it difficult to wrap the box. She felt so upbeat and loving. Giving up the figurines didn’t seem so great a sacrifice now. She felt a little embarrassment at how much value she had placed on them.
She spent a few minutes trying to place the gift under the tree so that the light hit it perfectly. She turned on the tree lights and strands of blinking lights on the porch. She wanted the moment to be perfect. It was nearing three o’clock. Surely, Jimmy wouldn’t be working all the way until five today? Why hadn’t he called?
There were no messages from Jimmy. She tried his cell phone and it went straight to voicemail. He was forever forgetting to charge the battery. She paced, brewed some tea, didn’t drink it, tried calling his cell and work phone again and again. Her excitement wore off as an hour passed with her pacing between the bay window and kitchen, holding the phone, hitting redial.
Then, as darkness was settling in, a huge delivery truck pulled into the driveway. She would have to tell them that they had the wrong house. She was pulling on a sweater to go outside when she saw Jimmy’s car pull up to the front curb. He hopped out of the car, hopping and skipping, dancing as he dashed up the front walk ahead of the two deliverymen.
Delia couldn’t fathom what was happening. She stood on the front step as Jimmy rushed up to her and gave her a strong bear hug and a warm kiss.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” he said. Jimmy hadn’t been this wound up since their honeymoon five years ago.
“What is going on, Jimmy? Why is there a truck in the driveway? What on earth did you buy?” A sudden horrifying thought sprang in her head: Jimmy bought a pool table!
But the thing the deliverymen lowered off the back of the truck was not a table. It stood upright, maybe seven or eight feet tall, draped in moving blankets.
“Oh come on, Jimmy, what is it?” she asked.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and said, “Just wait for it, Del.” He flashed a toothy grin that went from green to red and back again in the blinking of the holiday lights.
The deliverymen brought it up the walk and negotiated the stairs with professional ease. Once inside, Jimmy moved a small table, took down the Winslow Homer print, and had them place the thing in the vacated space. Delia followed, bewildered. This wasn’t playing out at all as she had hoped.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Jimmy said to the deliverymen. He handed over a couple of bills for a tip. Jimmy then shooed her into the hall.
“Go ahead and take the blankets,” he called back into the living room. “Thank you and have a Merry Christmas!” he said to the men as they left the house.
“Close your eyes, Del.”
He held her hands and walked her into the living room.
“I can’t hide this from you until tomorrow, baby. Merry Christmas, girl. Open your eyes.”
Delia didn’t understand initially. What was this? Then she staggered mouth agape. Jimmy smiling, beaming held her upright.
Standing before her was an enormous, gorgeous mahogany curio cabinet, complete with serpentine glass and a mirrored back and ornate carving.
Delia was crying again. “Oh my, Jimmy, it’s perfect, it’s wonderful.”
“You love it! I knew you would. Now you’ll have a place to show off all of your little what-knots and knick-knacks. A collection should be seen, Del. In style,” he added with another huge hug and kiss.
“Jimmy, I love you,” Delia said sniffing loudly. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she just sold all of her prized collection. She didn’t want to ruin the moment. She would wait. Jimmy could open his present now, too.
“I have my own surprise for you too, sweetness,” Delia said. She pointed to the package under the tree. The gift was indeed perfectly placed. The notes practically leapt off the paper in the lights of the tree.
Jimmy retrieved it, surprised by it’s heft and sat down on the sofa with Delia cuddled in next to him.
“It’s a shame to tear this paper,” he said, but he ripped it open anyway.
He sat completely still, in shock, his hands fallen to the sides of his legs, the Thorens masterpiece of audio engineering sitting in his lap.
Delia couldn’t read his response. “Are you ok? Is it the wrong one?” She began to panic.
“Oh, no, no. It’s absolutely perfect, Del. Absolutely perfect.” He swallowed and licked his suddenly dry lips.
“It’s just that I,” now he faltered. “Del, I, uh.” He took a deep breath and turned to look at her. Their noses almost touched. “I sold my records, baby, to buy the curio cabinet.”
He looked so sad and completely defeated, as if he had failed her in some way.
Delia gave a weak smile as her endless supply of tears continued to stream down her cheeks.
“I sold my knick knacks to buy you this turntable,” she said.
They kissed.
“You know, we’re idiots,” Jimmy said.
“We’re idiots in love,” Delia said.
“It’s a beautiful turntable, Del.”
“We can display it in my curio cabinet, if you’d like.”
“Can I? I’d like that.”
They rubbed noses and smiled at each other.
“You know what I really want for Christmas?”
“No, what is that?”
“Do you remember our honeymoon?”
“Just like it was yesterday.”
“Well, I was thinking…”
They carefully set the turntable on the coffee table.
Then they giggled and kissed some more. Delia had stopped crying.
Then the Grants had a very Merry Christmas.
(with my deepest thanks and apologies to O. Henry)
Monday, November 26, 2007
Toast, don't roast, yourself
There is something that I do a lot. I'm guessing that you do it too, to some extent. I'm talking about having a spontaneous memory. You're not sure what the trigger is, but it pops front and center into your mind.
And it isn't pleasant. In fact, it is usually a memory of when I was deeply embarrassed or exceptionally mean or when I made a foolish choice. These are memories of regrets. Reliving them can really rekindle all the same negative feelings. You think about how stupid you are and how you'll never be able to go back and change it. That mistake, that choice, that behavior is part of you now.
Well, I'm not going to tell you to forget that stuff and forgive yourself. We might get into such weighty subjects at some future date.
Instead I was thinking about our reaction when the opposite happens. I mean when the spontaneous memory is positive. The time you saved someone from hurting themselves or someone else. Or when you came through in the clutch in a game or at work. When you finished that art project. When you successfully installed that shower door. When you felt like a million dollars at that party. When the sunshine and children's giggles make you feel like life is a miracle and you are so glad to be a part of it.
I think these thoughts occur quite often throughout our days. But I don't think that we give them the importance that we give to the negative thoughts. We downplay our good deeds as if we shouldn't feel pride in ourselves. We downplay the good feelings because we think that should be the norm and only negative feelings are the exception.
Most of us are pretty stupid that way. Me included. Sometimes it seems that I would rather dwell and wallow in the bad, that I would rather be cynical and untrusting and doubtful. I don't even want to know why.
I want to focus on (and wallow in, I mean really soak in the hot tub of) good feelings. I would rather be optimistic, upbeat, trusting and hopeful. And when I have one of those spontaneous positive feelings, I'm going to hang on to it and consider it for as long as I can.
And I'm going to feel good about myself and what I can do. I'm going to toast myself and say, "Doug, you're a pretty good guy. I'm glad your here. Keep up the good work."
And as soon as I can get my shoulders loosened from the recent workout, I'm going to pat myself on the back.
Let me know how you would toast yourself. Don't worry about being ironic. Be as cheesy and as Pollyannish as you want. I won't make fun. Because I think you deserve it.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Behind the times: a multi-purpose mixtape post
Amidst all of the physical excitement from yesterday (and due, no doubt to the holiday week) I forgot to update the mixtape. Oops.
We're adding four songs this week:
Jerry Lee Lewis - Great Balls of Fire
Enya - Orinoco Flow
Peter Frampton - Do You Feel Like We Do (live, every mixtape should have a 15 minute song!)
John Denver - The Eagle & the Hawk
Plus, we're going to go ahead and solicit suggestions for the coming week. Please leave your happy songs in the comments. I predict that Monica will be adding the Jonas Brothers this week. I can feel it. I can sense it. Plus, she said she would. I might counter with the Archies just to show her that bubblegum music existed long before she was born.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Secrets to happiness: Secret #13
The most obvious physical not-so-secret secret out there has to be this one, yet most people either don't know it, or they believe that it's only for athletes, or they are really truly concerned with the results. We'll deal with these shortly, but first the secret:
Exercise anaerobically
That means, besides the walking (or other preferred movement) that you should be doing, you need some sort of intense resistance-type training.
This can come in many forms. Weightlifting is very common. If you are a runner, you might try interval training with hard sprints built in to your normal jog/run. For folks just getting started, you might like isometric exercises.
Now, to be sure, I am not a certified fitness expert and I am not a doctor (insert joke about where and when I play one here) and therefore I cannot dispense advice that you should be taking at face value. Before you begin a new program of exercise, you really should visit your doctor to make sure that you can handle it and to understand what is reasonable and safe for you.
There are a couple of big benefits to this type of exercise: you'll be and feel stronger and you'll increase your metabolism (and might actually decrease your appetite.) More details can be found here.
I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking, "Hey, Happy Guy, I don't want to get big like this guy here."
Ok. I can guarantee that will not be a problem. First, this photo has been "enhanced" with the help of a popular software program. Second, bodybuilders are professionals who spend years working out and dieting to build huge muscles and eliminate body fat. It is their job. It isn't yours. You won't look like that, ever. Finally, you are not required to take steroids or growth hormone. You just need to exercise.
You might feel a bit sore after you first begin. You shouldn't feel too sore, though. That is a sure sign you've over done it. This will likely be a problem for you if you are male and under 40 and still believe that your body can do whatever it is you've decided it can do. Heh heh. If this should happen, be sure to rest an extra day or two. No reason to hurt yourself.
After you start though, you should feel immediately stronger. Next thing you know, you're body will act as it's own furnace burning away those extra stored calories you have taken on over time. You'll stand straighter, the backache will disappear and your knees will feel good. You'll be able to do more. You'll be predisposed to feeling good. It'll make you happier.
A quick personal note: Monica and I took Suzzie to have her staples and stitches removed yesterday morning. On the drive home, I stopped at a fitness store and bought an over the door chin up bar. For reasons that I will have to detail later, the garage will not be completed this week. There is a Goldbergian series of things that need to take place in order to move things around to their proper locations. Until those things happen, the garage can't be used as a gym.
So, because I have to do something, I'm doing the next best thing. I'm going to follow this plan from Simplefit for bodyweight exercises. I will be starting at Level 1. Monica will be following the plan with me. This is why I bought the chin bar. If you are interested in doing this, too, I'm logged in there as happyguy. I believe that you can share workout logs and support each other as you go along. Remember, this type of exercise is not a competition.
(Weightlifting, bodybuilding, and powerlifting are the competitive sports that come from lifting weights, but we're not training for those. You could though, if you really like it. Amateurs compete in these sports based on age, sex, and body size. The links provided are to the international governing bodies of the respective sport. Look for "members" or "national federation" links to find your country's governing body. They'll have links to local clubs and competitions.)
So, despite that laundry list of chores that I have to accomplish this weekend, I will be doing the following today:
For 20 minutes count how many sets of the following I can do: 1 pull-up, 2 push-ups, 3 squats. If I go slowly, like the website says to do, then I figure I'll be able to do 15 to 18 sets.
Don't forget to subscribe if you like what you're reading here at the Happiness Notebook.
Let me know about your favorite anaerobic exercises. Also, if you have a site to recommend, please let us know in the comments.
Vacation chores
This isn't my bathroom. You can tell by a handful of clues:
1) the bricks are on the outside of my house
2) we don't have hardwoods in the bathroom
3) that single sink can't accomodate me, let alone Jocelyn
4) lilies on the sink are considered an impractical luxury around here
5) wrong color scheme
6) see that shower door? I haven't installed it yet.
We have an old shower door that I am replacing today. I can hardly wait. The one that I am installing looks a lot like this one, only with nickel edges. And because no one knocks before they walk through any door in this house, we're getting pebbled glass instead of clear.
Among other things on my to-do list:
1) winterize RV (including oil change)
2) assemble fire pit and place pavers on deck for safety (done)
3) fix hinges on "toy" shed doors so that we have an effective, lockable, "bike" shed (done)
4) finish cleaning my part of the closet (not quite done)
5) pick up leaves (not even started...huge job...be sure to "involve" kids so that we have a little qualilty time)
6) supervise handyman (?!?) when he comes over to replace rotted wood in our back door frame (I have neither the desire nor the tools to do this one myself)
7) find time to take the kids out to the driving range and hit a bucket of balls (we gave them their first golfing lessons a few weeks ago and now Monica won't shut up about it...at least the driving range has heated tees)
8) finish cleaning garage so that I can restart a weightlifting program (the essence of futility, but more on that in another post)
9) and unless I forget, I must complete this shower door project today
So, I spent time on these efforts and other little things yesterday and therefore I didn't post. I was somewhat out of it all day, anyway. I can always tell when I'm not completely present when I read posts a few days later.
You know what I would rather be doing today? Making that drive to DC to visit the National Gallery. That's what I would like to do. That and have a best selling novel pop spontaneously out of my head and into a pre-formatted Word document that I could send unsolicited to various agents only to have a bidding war among major publishing houses and studio executives clamoring for the movie rights.
As it is though, I just hope the box that the shower door comes in fits in the back of the mini-van.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving! (in the USA)
It's late. The tryptophan should be kicking in soon. We're tired and stuffed.
Hope you are, too.
I also hope that you took the time to say out loud what you are thankful for this year. And I hope that included good friends and family.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I'll be posting tomorrow with an update on Suzzie and the closet and the garage...er...cleanup. Two "physical" not-so-secret secrets to happiness are going to posted this weekend. Yeah, you should be concerned.
Thank you for reading my writing and special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to comment.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Midweek mixtape review
Four tunes suggested this week:
Enya - Orinoco Flow
John Denver - The Eagle and the Hawk
Jerry Lee Lewis - Great Balls of Fire
Peter Frampton - Do You Feel Like We Do (live version)
Do you like these songs? Do you have any to add to the mixtape this week?
Let us know in the comments.
