Tea with T.

Cannot predict now. Ask again later.

There was a fortune from a cookie taped to my computer monitor that read: Happiness is around the corner and wealth down the street.  It was put there for me to read as inspiration, until it occurred to me, “…is it talking about those things living at someone else’s house?”  Well, there has been a dearth of wealth around here (I’m not whining, I know it’s the same at your house) and that happiness fairy, she visits in spurts, but never stays.  Oh, tiny scrap of paper that I initially thought promised great things, your destiny is the recycling bin.

 

What kind of a fortune was that, anyway?  It can’t just be me, but it seems that some of these fortunes being delivered, as of late, aren’t really fortunes at all.  As my daughter pointed out, they’re more like statements of affirmation.  Teeny declarative rectangles stating, “You have a great disposition!” or “Your smile makes other people smile!”  That’s something your Great Aunt who smells like mothballs might say during a lapse in polite conversation at a dinner she wished she didn’t miss poker night for.  That is NOT fortune cookie verbiage, you people being held hostage in a fortune cookie factory!

 

See, I bought a Magic 8 Ball as a kid because I wanted it to give me answers to the 1001 questions I had about the future (or present moment crushes).  Later on, I found that reading my astrological horoscope as a young adult was akin to emotional meteorology and was necessary to my day (or the week/month/year ahead).  So, I’m more than a bit irritated that my fortune cookies started dispensing Self-Help advice.  My fortune cookie is not supposed to plaster up my self-esteem!  I rely on it to give me something to look forward to.  If I’m going to be hungry in an hour anyway, my equally ravenous soul should at least be compensated with something substantial.  Perhaps “New friends are in your future.” or “Something lost will soon return.”  THAT, right there?  That’s some good fortune cookie material.

 

When you’re young there are teachers and adults around to give you glimpses into your future.  There are more opportunities to hear constructive ideas and positive messages about what might lie ahead.  With youth comes great optimism and, for the most part, upbeat thoughts about the future.  Messages of hope are generally pretty easy to come by (except for that one jerky uncle who assures you, you won’t ever amount to anything.  Don’t worry.  His gallbladder will deal with him later.).

 

You grow up and as life is laid out before you, you don’t have as many Magic 8 Ball reminders of “Outlook good” – life is tough, as my 18 year old found out recently, when money was being siphoned out of her newly acquired checking account, “Being an adult sucks.”  At that point, it’s nice to check in with the local newspaper to discover that “Leos can expect significant advantage in the upcoming year.”  It’s not a promise, but it can brighten your outlook a smidge, even if you don’t put a lot of stock in it.  It takes some of the sting out of being a young adult.

 

Time marches on, and for a lot of folk they don’t realize they’ve gone from optimist, to realist to moseying right into the territory of the pessimists.  Pessimists, I can tell you without a doubt, would never be caught consulting a black and white ball -- filled with a plastic, icosahedral die floating in alcohol with dissolved dark blue die -- for answers. Nor would they rely on a nationally syndicated Astrologer’s column on birth signs as a map to the future.  But, watch ‘em crack open a particularly tasty fortune cookie (Martha Stewart has a killer recipe) while high on MSG and if that sweet bad boy contains a three inch long and half inch wide bright promise for the future?  Well, it has been my experience that anytime you can get a pessimist to simply grin in the present, that’s a good day, and bodes well for the future.  Right?...

 

It is certain. 

It is decidedly so.

Without a doubt.

Yes – definitely.

You may rely on it.

Outlook good.

Signs point to yes.

Yes.  

 

[So says the Magic 8 Ball.]

 

Martha Stewarts Fortune Cookie Recipe: http://www.marthastewart.com/262421/fortune-cookies

It's still Friday, Friday...

It used to be that if you didn’t like something, you got to change the channel or walk away.  Not anymore.  Today’s electronic platforms give everyone a chance to unleash their inner critic.  Harsh, rotten-to-the-core, “bashing as commentary” critiquing skills have become all the rage.  Consider, for example, teenager Rebecca Black, the young lady (some of you have hot sauce in your pantry older than her) who recorded the recent viral sensation “Friday” that was recorded by ARK Music Factory.  No profanity, no nudity and seemingly no animals were harmed during the audio or video taping of her song, yet this innocuous four minute video has received some of the most negative media coverage in history.  Excuse me.  Let me repeat that for those of you who couldn’t hear me: In. History.

 

How could a 13 year old girl become the center of such negative outpouring of emotion?  Branding bunnies?  Hurling bags of flaming fertilizer on the Whitehouse lawn?  Putting tacks on the chairs of underpaid, under appreciated junior high school educators?  No.  Rebecca Black became the poster child of all things dark and evil because of viral music video that has currently received nearly 100 million hits.  Wha?  That’s it?  Oh, I should explain it is because some folks didn’t care for the saturated sounds of Auto-Tune (seriously, someone, please shoot Auto-Tune and put it out of my misery); or despised the lyrics that were considered too silly by some; or simply felt that the overall video was kind of wacky.  Because of a bubblegum pop music video the fresh-scrubbed teen who said she just wants to make music that is “appropriate and clean” has received tens of thousands of nasty comments on YouTube, hate mail and even death threats.  Comments that should have been reserved for more heinous crimes, not the warbling of a girl who is about 5,000 days old who just wants to have fun.

 

It is so easy to tear down.  It is the base form of expression and the one most often used by bullies.  Stand on the playground and point out the shoes you don’t like or the hair that should be curlier or how stoooopid those girls are because they don’t think/act/walk/talk or believe like you.  Put a little effort behind it and you’ll discover how truly difficult it is to try and raise someone up.  Arduous, yes – but in the end, it’s worth it.

 

Don’t misunderstand me, as I think we’re all entitled to our opinions.  You’ll find mine falling out of my head on a regular basis.  So, I’m all about giving props to you if you want to announce to the world that you distrust the artistic intentions of some of the biggest, most philanthropic musicians performing today because of the way they dress or act (“She isn’t called Lady Behave Herself”, as Chris Rock said) or cheer on your favorite sitcom star no matter what crazy antics he chosen to engage in today, Sheening all over himself.  You rock on as you enjoy your very own Thomas Jefferson moment in the sun.  But, if you really don’t like something based on emotion?  You know… pure and simple, by-way-of-your-bile-duct emotion?  Kindly, move on.  Press your lips into tiny little crackers and step away from the keyboard.  You’re only hurting yourself.  And quite possibly the gentle soul of someone who never meant to harm anyone on her way to kickin’ in the front seat, sittin’ in the back seat while figuring out which seat to take.

 

“Public opinion, I am sorry to say, will bear a great deal of nonsense.  There is scarcely any absurdity so gross, whether in religion, politics, science or manner, which it will not bear.”  – Ralph Waldo Emerson.

“Its name is Public Opinion.  It is held in reverence.  It settles everything.  Some think it is the voice of God.”  -- Mark Twain

"...and she'll sing her song to anyone that comes along."  Seven Years by Lee Alexander (sung by Norah Jones)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2LRROpph0,

Autism Awareness Day

The official date for Autism Awareness is April 2^nd.  I don’t need a date on the calendar to make me aware, as EVERY day I see it in the face of my 14 year old son.  Don’t think the irony of the official day being the day after April Fool’s Day is lost on me, either.  As my son drifts in and out of developmental progression and regression, I have learned to always be on my toes, like a nimble court jester, for whatever comes next.  As a parent of an autistic child, you find each day to be the strangest two-steps forward / two-steps back dance you’ve ever done.

 

While the diagnosis of autism and ultimate life commitment to dance alongside the affected person you love may have heartache and missteps as you go, there is also a tremendous amount of joy and laughter along the way, too.  The trick is, to be prepared to swing in a new direction if the music demands.

 

Early on, my son’s inability to communicate (due to language processing difficulties) left him filled with rage, as he lashed out at others and himself.  Self-injurious behavior was a daily occurrence as he banged his head, punched himself or slammed his body into walls and I was called to the elementary school more times than I care to recall if a classmate got in the way.  With time and the onset of language, the rage dissipated and my boy was able to make his desires and frustrations known [and if that isn’t a neon signpost to the rest of us to learn to “use our words” – I don’t know what is].

 

My son’s ability to communicate still isn’t where the world and state academic requirements demand that a 14 year old be.  But, he can still convey thought and emotion with the best of them, usually with a tart twist that is just delicious.  One of my all-time favorite stories involving the filter that my son processes information through is one that his junior high teacher considered an epic fail.  Apparently, when presented with a story that he was supposed to re-tell, he moved on to the next step of the process, completely ignoring the task-at-hand.  It went something like this:

 

“Mary Grace drew a picture of dinosaurs to share with the class which made everyone laugh.  Now, what did I say?”

 

“Maybe if she’d learn to draw better, nobody would make fun of her.”

 

While the teacher was incredibly disappointed at my son’s failure to relay information appropriately, I love the fact that he plowed forward coming to a conclusion that was all his own.  Where she saw the autistic mind moving backward, I saw progression.  My high school Logic & Philosophy teacher probably would’ve loved this kid.  I know I do.

 

This April 2^nd, join me as I raise my mug of tea high in the air to all of the parents, educators, therapists, families and friends who are acutely aware of they dance they do everyday with those they love with autism.  Feel free to cut in at any time and join us, inviting others to do the same.  With awareness, we can partner together to move forward, where autism is concerned.

 

http://www.worldautismawarenessday.org

Words are people, too.

In “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” the patriarch of the family is constantly showing how many words have their basics pulled from ancient Greece, even if he had to go waaay around his elbow to ultimately arrive at this thumb.  Constantly, and sadly without somebody delightfully explaining the etymology, I hear words used in conversation whose roots are firmly planted in ancient Greek or Roman mythology: Flora and fauna are often used to describe the plants and animals of a region; Achilles Heel is tossed about when referring to someone’s greatest weakness and Dionysian best describes a wacky woman my family once knew (okay, still knows – but I really try to do my best to protect the not-so-innocent here).  Of course, I could trot out narcissistic, harpy and nemesis – but I bet you have people of your own you can attach those to.  Why hear about mine? [But, if you send me an email or comment (and pass this along to your friends to do the same)… I’ll consider it my public duty to fill you all in, at some point.]

 

When I worked in television production, our executive producer loved to call almost every task he undertook Sisyphean.  It was one of my all-time favorite words that he used, in particular, because it is the exact opposite of being a sissy.  To refer to a job as Sisyphean means it is seemingly never ending and futile.  Sisyphus was a king condemned to roll a tremendous rock uphill in the afterlife which just kept rolling back down, for him to shove uphill all over again.  Over and over this went for all of eternity.  I can almost hear some of you saying that it is a little like the job you have now.  Well, if you haven’t tried it on before, I’m going to suggest that it might be nicer to refer to your daily duties as Sisyphean rather than the “same old crap.”  Definitely has a nicer, almost regal, ring to it.

 

Another great word floating around out there is Augean.  It has come to mean "extremely difficult and usually distasteful."  So, we can refer to tasks, labor or even clutter as Augean.  The phrase "clean the Augean stable," is usually used when speaking about the need to eliminate corruption, but my favorite use of it is when talking about having to dig into an unpleasant task that is long overdue.  See, Augeas was another king from Greek mythology whose stable held about 3,000 oxen and the darn thing had not been tended to for thirty long years (which makes me feel less guilty about leaving dishes in my sink for the entire day).  Imagine if you will, almost 11,000 days of nasty bovine body waste and you are the unlucky cuss assigned to clean it.  Makes catbox and dog scoopin’ duties pale in comparison, right?  I know, I know.  Groan in unison if you must:  Aw, gee…<n>.

 

It is amazing to me, the incredible power and lyrical beauty of some words.  The longevity is pretty impressive, too.  There are words and phrases still used today that were introduced hundreds and hundreds of years ago.  For example, the adjective lycanthropy originated from Lycaon (another mythological king) around 1575 and from Aphrodite (Goddess of Love that she was) sprang the word aphrodisiac in 1719.  Over the years, I’ve heard a lot of lingo based on people and/or characters (Bogart, Deadhead, Benjamins, Weisenheimer, Monet, etc.) but I’m not convinced about their staying power.  In fact, I wonder how many names from just this last decade will stick around.  Frankly, I’m a bit mystified about how to even fit them into polite conversation myself.  “He tried to be all Tiger about it, but then she got all Snookied up in his Situation making his best friend go totally Kanye which had me Lizzing where I stood.”  Yeah.  I think one has to be completely Bacchanalian and seven sheets to Zephyr to play this game.

 

Speaking of games, would it be too much to ask that celebrities make an effort to name more of their offspring with names that contain Q, Z and more of the X?  After all, they’ve already added some mighty colorful names to future attendance rosters and playground buzz.  Not that I’m asking them to pander [Pandarus – A Lycian archer in the Trojan War] to lil’ ol’ me.   Because it is only going to serve my Scrabble needs if those babies grow up to do something notable (or notorious) for their names to enter the lexicon as adjectives or verbs, but I’m hopeful that way.  If Zuma, Moxie and Harley Quinn could see fit to do some stupendous stuff, like the royals in mythology, or maybe just royally stupid memorable stuff, we could immortalize their names for all time.

 

In the meantime I, for one, will be using the word “Sheening!” to describe all manner of madness these next few weeks.  It won’t give me a #WINNING season at board games, but just the sound of it makes me smile as the man who originated it walks amongst the simple folk, a legend of mythical proportion in his own mind.

Take two aspirin and call me after Valentine's Day

Diana Ross had the goofiest song known to mankind in 1976 called Love Hangover.  As a kid, I had no idea what she was talking about back then, because I was too busy trying to figure out the Rubik’s cube and why anybody would develop such a cheerfully colored torture device (not when you could have a Pet Rock for kicks and grins).  No, love wasn’t high on my list, nor was I high on love back then.

 

Funny how time (and a little attention) can change a thing or two about a person.

  

Valentine’s Day is behind us and looking around I see a mixed bag of “morning after” emotions out there.  Saw a couple of fellows in line at the local coffee shop with telltale signs of a love hangover (empty wallet, red wine headache, etc.), a handful of women at the gas pump woozy from being all hopped up on chocolate for days and others still buzzing from a bliss that may last longer than they originally thought.  Oh, St. Valentine, you sneaky minx.

  

I’ve always felt a bit sorry for Valentine’s Day, as it has sort of been the Justin Bieber of minor holidays.  You know, celebrated by many, ignored by some and downright ridiculed by some of the mean kids on love’s playground.  Over the years, I’ve watched and listened as February 14^th got raked over red-hot coals by folks who had either been burned by loved, ignored by love or just made a choice to be the people passionately goose-stepping to besmirch what they called the crass commercialization of Valentine’s Day.  Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth (or mimeographed copies trolled office hallways, at least) cartoons and drawings were taped to water coolers mocking Cupid’s lousy aim or some other take on last-minute desperation for companionship and free chocolate. 

  

Even when I didn’t have a sweetheart to call my own, I have always enjoyed counting down the days to February 14th, because, the idea of circling a date on the calendar to specifically call attention to love is pretty dang delicious, in my estimation.  But, big deal, if you don’t have romantic love in your life to shine a spotlight on – the heart is capable of all kinds of love that have nothing to do with plunking down a wad of hard-earned cash on long stemmed roses grown in Ecuador to be delivered to Encino.  Strictly romantic love can often be shallow and short-lived anyway, so one should be careful with that.

  

There is enough anti-Valentine’s Day sentiment out there to satisfy the most hard-hearted cynics of romantic love.  Those folks that wag their finger at greeting card companies, for “creating” what they see as a plastic, commercialized holiday have created their own capitalistic answer.  Seriously, go ahead and Google Anti-Valentines and see what they hath wrought.  Stick a pin in your Geoffrey Chaucer voodoo doll, if you must, and leave poor Hallmark alone, because history says that Chaucer’s the guy who first noted the darn day as one for romance in his sentimental poem “Parlement of Foules” written to honor the engagement of a couple of royal teenagers.  And I ask you, who knows more about mad, romantic love (that can last at least a full day) than teens?

 

Romance is nice, but the kind of love that rings my chime loudest is the kind that causes genuine philanthropy to rise up in our soul, calling our attention to the many faces we see in a day.  I am constantly telling my music students that the creation of truly lovely music is a combination of your brain, your heart and your soul.  The brain gives you the ability to figure out what the symbols on the page mean and how to make sounds happen.  Your heart provides the notion of tempo and note value, setting the template for rhythm and duration of the sounds.  But, the piece de resistance – the thing that gives music feeling and depth is the soul, the shading that one brings to the sounds with volume, intensity and character.  Music is not complete without all three elements.  To me, this is how we should walk through our days as we weave in and out among other people, not just using our brains, but implementing our heart and soul, too – to bring feeling and depth to our encounters with others – giving us a greater capacity for love.

 

This morning I read a social network posting of a woman who decided she was going to be proactive this year in her approach to February 14^th.  Rather than continue to view the day with passive, calloused yellowed lenses, she gifted one of the service people she’s seen every day for a year with a candy heart – causing the recipient to smile broadly with genuine love on his face as he exclaimed that nobody had ever given him a Valentine before and how special it made him feel that she’d gone to that trouble.  Trouble?  Really?  It was a small gesture with such tremendous reward.  I believe when all was said and done, it was no trouble at all.

 

Chaucer’s 700 line poem about romantic love on Valentine’s Day ends with the main character “hoping still to learn the thing for which he seeks.”  If nothing else, maybe February 15^th is the day to partake of the proverbial hair-of-the-dog, giving love another chance (in small doses) from this day forward.  Move on from the temporary, romantic notion of love and take a shot at love on a grander scale.  Make February 14^th your goal, not just to celebrate the idea of love for one day, but to mark it as a culmination of a year’s worth of loving kindness.  Then, if someone gives you candy or flowers on Valentine’s Day smile and say, “Thank you.”  You’ve deserved it.

 

“The art of love…is largely the art of persistence.” -- Albert Ellis

I know Jack.

Last night I learned of Jack LaLanne’s passing and thought for sure it would be followed by Mark Twain’s great quote “reports of my death are greatly exaggerated” with Jack raucously laughing in the background, because if ANYbody appreciated a good joke, it was Jack, especially if he was the one telling it.

They say that the 1914 Atlantic hurricane season was the least active on record.  I’m going to say it was simply because Jack was born smack in the middle of it.  Apparently, even nature needed to back off when this human typhoon came into existence.  To be in Jack’s presence was to witness all of the oxygen being sucked into one corner, wherever he was holding court.  With a smile on his face, a song in his heart and a joke on his lips (when he wasn’t singing) Jack LaLanne would leave you breathless, even without making you exercise.

Jack’s anti-sugar stance was legendary (his son Danny and I once laughed to the point of tears about how we both lived in homes where sugar was verboten, but understood the benefit of friends and neighbors as our go-to sources/suppliers for sugared cereals) – but if Jack was against sugar, it could have had something to do with the fact that he was one of the sweetest men ever.  Not an ounce of fat on his lean, well-muscled body but Jack was genuinely sweet to his gooey center.

I would say, “Rest in Peace, Jack” – but I know better.  You’re probably cleaning out heaven’s pantry right now, seeing that they’re sufficiently stocked up on eggs and sushi (and a smidge of red wine), making sure that all of the angels get up off their wings and get going (before dawn, of course)… and, whirling bundle of energy that you are, you’re providing loads of laughter with all that cardio.  If the National Hurricane Center notices an increase of activity this coming year, I won’t be surprised.  Because I know Jack.

Photographic Memories

When I was 18 years old I went to Hawaii and I didn’t take a camera.  My best friend and traveling companion thought I was a lunatic and kept asking (as we passed waterfalls, volcanoes and all varieties of tropical splendor), “How can you not take pictures of this?”  I told her that the photos would pale in comparison to the images in my mind. 

I still feel that way.

Last weekend I received one of the greater gifts of my lifetime, the chance to be one of earth’s wingless angels as I floated above the clouds in a silent glider over California’s lush, green Santa Ynez Valley.  Prior to take-off, while I was buckling into a five-point harness in the cockpit, the wonderful man who’d given me this opportunity asked if I wanted to take his camera with me.  Major brownie points were awarded to him for not thinking I was crazy when I declined, because once again, I said that I was certain the pictures could never live up to the imagery I was about to commit to my memory banks. 

I still feel that way.

While I love to look at videos of events past and I’m very happy to glance through photo albums now and again, it still doesn’t compare to the rich, vibrant colors of the experiences I’ve had and have stored in my mind.  Sure, some pictures manage to pull the occasional hidden recollection out of the cobwebs, bringing into focus details I may have forgotten (or completely missed the first time, truth be told), but I don’t get the pleasure out of photos the way some folks do.  It’s unfortunate, I suppose, but I guess I missed that gene in the sequencing of my make-up.

In the 1970’s there was an educational commercial that stated, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste” and as one whose brain is a self-described shooting gallery (entertaining and something to see, everywhere you look), I have to agree.

When my mother-in-law died, I was present at her passing and all I could think about was how her memories and stories were leaving with her.  All of the colorful history of her life – scenes of her mother playing poker with the landlord for the rent (when he knew full well going into it he’d lose to her); images of her hat-making, larger-than-life sister who towered over her siblings and carried herself with the grace of a movie star; tales of her Boxing Hall of Fame brother with the Jewish star emblazoned on his trunks – gone.  No photographic evidence… just her reminiscing, based on personal visions of once upon a time.

Family friends recently lost a loved one who waged a well-publicized battle with Alzheimer’s disease.  As they watched this great patriarch gradually recess into the shadows of their shared experiences and memories, it reverberated throughout the entire family, deeply affecting all who knew and loved this man.  His daughter, as primary caregiver, had given every ounce of her being to look after her family during the long, slow loss that is Alzheimer’s.  For her sake, I am grateful that there are photographs to ultimately lift the family’s spirits and bear witness to the memories he left behind.  But, my heart hurts for her knowing that her father’s images of an amazing life well-lived faded long ago.

My wish would be that each of us could walk through our days with the thought of taking mental snapshots of all that means something to us.  Greater still, would be the gift of greeting each day with the desire to create memories worthy of the albums in our minds, then taking time to share those wonderful images with those that mean everything to us.

God gave us memories, that we might have roses in December.  -- JM Barrie

For more information, or to donate to the Alzheimer’s Association, please visit www.alz.org

Holidays still to come...

Did you know January is National Soup Month?  And National Oatmeal Month?  Ooh, and Hot Tea Month (though, sadly not National)?  Were you aware that January 2^nd was Run it up the Flagpole and See if Anyone Salutes Day?  No?  Me, either.  But I suspect that one has something to do with having New Year’s Resolutions validated and a full-blown holiday might not be in order for that messy business.

January is a month full of wacky holidays.  I think these days might have been created by folks who really didn’t get enough celebrating under their hats during November and December and required more to do during the long, often cold, month of January.  These are the people who decided that Squirrel Appreciation Day was in order and National Handwriting Day (which I can totally embrace, loving actual written words – not just computer generated ones or ones lost forever once utter over phone lines). 

There is a charming website [www.holidayinsights.com] that is worth sitting down with a cup of tea to scroll through, especially now that the major holiday season is over.  You’ll find that some of the days have no real reason to be called National day-of-anything, as that requires an act of congress to be valid, but they are suggested holidays worthy of taking a peek at.  Some holidays listed can’t even be traced to the original creators, though National Pharmacist Day was surely created by a group of pharmacists or the companies they work for.

While not pining for a reason to clean my carpets and set the good china out anytime soon, I am a woman who can surely suit up and show up for a holiday like Cuddle Up Day, National Hugging Day or Compliment Day.  I can also fully appreciate the idea behind Bubble Bath Day and International Skeptics Day.  In fact, I could positively wax rhapsodic (or excitedly speak of / enthusiastically espouse / jump and cheer) about Thesaurus Day! 

Yes, the holidays are over and everyone I speak to seems to breathe a sigh of relief that the days are behind us.  But, people watcher and story collector that I am, I’m sort of melancholy (there is no official day set aside for that, yet) that the feeling of invitation has fallen to the wayside.  For two months homes and offices were places of open house and large gatherings with warmth, food and frivolity… and now it has come to an end.

Therefore, in addition to some dates you might already have on your calendar, I’m going to encourage you to pencil in some days of observation to celebrate this upcoming year.  For example, I’d like to suggest National Stress Awareness Day (April 16^th – after taxes) and National Hollerin’ Contest Day (you don’t have to travel to Spivey’s Corner, North Carolina the third Saturday in June to celebrate – but I bet you’ll relieve whatever stress you didn’t wipe out back in April). 

We can still find reasons to invite people over, too even if it’s just for cocoa and conversation.  The three day holiday weekend of Martin Luther King, Jr. might be a good time for an informal meal and serious conversation about the things the man stood for, like nonviolent activism, civil rights and what being free means to you.

Heck, even today could be considered a new holiday.  Howzabout we call it “Binary Code Day” and consider it our day to create logical reasons for communication and connection for the rest of this year?  Get out your pencils and start filling in the dates.  We’ve got a whole lotta celebrating to do.  Happy 01/11/11!

New & Improved!

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day… and I’m feeling good.  So ends the song written by Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse from the musical “The Roar of the Greasepaint – the Smell of the Crowd.”  The song has been covered by a number of artists since the 60’s, but this coming year I want to make an effort to be the one singing it every single day.  Of course, it may start off more as an exercise in the fake-it-‘til-you-make-it mode, though I’m optimistic for the future.  Research shows that it takes about 21 days of repetition to change our neural pathways in order to establish a firm foundation for ongoing good habits.  After repeating this song to myself over and over for the next three hundred and sixty-five days I figure at some point I will be eating, sleeping and breathing it.  Come what may this next year, I want to end each day whispering the words, “…and I’m feeling good.”

 Traditionally, the last day of the year has been one set aside for reflection.  Some folks sit down and make lists of resolutions and wishes for the upcoming year.  My friends and I have been no different.  Many a December, we’ve sat discussing the multitude of ways to shoot for self improvement in the year to come.  We’d talk about better diets, how to purge bad habits (or toxic relationships), present ideas for new and improved strategies when dealing with complicated personalities in the way of bosses, spouses, in-laws, etc. – all the chips would be tossed on the table and we would walk each other through the proposed process for progress in all areas.  Good ol’ pie-in-the-sky planning.  Some of my best table-time with friends has included this kind of conversation, solving the problems of the world (or at least the ones at the end of somebody else’s nose). 

 Staring at my shiny, new unwritten datebook (paper memory) for this coming year I am thinking that having friends and loved ones at the ready for the days ahead is going to be incredibly helpful.  Because it is always easier to objectively sift through somebody else’s “Garbage vs. Recyclable” pile.  Staring day in and day out at my own heaps of stuff can be overwhelming and it hasn’t always been easy to sort through, in fact sometimes it is nearly impossible to determine the good from the bad when you’re sitting squarely in the middle of it.  At least, that’s been my experience.

To exchange good habits for bad, it has been proven that more people would be successful if they had a support system in place to so.  A study done at the University of Hertforshire showed that people who made a two-week resolution (the lifespan of most New Year’s resolutions, so they say) and relied solely on their own willpower failed even before the half-way mark.  Those who shared their plans with family and friends were far more likely to succeed.  In addition to having support, the study also showed that failure was less likely when folks didn’t try to “do too much too soon”.    Baby steps, moderation and all that jazz.  Didn’t our grandparents always swear that was the only way to go? 

Year after year, surveys show that the most popular New Year’s resolutions include:

 

• Get a better job/education
• Get physically fit/Lose weight
• Manage debt/Save money
• Manage stress
• Quit smoking
• Drink less
• Reduce, Reuse, Recycle/Be greener
• Take a trip
• Volunteer to help others

 

Looking over the list, I can see how the two week success rate isn’t very promising.  Some of those goals are pretty daunting and should probably not be attempted alone.  Except for that last one – volunteering to help others.  If you find yourself lacking your own support system, then I’m going to suggest you roll your sleeves up and visit a center, shelter or clinic and ask where you could be of service.  You’ll be amazed at the people you’ll meet and how you just might find your own support while providing it to others. 

There are no secrets to how to create a most successful and gratifying new year (though the publishing industry is chockablock with attempts), but one of the key ingredients seems to be people, kind and supportive people in our corner cheering us on to greatness (or at least another .5 mi. on the treadmill).  Join me, as I put that as item #1 on my list: “Gather friends” – and pick the phrase that is going to help you through.  Check in with me next year and we’ll see if we can’t agree that, despite everything… we’re feeling good.

Wishing a very Happy New Year to you and yours. 

xo – t.

The Mistletoe Mission

Lovely, lovely mistletoe.  A seemingly innocuous bit of foliage that people hang over doorways at Christmastime, in an effort to put to work the proposed magical properties to encourage holiday kissing.  Mistletoe is an odd little hemi-parasitic plant that grows attached to and within the branches of trees or shrubs.  Left uncontrolled it can end up damaging or even killing the host tree it lives on.  Talk about your nasty co-dependent love affair.  Ironically, mistletoe is a poisonous plant that if ingested can cause acute gastrointestinal problems which can include stomach problems, diarrhea and a dangerously low pulse.  Wow.  The rush of love can be an awful lot like that, but with an increased heart rate.

The etymology of the word mistletoe is believed to be related to two combined ancient words for dung and branch, since it can be spread in the feces of birds moving from tree to tree.  I’m not sure who the cynic was on that panel, but I could see where a soured love affair could lead someone to make that connection.

Ancient Celts hung mistletoe over the doors of their homes, believing that the sacred nature of the plant meant that fighting was prohibited beneath it.  Over time, it became tradition that any couple pausing under a sprig of mistletoe must kiss (many cultures take credit for this because, thank goodness, apparently kissing is a universal theme).  One story goes that for every girl kissed under the mistletoe, one of the white berries from the plant must be plucked.  When the berries are all gone, the kissin’ has to stop.  Oh, like that would be a powerful enough deterrent for some.  Of us.

Imagine, a world with more customs like this, where you’d have a duty to be loving and affectionate to those nearby.  Be still my beating heart.  Why are there not other requirements in this vein?  I don’t know how you get that job, but I think I’d like to be on the board that makes up that handbook.  This book would ultimately be filled with guidelines on the When and Where, with the Who and How being left to card-carrying members of the club.

This handbook would have many sections to choose from including location, occasions, calendar dates, politics and transportation (bussing, get it?!) to name a few.  With items like:

• Any couple stuck in traffic under a freeway overpass at corresponding clock numbers (10:10, 11:11, etc.) have to kiss. 
• Couples who miss a train/bus/taxi having to wait for the next vehicle have to hug until the next vehicle arrives (unless packages and luggage are involved, leaning on one another will do).
• Each and every full moon requires a minimum of hands being held near any object or location of beauty (Half Dome, Grand Canyon, waterfalls, etc. – and the person you’re with does not count as the thing of beauty, no matter how gorgeous they are.  We do have rules).
• If nature gives you a show (rainbows, first snow, tropical squall, etc.) show your appreciation.  Kisses are in order.
• Every morning must begin with a hug or kiss (complimented by a warm and toasty beverage gets you additional brownie points.  I suggest you go for it).

So, listen up.  This entire project is going to require many volunteers to participate in the collection of instructions and guidelines, but more importantly – I’m going to need you to set an example.  Starting today.  And that mistletoe business is as good a place as any to start.

Merry Christmas to all and… the good night is up to you.

xo – t.