Oh Happy Day 051410: Rabbit Trails

Little Drummer Boy and I saw this little long-eared guy in the driveway this week. We’ve been spying him around the neighborhood for several weeks, particularly in the side lawn across the street. When we saw him hop across the concrete, we were glued to the living room glass. I scrambled to get the camera and to keep LDB from bounding out the door to get closer to him. Without any startling movements from us, the rabbit munched for a few minutes on our grass and the dandelions. Then, he hopped to the neighbor’s yard and out of site. Little Drummer Boy raced to the porch to see him again, but he was gone. I’ve been thinking about the little guy ever since.

In trying to narrow down this week’s Oh Happy Day gratitude project report, my mind keeps wandering back to the bunny on the lawn. For some reason, getting to see something so common, but so special, in our own front yard stuck with me. He’s inserted himself into my week quite often. So, I suppose I’m thankful for him and some of the random thoughts he’s inspired–gratitude gifts from the rabbit in our driveway.

I’m thankful for large lots. At least the lots of the houses around our neighborhood. It’s so nice to see green space and the life it inspires and attracts. Spring settles in with a renewed awareness and interest in this greenscape–the buds and blossoming it produces. That life is often contagious. Something about the living relief from pavement and hard edges brings relief to my spirit, a raveling of the edges that may have hardened in my thinking.

I’m thankful for nature’s playfulness displayed right in my own front yard. The newness and continued thriving–the hopping–of bunnies right before my eyes is a welcomed sight. It mimics the jumping and hopping and running so often displayed within my walls and in virtually every available outdoor space as well. It’s a joy to take our cues from the random acts of nature’s flora and fauna and just play. Without wondering why. Without keeping time. Without knowing the score.

I’m thankful for green pastures. They get a bad rep sometimes, but I’m thankful for the ability to see greener pastures. Who knows why the rabbit crossed the road? Why he crossed the concrete to choose one patch of grass over another? But, I’m all for recognizing the difference between green pastures and concrete. A conversation with a friend a few weeks ago reminded me that we sometimes have to discipline ourselves to value the greener pasture, to strive for the higher ground, to seek the better options. Especially when we’ve learned to subsist in the pavement.

I’m thankful for chasing. Little Drummer Boy’s urge to fling open the door and swing back the screen to chase after this wonderful rabbit was automatic. He does it with birds. He does it with dandelion parts. He and Bug and Baby Girl so easily follow after the spectacular. They haven’t learned to restrain themselves or limit themselves or question it. They haven’t learned to worry that they might scare it away. I so envy that full-hearted chase at times.

I’m thankful for weeds. For all their prolificness, they are at least a sign of fertile ground. The rest is all in the cultivating.

I’m thankful for zoom. With the help of technology, I was able to stand in the living room and get a close-up view (and memory) of the bunny gracing us with his presence. It was a perspective I couldn’t have gotten otherwise. There is a similar refreshing opportunity when we choose to reduce the distance between our hearts and the things and people that matter to us. It’s sometimes a scary process, but a special blessing to draw closer. To adjust our focus and see with fresher eyes the situations that are causing frustration or creating impatience. To look past what is meaningless or distracting. To choose to embrace what we love. To choose to lay aside what holds us back.

Oh Happy Day 050710: A Time Piece

Hello, Friday! It’s the day that marks the end of the work week and the beginning of the weekend (at least it does for me at about 5:30pm CST.) For the latest installment of my Oh Happy Day! Gratitude Project, I’ve been thinking about marking time.

Last weekend, I took three watches to the store to install new batteries. I kept forgetting the task for several weeks, and each day at work I’ve been completely lost without the wrist-bound vehicle for marking time. I found myself glancing to the upper right corner of Kermit (my trusty laptop, for the unindoctrinated) repeatedly throughout the days just to orient myself. It’s interesting how much we come to incorporate that simple task into our daily routine. There is something special about keeping time, about acknowledging its passage. It orients us. It gives us context. And, although it may appear to speed up or slow down depending on our activities, it’s very consistency puts our own context in parallel with the rest of the world’s.

So, I have three watches. Two of them have been without batteries for a while and lost to me because of my annoying tendency to procrastinate. (Evidence that time and I need to come to an understanding, I know. But, that’s another post.) When the third battery wound to a complete halt, it served as my motivation to act–a few weeks later of course. Sigh. One watch is a quirky Minnie Mouse version I purchased during my first summer living in Las Vegas, NV back in the day. Minnie is sporting her typical babydoll dress and flirtatious pose in silver on a plain black background. The glass of the face is faceted to provide just enough sparkle as the light hits both to make me smile and to hinder my ability to focus on Minnie’s big hand all at the same time. My second watch was a gift from my Mom and Dad for my 30th birthday. It’s a demure and very professional-looking black leather and silver Ann Klein version with no numbers and a slight pin-stripe face. The watch that broke the camel’s back (so to speak) is a lovely Swiss Army Victorinox stainless steel linked variety that the Queen gave me in celebration of my 10-year anniversary at the day job. We often choose carefully–and people choose carefully for us–the instruments for marking our time.

It’s been an eventful week in my relationship with time. You may have read in the essays about birthdays and anniversaries I’ve been celebrating. Topping my gratitude list, I’ve been thankful for the joy of keeping time, of marking events in celebration. I’m realizing that time is celebration-worthy. So often in our striving to mark it this way or that way, we think of time as our enemy, and the keeping of it as a cumberson task that reminds us of how little we’ve done or how little of it we have remaining. We hate waiting. We resist moving forward. We’re disgruntled with looking back. We’re intimidated by looking ahead. We are even dissatisfied with this moment. With every passing day I mark, I want to resist this notion.

There is something very God-inspired about keeping time. The Bible’s account of Creation draws our attention to it with every action. “There was evening and there was morning, one day.” “There was evening and there was morning, a second day.” And so it goes. In the inception of time, the marking of it began. The commemoration of evening and morning. The capping off of one time period to usher in the next. The acknowledgement of time’s passage was ingrained from those very first moments.

Having just celebrated my first-born’s fifth birthday, the 2-year anniversary of EyeJunkie and a hundred other significant and more ordinary occurences evident in the passage of time, I find I’m grateful for the sheer joy of marking it. The joy of remembering, of remembering milestones. The joy of evaluating, of finding the value from seasons. The joy of even having time, of experiencing this life in sequence. The joy of celebrating time spent, invested. Together and apart. This marking defines a thousand starting points and perhaps just as many ending points and all the markers along the way. The counting down of hours and the counting up of years.

It’s true that this moment is all we have. We have memories, both bitter and sweet, of time passed. We have hopes and dreams of the time ahead of us. But, we are living THIS moment. If there is anything to be gained from the celebration of milestones, the marking of important events and significant (or even just regular) time periods, it is that this moment deserves an audience.

So, today, I’m sitting with attention. I’m moved by the action in front of me. I’m standing in an ovation. I’m offering applause. I’m so grateful to have put THIS moment on my calendar.

Oh Happy Day!

Oh Happy Day 043010: Lunch Hour

It’s Friday again! It’s the day I’ve set aside for my little gratitude blogging experiment — the Oh Happy Day! project. It’s my version of “TGIF” with the literal “thanking” thrown in. I try to pull at least one thing from the week for which I am thankful as a way of re-focusing my attention on the blessings of life and love and time. Honestly, it usually works. Gratitude is funny that way. (And, yes, I’m a bit sporadic about the project like I am with everything else. But, I know you’ve grown to accept my Junkie ways.)

This week, it was easy to decide my most gratitude-inducing experience. It was obvious the moment it occurred. Not every week is like that. Sometimes that choice is a bigger stretch. Sometimes there are so many things to be thankful for that it’s hard to choose one to act as Junkie subject matter. Sometimes, my vision is clouded, and I can hardly recognize even one of those blessings to inspire my writing (and thankful heart). This week started out in a move toward the latter. I began Monday tired and frustrated from some events of the prior weekend. A busy schedule and a full immersion in my own overthinking tendencies compounded my anticipation of a “difficult” week. Annoyingly, the mopes just tend to multiply, pushing gratitude further and further from my mind.

Then yesterday rolled around. It was the peak of my frustration, the final lap of my racing thoughts, the tipping point of my emotional balance. Lunch hour to the rescue! I opted for the local deli not far from my office and an outdoor table. Nothing adjusts the attitude like lunch outdoors. I ordered the usual… a cup of chili with crackes and a large sweet tea. This time I also got one of those giant sugar cookies simply because I was at the aforementioned peak. I sat down and was able to look around me. Outside. Outside of me. I felt the temperature of an unusually cool Spring day in April. I stopped taking my own temperature for a moment. I made notes in my journal about new blog posts and work promotions. I took note of something besides my own frustrations. I enjoyed a phone call from a friend, and I listened to a voice outside the one in my own head. Sitting there in my blazer and heels, trying to keep the napkins from littering the parking lot, I actually felt the wind on my face. I actually noticed for the first time that day that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a breath of fresh air, literally and for my spirit. It was beanless chili with just the right amount of spice for my body, but it was food for my soul.

It always amazes me how a little thing can shift perspective. How a simple and mundane action can alter so many things when we choose to pay attention to it. I guess that’s why I write about it so much. Sometimes the daily things we do a thousand times are just the needed reminder that life is big and small all at the same time. Having lunch outdoors at the deli on Thursday–something I do quite often–turned me around with its sheer simplicity. Simple words. Simple tastes. Simple light. Simple sweetness. Simple deep breaths. Simple pleasures. It shifted me outside myself. And, that’s a good thing.

Thursday’s midday experience made me think of the other spectacular “power” lunches I’ve had this week–the ones that were lost in my internal involvement… Monday’s unexpected sandwiches with my Mom and Dad, Tuesday’s quesadilla with the Queen featuring project planning and sage advice, Wednesday’s enjoyment of leftover taco fixings at my desk catching up with cyberspace.

This  morning, I got the call. It was one of the girls from downstairs in our office inquiring about lunch. We call it “Friday Lunch,” and it’s become a tradition around here for whoever wants to join in. (I’m posting about it today in Quack! the other blog I write for the day job.) We decided on our chosen local carryout by the typical process of elimination and deferring of judgement. We sit to eat together. It has power. And, I enjoyed it.

This week, I’m thankful for lunch. Oh Happy Day!

Oh Happy Day 041610: Glass

Hello Friday!

My office is on the second floor of our building in the Starkville Industrial Park, and I have a window that faces the north side. I regularly enjoy the decision the Queen made to let the crape myrtle trees next to the building follow nature’s course and grow to their hearts’ content rather than chopping them off at the fork in the branches (read metaphorical knees) like some poor myrtles endure. This particular landscaping technique (letting them grow) has often afforded me a wonderful view out of my window despite the standard pre-fab metal-sided glimpse of our industrial neighbors. “My” crape myrtle has been home to several bird families over the years. It’s offered beautiful blooms interspersed with blue sky on summer days. It’s displayed the waning colors of fall among bare branches and revealed the new growth of Spring. Right there on the other side of the glass, it’s given me a walk through the park in the middle of industrial manufacturing central. It makes me smile.

However, this week it’s brought me a touch of jaw-dropping surprise and just a smidgen of annoyance. This week I (and my crape myrtle) have been visited by a very persistent bird. And, frankly, he (and I’m assuming he’s a he) seems to be highly ticked off. At me? I don’t really know. Sometimes it seems like it. But, maybe that’s presumptuous and possibly a bit delusional.

Maybe he (and I’m assuming he’s a he) thought he saw a hot little birdie mama in the glass reflection he’d like to build a nest with among the newly sprouted crape myrtle leaves. Maybe he thought he saw another available boy bird honing in on his crape myrtle territory. Maybe it was seeing the great beyond through the slivers of light at the other end of our building. Maybe the very existence of the glass itself just ticked him off. Maybe that transparent, but obviously apparent boundary just pushed his buttons. I don’t really know.

Here’s what I do know. He had his eye on me. He scoped out the glass. He flapped his wings with everything he had. He moved back and forth from side to side right in front of the window without ever touching it. That’s the part that brought the jaw-dropping surprise. He opened his tiny beak. And he SANG. Repeatedly. Persistently. LOUDLY. Much more loudly than expected from such a tiny beak, from such a tiny bird. So much so that it got his little feathers all ruffled. And, although that’s the part that brought me the smidgen of annoyance given the disruption to my thought process it produced, it’s also the part that I really sort of respect. What a bird!

He walked flew right up to that glass wall–the one that caused him doubt and fear and maybe anger. He did what any self-respecting bird does best. Intimidated or confused or not, he sang the loudest and most defiant song he could muster. It got MY attention. He hauled off and sang. He showed me.

And he did. Show me.

Fresh on the heels of nature’s little object lesson, the report for today’s Oh Happy Day! gratitude project has me thinking about boundaries. And about singing. And, oddly, about how grateful I am for both. We all have boundaries whether internal or external. The boundaries make themselves most apparent in times of transition. When we contemplate change–a change in perspective, in thinking, in lifestyle, in action–sometimes all we can see are the boundaries. Within those walls, we feel our own limitations. It’s easy to lose our vision, our gumption, our selves there.

Yet, if we look carefully, most boundaries are glass. Humans have the unique capacity to see the transparency and the transiency of limits. God designed us with the ability to hope, to imagine, to see beyond, to see through.  And, whatever real or imagined situation we see through that looking glass, we can glean new perspective and new courage to push against those limitations–to alter and expand the space in which we live and move and breathe. Whether through the time-tested promises of faith and hope found in the Bible, or the caring words of others that often shift our perspective, or our own sheer defiance of a particular situation, we can haul off and sing. We can sing the loudest and most persistent song we’ve ever sung. We can push through a week with a sick and crying Baby Girl in need of Mommy’s care. We can juggle and act based on our own priorities, rather than those of the world around us. We can bend a creative block and make it produce something fresh and timely. We can change a situation that has caused us pain for too long. We can learn to do something new. We can choose to do what brings us joy. We can say “no.” We can say “yes.” We can say “enough.” We can say “more.” We can sing. Out loud.

This week I’m thankful for the singing lessons of that little bird. I’m thankful for the songs of faith and of faithful friends and family I’ve heard this week. I’m thankful for boundaries. And for recognizing their transparency. I’m thankful for the ability to sing.

Oh Happy Day!

Oh Happy Day 032610: “Prizes”

“Mommy, I have a ‘prize for you.”

Spoken with a gleam in his eye and hands concealed behind his back, trying to balance his “prize” with a juicy cup and several beloved stuffed friends, Squiggle Bug took obvious pleasure in saying it. Let me tell you. There is no pleasure quite as obvious as 3yo pleasure. And, although he couldn’t quite articulate the SURprise, I was all too happy to be surprised nonetheless.

Every day this week, my boys have commited themselves to offering Mommy an unsolicited “surprise” at the end of each work day. The Bradford Pear tree I mentioned last week is still in full bloom next to our driveway, and it has limbs just low enough for Little Drummer Boy and Bug to break off a small cluster on their way to the door after we get home. Although I know what the “prize” is every time, I still give them each a hug and a kiss and a surprised “oh I love it” before putting the current fruit of our “flower tree” into one of several vases on my kitchen window sill.

It’s Friday again, and I’ve neglected the Junkie this week in favor of a busy work schedule. But, with the daily “prizes” of the week fresh on my mind, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to give credence to a thankful heart once again in an Oh Happy Day! gratitude posting. This week, I’m grateful for “prizes,” those unexpected pleasures that have come my way–the serendipity of surprising words, surprising accomplishments, surprising glimpses and surprising gifts. I’ve noticed how powerful those unexpected moments of crystal clarity can be, the moments when we recognize and embrace the value found in little things. The “prizes” of the week have reminded me that what may seem small and insignificant to one person, can grow and expand into something so much bigger for someone else. The insignificant can become significant in the right place, at the right time. The “off-the-cuff” can become “right-on-target” in the right place, at the right time. The simple gesture can become empowering in the right place, at the right time. It makes me think about what I’m doing a little more carefully. It makes me think about my own definitions of “small” and “big.” It makes me want to do and say the little things, just in case they might grow in the right heart, in the right place, at the right time.

The week’s lessons in the art of surprises:

Exhibit A: Surprising Looks. The proud faces of my boys as they prepared to hand over their treasured “prizes” was an unexpected pleasure this week that I took the time to enjoy. And, truth be told; I was kicking myself for the number of times I KNOW I have overlooked those precious expressions, distracted by some seemingly more important notion. Their smiles offered me a surprising glimpse into the unencumbered joy of giving, the joy of accepting, the joy of being affirmed and affirming.

Exhibit B: Surprising Words. I was the recipient of some unexpected, but much-appreciated compliments this week. Someone I value and admire offered some positive feedback on this blog and on some of the day job endeavors in which I’m currently engaged. It’s interesting how those surprising words gave me a new drive toward creativity, a renewed motivation to measure myself and my endeavors in terms of quality rather than quantity.

Exhibit C: A Surprising Fit. I’m just a girl at heart. Still. And, in specific, I’m a girl who had three babies in four years. This week, I pulled out a nice Eddie Bauer jumper dress–a lovely and polished outfit that I honestly hadn’t worn since sometime before I was pregnant with Baby Girl, maybe even Bug. It fit! It looked good on me. It made me feel like I could take on the world. And, in some ways, it empowered me to take on my little world in a new way. I know my male readers out there don’t get this one. But, we all have hidden confidence benchmarks. Sometimes for women it involves a pair of blue jeans or a nice grey pinstripe jumper with a pair of 3″ black boots. Just sayin.

Exhibit D: Surprising Freedom. This week I acted on something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. The details would bore you, but suffice it to say that it was a simple act that allowed me to feel like I was taking better control of myself and taking ownership of some of my own decisions. Following through on intentions brings with it an unexpected freedom–the freedom to act, the freedom to be deliberate, the freedom to move forward with new things. The impact of just one small act really surprised me.

When I go home in a few minutes, I’m sure LDB and Bug will gather their “prizes” again. They’ll struggle with hiding them while holding on to all their own personal treasures. They’ll smile and hand them over with pride in their eyes. They’ll follow me to the kitchen and watch me add them to the vases. Then, they’ll go on about their movie-watching and car chasing, satisfied with themselves. And, I’ll smile again. The Bradford has mostly leafed out with tiny bright green growth now. The leaves are inhabiting the same branches as the flowers and will soon push them out. Already, any decent gust of wind or drizzle of rain sends down showers of the white petals. The time for “flower trees” is almost gone. For the boys, it will give way to more outside time, rock collections harbored away in their pockets, dirty jeans and skinned knees. Their surprises will probably shift to something like interesting sticks or colorful rocks or slimy green lizards. And, I’ll gladly take them with a smile (even the lizards), but I won’t soon forget these blossomy “prizes.” Or the Exhibits of the week.

Oh Happy Day!