Category Archives: Happiness

Splendid

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Photo: Two LipsI am loved. Among my greatest sources of affection and sweetness, I treasure having been loved for the past nineteen and a half years by the wonderful partner who is my best friend, a truly marvelous everyday companion whose company continues to be a pleasure, and just plain a good human being. Today, I celebrate having been married to this splendid person for nineteen years. I don’t know why the universe has conferred such largess upon me. I am merely grateful beyond words, and don’t choose to look too closely into the whys and wherefores of my giftedness in this regard lest the bubble burst.Photo: Light-Hearted

Today, I am more contented, happy, and hopeful than I could have imagined possible two decades ago, and the more so because I know that as long as we’re both around to keep marking anniversaries of our marriage I will continue to be so loved, so blessed. Beloved, I wish you as much joy as your heart can hold. Being with you is, for me, the very definition of splendid.Photo: Splendid

My Word on It

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Photo: Early MusicBEMF. Road trip. Wedding. Dad’s Day. Arguments. Home. Adventures. “I love you.”

What do they all have in common? One word.

Family.

I’ll bet you were going for: Love. And of course, you would also be correct, because that’s the very definition of family for me, as you well know. It’s not biology; it’s not pedigree and legal contracts and historical ties. It’s love. And love is not, for me, dependent on any of the aforementioned characteristics and descriptors, though it may—and I hope it does—have a close relationship with them more often than not. It’s respect and trust, support and kindness, even in the middle of stress and disagreement, illness, injury, confusion, and chaos. I am so very, very fortunate and blessed and grateful to find myself in the midst of an extraordinarily big, rich family network that comprises biological and legal relatives, yes, but also much more than that: a wide range of dear friends and comrades who are more than mere acquaintances or colleagues can ever be, each one tying me further to the next.

BEMF [the Boston Early Music Festival] was the beginning of the most recent two-week series of family events for me and, as in my previous times there, a joy from start to finish. As an arts event, it has very few peers in the world, being a week-long gathering of superb artists and dedicated audiences who converge for the love and celebration of Early Music and all of its many concomitant delights and beauties, all in a magnificent city. This biennial visit was a typically lovely one, starting with the gathering of our Early Music family from around the continent and overseas, especially the wonderful singers, players, producers, conductors, and other aficionados of the genre; they hailed from the university where my spouse works, well-loved Canadian spots, and many of the states and companies in which we have connected with such marvelous people. On arrival in Boston, we settled into our rented digs with a pair of our dear adopted kin and began the week with the rehearsal and performance of the university’s Collegium Singers and Baroque Orchestra friend-colleague crew whose concert was the impetus for the BEMF visit. And a wonderfully successful one, at that.

What followed was a week packed with beautiful music of all kinds set into the interstices between superb performances of the trilogy of Monteverdi operas and his 1610 Vespers, one of the most significant and exquisite foundational parts of the whole Early Music oeuvre and experience. The weather treated us all remarkably kindly, the food was as always inviting, varied, and delicious, and the historic and aesthetic pleasures of the city and immediate area renewed my love of being a happy observer and tourist there.

Next came renting a car and road-tripping to the Maine and Connecticut coasts, places I’d never been before and my partner, not in many years. Wandering gorgeous little towns and seaside regions like Brunswick and Bowdoinham, Maine, and Stonington and Mystic, Connecticut, and all sorts of big and little cities and towns around them with little specific agenda other than the rooting out of great seafood and scenery (more about both will surely follow here in many posts to come) was great post school year stress relief and entertainment in large measures. Spending time simply meandering in the wonders of the American northeast with my beloved, even better. A great time to reinforce why I love the guy so much and feel immeasurably blessed to live with him for the long run.Photo: Traffic Jam

Was there stormy weather and bad traffic in our two-week outing? Yes, both real and metaphorical. Nature dictates the occurrence of these things around us, and human nature, within us. We’re all designed to need rebooting from time to time, if not a good boot in the booty. Just before heading home after the whole two-week extravaganza of beauty, wonder, love, happiness, and unbelievably good things, I got into an argument with my most beloved spouse—really angrily, ridiculously angrily. Over absolutely nothing. We were both very tired, at the end of a whole school year of huge commitments and busyness plus two weeks of (great and glorious fun notwithstanding) travel and social events and the demands inherent in both, and knowing we’d come home to huge lists of chores and catch-up tasks for both of us.

I’m not lying when I say we are not a fighting couple. But we do disagree, and frequently. One friend cheerily calls us the Bickersons for our style of daily communication, and I’m sure is not entirely feigning his worry that we’re going to don boxing gloves and just duke it out any minute, being an equally balanced pair of supremely stubborn and finicky people. Most of the time we equably agree-to-disagree, because what we do argue about is virtually always, as in the above case, nothing. Often, it’s mere semantics, each of us saying pretty much exactly what the other is saying but in such different personal language that it sounds like we’re worlds apart, and when we really are on different pages, it’s not about anything crucial to the foundations of our marriage. We share our core values, no matter how the day is going.

So by the end of the hour yesterday, tempers cooled down, and by today, I was firmly reminded that I would do well to keep my trap shut long enough to realize how petty and pointless the disagreement is before wasting any energy on arguing a non-point. I never feared that we didn’t still love each other or that a grave emergency was going to occur if he didn’t see the light and agree with me forthwith, but you’d not have guessed that from the way I was talking. How silly of me, and how pointlessly rude. How sorry I am.

I’ll at least give myself the concession that this is how things go sometimes with those we love the most, our family. We put on the proverbial boxing gloves because we love and care too much to just stomp off into the sunset and never get back to I’m Sorry and I Love You. It hurts, yes it does, to argue, and perhaps the more so pointedly when I know in my heart it’s over something idiotic and meaningless, but I suppose it’s far preferable to not having enough passion to vent and relent.

This misadventure was followed by not only reconciliation but remembering that it was, of all things, Father’s Day. We weren’t in one place (with cell reception, anyhow) long enough to call our two fabulous dads right on the day and give them the fervently felt thanks and love they deserved on the occasion—though, arguably (no pun intended), we could have made a pretty quick call to at least one in the time we wasted arguing. Being longtime family members of the truest sort, Dad W and Dad S will undoubtedly forgive our tardiness and just be glad we get around to calling tonight with belated greetings for the occasion. They are both past-masters at the whole Real Love thing, anyway.

Which brings me back into the middle of the story. I haven’t forgotten that way back in the first line of this post I mentioned a wedding. It was the excuse for our road trip after leaving Boston…why fly home to Texas and then back north within a week if a week’s holiday in between beckons? It was also, and no surprise, one of the clear and dazzling highlights of the whole fortnight’s expedition. Two other dear members of our extended family (both former students of my spouse’s) now uniting in the contract of marriage, in a fairytale sort of wedding held in the bride’s parents’ garden where the long threatening rain consented to abeyance, not because to do otherwise would have been a crime against the sweetness of the day but because it was probably more appropriate that the tears being shed were all joyful ones by various members of the wedding party and fond attendees.

There was visual gorgeousness throughout, just as with last year’s wedding of another such pair of adopted-kin sweethearts that took us to Puerto Rico, and as in that instance, also perfectly thought out and enacted to fit and represent the couple in question. The settings were spectacularly prepared, music exquisitely performed by musicians near and dear to the marrying couples, the wedding parties looking like some kind of ethereal Hollywood-designer versions of how wedding parties usually look, and the after-parties a couple of ones guaranteed to be recounted for ages by everyone who attended. And the friend who performed the marriage ceremony for this week’s bride and groom, for whom I am told this was her first such duty, spoke simply and eloquently in the most appropriate of ways for the occasion.

The centerpiece of her brief address of the bride and groom was recognizing their deep and remarkable commitment to family. To the community of care and comfort and love found in people who have chosen each other and stand together willingly, if not willfully, through thick and thin. Those present on the day were a clear part and example of this way of life. And it was impossible not to respond in kind, to acknowledge the connection and delight in it, and promise together to continue to seek it out.

I promise. You have my word on it. That word, you know—Family.Photo: The Family Dance

Too Much of a Good Thing is a Good Start

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Mixed media artwork: Everything but the Kitchen SinkI’ve mentioned before that I follow in my esteemed father’s footsteps when it comes to his motto that ‘anything worth doing is worth overdoing’; my approach to many ideas and creative processes tends toward the Baroque, if not the Rococo. It’s not that I adhere to the design precepts and concepts of either of those eras, but I do have leanings that reflect their love of what others might easily consider excess. It’s one of the reasons I so often end up working in mixed media—combining a variety of seemingly unrelated elements into my works enables me to take advantage of the strengths of each while not laboring overmuch to accomplish a number of disparate ends with the same piece.

It’s also a reason I get pleasure out of making found-object artworks. There’s a lot of both fun and challenge in working to see the possible relationships, whether visual, conceptual, or metaphorical between all of the parts I’m using and figuring out how to showcase those ideas by the way I combine the multitude of bits and bobs. Old or familiar objects, put into unexpected juxtaposition, can take on new meaning or bring surprising revelations of their possible connection and mutual influence when my proposed paradigm shift begins to provoke any change in a viewer’s expectations and experiences. But it’s not necessary to alter anybody’s thinking very radically to make these kinds of artworks fun, provocative, and entertaining to make, anyhow. So I just throw everything but the kitchen sink at the project of the moment and see what the combination inspires in me.

Looking for analogues in the world that make fitting ‘ingredients’ for mixed media art and found-object pieces can bring useful and sometimes quite surprising insights into myself no matter whether anyone else shares my sense of the connections’ logic or my pleasure in the linkage or not. And since, as you must know by now if you’ve visited here before, I have never been skilled at making money of any sort from my artworks, let alone making a living from it, the ability to fully and effectively communicate my delight in making these odd discoveries and building relationships between unlike elements through art is just plain icing on the cake. I feel lucky enough to have had the happy moment of recognition myself. If I get a little carried away, can you blame me?

Dissonance & Consonance

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Photo: Heart of a Sunflower

When the interplay of sounds, of melody and accompaniment, move toward that sharp, yearning suspension of notes that reach for each other but cannot seem to meet, the resolution—if and when it comes—is evermore the sweet. Pointed and poignant, that sacred space betwixt sunlight and shade, the delicate balance before sleep consents to wake, or life concedes to sleep in death, holds both precious sorrow and piercing joy. Just as forgiveness does not require forgetting but is rather accentuated by it, the brightest day shines all the more for its being cut with silhouettes of deepest shadow, and the inmost midnight anthracite of sky finds its peak of beauty when marked with sparkling points of stellar light.

Speak, and the silence quivers in recognition; sing, and it pulses with ecstasy.

Allegro gives way to the grieved pacing of Largo, and that, in turn, takes pause and after a longing sigh, begins to dance again, Allegretto. Season will follow season down the years, and I grow old and turn transparent with my age, until at last, hearing the call of the penultimate phrase, I remember that if I let my voice fall from the present chord, those who carry it on will draw into that beautiful, desired harmony and close the space perfectly once again. Whether voices falter, go astray, or fall silent, the return to harmony waits to bring existence back into balance.Harvest Moon

Child at Heart

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Busy times with lots of semi-important Things to Do, many late nights, and heaps of social interaction make a naturally introverted person like me reminisce fondly about simpler, quieter times. I imagine myself reading pretty picture books, having a nice glass of milk with some stem ginger shortbread, and a nice hour or two curled up in a big comfortable chair by the window to quiet my spirit before bedtime. Then, maybe a sweetly sung lullaby to put me fully at ease for a good night’s deep sleep.
Digital illo: The Book of Lullabies

Sun & Shadow

My shadow and I are the best of friends—

I measure her height as the sunlight ends,

And the clouds that billowed from dawn to dusk

Float into the night on the roses’ musk—

My shadow will wait for me under a lamp

Through night, ’til the morning is dewed and damp—

For we play together yet all alone

Because my shadow and I are one—

So I will awake and sing and play

With my shadow companion the next fine day

Foodie Tuesday: Chia Pets, Kitty Dishes, and Sunshine in a Bowl

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Though the novelty wore off at some point, the silly popular terracotta animal figurines Chia Pets have continued to live on in myriad beastly iterations, including of the human animal, whenever anyone wanted a bit of lighthearted fun wasting edible chia seed sprouts for sculptural entertainment by growing them as hair or fur on the pottery. That, of course, was before the rediscovery of chia seeds as actual food. In recent times, not only has their tiny tastiness as green sprouts been restored to its rightful place among the many yummy sprouts now being revered as micro-mini greens, their magical gelling abilities have been discovered to make a miraculously delicious thickener for tapioca-like (but chia is more nutritious than tapioca) sauces and puddings. Merely soaking the seeds in liquid does the job, the kitchen equivalent of snapping one’s fingers and making genie surprises appear out of thin air, so I can’t think of many ingredients more all-purpose admirable.
Photo: Chia's Charms

Meanwhile, back in my dad’s childhood (even earlier than the inception of the Chia Pet, as difficult as that might be for you to believe), there was another kind of treat that made desserts desirable to him: the Kitty Dish. The ingredients of the meal were irrelevant, as long as the proper bowl contained the food meant to tempt the tot. The enticement lay not so much in the comestibles as in eating his way to the bottom of the dish to uncover the picture of the kitty in the middle of the bowl. It’s a boon to parenthood to find a container so special that it will inspire a recalcitrant child to work his way to the bottom of the serving, and when the little fellow in question was old enough to have little kids of his own, he made certain that we, too, knew of the beauties of his fabled kitty dish. So when I found a charming little dish with a kitty on it (albeit decorating the outside), I knew that I must have one of my own.
Photo: Kitty Dish #3

As it’s a very kawaii little item of Asian porcelain, in addition to being a lucky cat, I thought it a highly suitable vehicle for something delicate and cute in the way of a dessert or snack. Or (you know me), breakfast. In this case, it was just the right size for a scoop full of citrus pudding dotted and thickened with chia seeds, a bright, light, fanciful, froth of a dish. It was fun and yummy in equal parts. Kind of the way I imagine a little boy might have once felt about his eating when spooning up the last bites of dinner to get to the kitty picture at the bottom of the bowl.
Photo: Citrus Chia Joy

Citrus Chia Cream

This was an oddly conglomerate dish that turned out to be less crazy and more just plain crazy-good than I expected. It happened in four phases. The first was to take 1 cup heavy cream and whip it until very thick, then fold it together with 1/2 cup lime curd (I used a good quality ready-made kind—the dish was already fussier to make than its simple taste and appearance would admit). Next, make a saucy custard of 1 cup pureed (fruit juice-) canned mandarin orange segments, a good shot of elderflower cordial or liqueur, and three eggs, blended, cooked to thicken, and cooled. The third step: combine the lime-cream, the mandarin custard, and 1 cup plain whole milk yogurt with a small pinch of salt. Lastly, stir all three creamy components together with quite a lot of chia seeds; they don’t swell hugely, so adding nearly as much as is desired in the finished pudding is fine. Chill the treat thoroughly before serving it.

I can’t guarantee you’ll like it, but I thought it was the cat’s meow.

50 Wishes for Happiness

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Photo: Carry My Wishes to the StarsOn the most auspicious sixth day of June in human history, my youngest sister was born. If you don’t know what made it the most auspicious, you haven’t met my youngest sister. On this anniversary of her birth, I offer her these wishes for this and many, many birthdays yet to come. Blow on the seeds and let them carry the wishes up to the stars (I give you a milkweed rather than a dandelion, because the former are bigger and bolder, and every seed makes a new plant to feed both butterflies and even more wishes)—Kjæresten Min, may you:

1: Always know that you are loved.

2: Live surrounded by flowers.

3: Breathe fresh air deeply and often.

4: Be grateful for your good fortune.

5: Embarrass yourself just often enough to keep you humble (but

6: also) Wear the armor of unassailable self-confidence.

7: Find money under the furniture every time you clean house.

8: Get hugged whenever you need it.

9: Be generous at every opportunity.

10: Enjoy your ongoing status as the Smartest Sister.

11: Hear fabulous music wherever you go.

12: Never have awkward holes in your clothes.

13: See rainbows in every rainy day.

14: Rest and recover easily.

15: Never be too mature for anything important.

16: Live long and well.

17: Wear only what’s comfortable.

18: Choose joy, every chance you get.

19: Let politics roll off your back.

20: Never sit next to a person who smells awful.

21: Learn to enjoy everything you Have To Do.

22: Be a little wild when you can.

23: Have underwear that never rides up and socks that never fall down.

24: Always be comfortable in your own skin.

25: Smile knowingly with great frequency.

26: Have plenty of opportunities to stretch your horizons.

27: Stay warm enough in winter and cool enough in summer.

28: Wear your silliness proudly.

29: Revel in great good health.

30: Keep monitoring the halls because you care.

31: Be forever glad that you live wherever you live.

32: Frequently learn new things that interest you greatly.

33: Never run out of chocolate.

34: Tuck and roll when necessary.

35: Age with style.

36: Travel in comfort and explore with relish.

37: Be invisible to pests.

38: Think every day is the Best Day Ever.

39: Remember the stuff that matters to you.

40: Forget everything that makes you sad.

41: Immerse yourself in welcome silence.

42: Avoid toxic situations neatly.

43: Keep your savoir-faire intact.

44: See your beauty as clearly as others see it.

45: Miss every pothole in the road ahead.

46: Celebrate at any-and-every excuse.

47: Find unexpected goodness around you everywhere.

48: Be overflowing with contentment.

49: Continue to shine brightly.

50: Always remember that you are loved.

And have the happiest birthday yet…until the next one…and the next…!

Ambivalence

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I am of two minds so much of the time! They might both be on the minimal side, whether you’re talking quantity of Thoughts or quality, but they don’t agree with each other as often as I might like. Often enough, they’re not even on speaking terms, despite living in the same brain-pan. Sigh.

One side of me is always excited about the next big thing, the newness and adventures just around any given corner, and the other is nagging me about how unprepared I am for it. One side laughs easily, sings in the car, and opens doors just to find out where they lead, and the other is dragging her heels to stop the impulsive and ready-for-anything side from falling off cliffs or forgetting her keys. And I’ll bet you the rest of the (ostensibly) adult world has the same duality, to varying degrees.

I can’t fix it, and maybe I shouldn’t even try. After all, the ability to temper daring with reason or cheery nonchalance with logic is often useful, if not life-saving. But I can’t help wishing at times that I could just shut the Hall Monitor side up for a bit and let the wild child have free rein, leaving fear and pragmatism behind, if only for an hour or so.

Don’t you?Digital illo: Ambivalence

Sunlight and Shadow

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Photo montage: Sun & ShadowThe last few weeks of unaccustomed rain serve as the perfect reminder, if I should need one, of how quickly change is upon us at all times and in every way. Stormy weather and lower than average temperatures notwithstanding, the volatile fluctuation between cloud and clarity, bursts of sunlight and swiftly falling curtains of darkness, wind and rain, continue to amaze me.

The visiting children in our house right now confirm in their own way that the weather is not the only source of constantly astonishing change. The three year old swings between sleepy and energetic, bored and fascinated, sober and delightedly giggling as if sprinkled with fairy dust. Her one year old sister, teething, fusses for a while in frustrated pain, not wanting to be placated—wanting relief instead—until her naturally irrepressible sunny nature wins out and she breaks into a grin like the sun bursts through those nagging, lagging clouds.

Here, the forecast has switched from yet another week of storms to one of sunshine, and that sounds welcome at the moment. But if the weather pivots suddenly again, no worries.  Sun shines more brightly in contrast to deep shadows anyhow.

Body Dysmorphia Dolly vs. Me, Unvarnished

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I am not beautiful by worldly standards. I have all of the requisite parts to meet the various averages and norms, am reasonably symmetrical and moderately well proportioned, and have no extreme [visible, wink-wink: happy weirdness doesn’t count here] anomalies that draw attention to themselves or, worse, make other people start in sudden horror and look away with a shudder. I am ordinary, reasonably well ‘put-together’ in terms of neatness, cleanliness, clothing, and so forth, and I have an in-house hairdresser who gets consistently good reviews not just from me, his wife, but from others who marvel that a person as musically, academically, and otherwise gifted as he has yet another impressive and artful skill. But I am not, nor have I ever been, what the rest of the world would consider distinctively beautiful.

My partner considers me beautiful, and I not only revel in that because I know it’s true that he loves me inside and out, but I also feel beautiful in knowing it. That still doesn’t make me the universal Ideal. I am just incredibly fortunate to know that I’m “beautiful” in the ways that matter to me. I’m also human enough to have plenty of little things I’d happily ‘upgrade’ if able: from the mole right in the middle of my face to the jiggly bits around my upper arms and midriff and right on down to my not very glamorous stubby fingers and toes, I can imagine all sorts of ways I could be more like at least my own ideal image of me. While I am working, very gradually, on better exercise and (gasp!!!) eating habits to improve the tone and fitness parts of the equation, I am not so troubled by most of the other perceived imperfections that I feel compelled to fiddle with them. This is just me, sitting here and typing at my desk. Me.

Photo: Me, Unvarnished

Me, unvarnished. Not bad, for all that—silly selfie smile and all!

Nowadays, granted, I hear nearly as much chatter about body dysmorphia and low self-esteem and the evils of the societal pressures, particularly those coming through the commercial and mass media, that feed them, but I still see a remarkable amount of obsession among people of all ages with perfecting appearance in whatever ways each considers ideal. It still frightens me most of all when anyone goes to extremes to meet others’ ideals, for I hope obvious reasons. So I’m none too thrilled to see that the mutant-looking dolls long favored by the young, or at least those who buy for them, are still prevalent and imitated to such an extent by so many.

I can’t help but wonder what would happen if there were a counterbalance of, or even a momentary appearance on the market of, Truth in Labeling/Advertising consciousness when it comes to these beauties. I imagine a Beautiful Bobbye doll and [her] many lovely iterations stopping people in their tracks in the toy aisle for new reasons: picture the same “perfect” dolls now packaged honestly as Defective Breast Implant Bobbye, Collagen Overload Bobbye, Botox Paralysis Bobbye, Internal Organ Displacement Bobbye, Heroin-Chic Turned Addict Bobbye, and of course the ever-popular Acid Reflux Sufferer, Early Denture Wearer, & Coronary Infarct Death as Consequences of Bulimia Bobbye.

It’s too much to ask, of course, even to have anything like a balance of dolls with aught besides pink plastic skin and long, straight or wavy hair, never mind the idea of having great ones with visibly not-so-average qualities—like, say, a prosthetic leg, ears that stick out, albinism, asymmetry, flippers rather than arms, a mole in the middle of the face, club foot, or overbite—that are simply part of their good old normal selves just as they can be in real life. Wonder what that might do?

All I can say for certain in my own experience is that it’s wonderful to have a doll of a partner who finds me the right kind of Beautiful for his taste and, best of all, to feel quite fine about myself whether I’m looking in a mirror or not. I might decide to fool around with a hair coloring experiment, because I have silver hair envy and given my genetics, won’t ever get much more than the sprinklings of grey I’ve sprouted here and there among the mousy browns for nearly thirty years. I do bother to put on a little streak of eyeliner on the rare special occasion. I wear high heels sometimes to enjoy being taller and pretend I’m longer legged if I feel like it, and I sport earrings almost always because in my much younger days, lots of people thought anyone with really short hair and a fairly flat chest was male, so I got in the habit to avoid the confusion.

Now, of course, males, females, and others wear their hair any length, embrace jewelry from their ears to their toes, or none, wear kilts and sarongs and skirts and pants at will, and indulge in eyeliner or guyliner, tattoos, showy stockings, platform shoes, hats and updos and shaved heads, all while being as masculine, feminine, or other as desired. And I don’t any longer care in the least whether anyone knows me as one or the other, myself, any more than I really care whether they find me beautiful on the outside or entirely different from their taste.

I would far prefer to be thought worthwhile as I am, however I happen to be, as a person. Maybe I can thank my childhood environment where I was free to design and build little houses in the bookshelves and out of empty boxes instead of playing with uninteresting (to me) dolls inside them, and then graduate to building forts in the woods with real, flawed, beautiful playmates populating them. Maybe I did benefit, after all, from exposure to that artificial kind of beauty popularized and supported by plastic dolls and the people who emulate them, youthfully testing their sanity and happiness or lack thereof and shrinking from it. I have my faults, but they can’t stop me from feeling beautiful if I don’t let them.