“So I don’t
want to be rude or anything, but that guy smelled like Mexican cologne.” Says my sweet son to I while we are walking
to our car after the most favorite Sunday tradition of ‘Books and Brunch’.
“Mexican
cologne? Like hot sauce or salsa or lime
and cilantro or something? I’m confused. Is this some hip preteeny slang thingie that
I know nothing of?”
“OMG
mom! I said, ‘Maybe too much
cologne.’ I’d accuse you of being
racist, but I’m certain you were just stereotyping. If you were being racist you would be
implying that you were better than someone, which you would never do, you were
simply making a bad joke. Can you play the
song ‘Thrift Shop’ on the car ride home?”
“Yes, yes I
can; bet I can out ‘car dance*’ you.”
“Maybe, but
only because you can move all funny.”
We
proceeded to get into our rusted out green 94’ Honda, turn up the volume on my
ipod to full blast (partially to drown out the fact that the exhaust system may
or may not have taken a permanent furlough and because, well, it’s a super fun
song) and made our way back to our modest two bedroom walkup. I looked at my son while we were firmly
immersed in our dance off and thought….. happy.
I have this
most wonderous guy friend who, not only puts up with my endless forcible
huggings, but also is consistently sending me life lesson quotes and bits of
wisdom that help keep me on my path of positivity (I liken it to inflatable
bumpers in a bowling alley, I’m going to end up at the pins, but he helps keep
me from starting as a gutter ball, which would be helpful in nonfiction bowling
for me by the way). I was sent a great
link to the ‘22 Things Happy People Do Differently’ a few days back and I read
the blog/article like a check list for life.
(I linked, you should read it.) I
am not going to list off all 22 because that seems a bit of overkill and I know
from experience of talking with my son that after the first five most people
start to drift off….. ‘Am I catching a ‘niner’ in there?’ Even with my fountain of feelgoodedness I
find that I struggle with a few of the 22.
Living in the present and meditating seem to be my Achilles heel of
straight up 24/7 merriment (right now I’m hovering around a 22/6 ½ ratio, which
isn’t bad I must say.)
H-A-P-P-Y Such a grand feeling that comes from just
those five letters. It’s an emotion that
seems to be constantly sought after, like there is some great journey past the
Eye of Mordor, beyond all the seven seas, through a wardrobe and then only with
the help of the great Yoda do you find yourself sitting at the finale of a trek
surrounded by happy. I don’t buy it. I like my happy like I like my bourbon,
plentiful and always within arm’s reach (maybe even being poured by a
lumberjack….. but then we’re just getting into my own weird fantasies. Everyone know lumberjacks don’t pour bourbon,
they squeeze it out of the charred oak barrel and directly into my mouth. Ok, I’m digressing). I take the little robots of happy I find all around and I build a great Voltron Defender of the Universe, ready to hug rape a smile on your face or shoot off
general bits of ridiculousness that cause permanent laugh scarring. I also find that any time you can reference a fairly obscure 80's cartoon you're winning. (I'm reasonably certain that this one was also showed in the states, I have a nasty habit of referencing Canadian TV shows I grew up watching under the false pretenses that they were wide spreadly watched in the US, my friends love to point out when this is not the case. Again, digression.)
What I'm round-aboutly getting at is that a lot of little things can add up to one big pile of smile. The coffee mug that my lovely
little Val bought me, makes me smile.
This song on my ipod that was in a movie I watched and a boy held my
hand, makes me warm. That ‘good morning’
text I send every single day, makes me laugh.
My son, my family, my friends, my job, my cat, my duvet cover, the smell
of my favorite coffee, fabric softener, bacon, cuddling, kissing, a pot roast in the
crock pot, chicken tortilla soup from the Trolley Stop, the feel of the Century Bar, the fact that I’ve been referred to as a neurotic serial hugger, the
middle of an exciting book, yelling when the Red Wings score, car dancing,
singing (poorly) while I cook, laughing until my face hurts, the poems “Hector the Collector” and “Lester” by Shel Silverstein, getting dirty (like
in the dirt gardening dirty, of course the other ‘dirty’ makes me happy, that
makes everyone happy), sitting still in the sun, my cowboy boots…….. My list could go on until infinity, because I
make it. The question if I’m really
always in this good of a mood comes up more frequently than I would think that
it should, and let me tell you my best not kept secret to happiness in one
little sentence; I don’t wait around for someone to serve me ‘happy’ on a
platter with an apple its mouth, smelling of bacon, roasted and ready to go; I go out and ninja chop
awkwardly until it produces the desired results, then I dance like everyone is
watching whilst wearing duct taped shoes.
It’s all around you, even on the bad days, you just have to be strong
enough to find it.
*car danc-ing: n. a type of
dance that is most likely a series of hand motions strung together in a way
similar to that of a seizure or Madonna in the video for Vogue.
