Happy in the Face

            “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.