Tiny Thankful Things

Today I was thinking of the "little" thankful things.

My emphasis is on the word little -- as I think the small stuff tends to get a bad rap. Not to take away from the big important stuff like health, family, friends, food and shelter, but what little teensy tiny things make up big piles of joy in your life?

Here's my teeny tiny thankful list:

1. The first cup of coffee on a cold morning.

2. The way my body hums after a 3 mile run on a dreary day.

3. Sunlight as it just begins to touch the treetops first thing in the morning.

4. When people tell me that my writing changed the way they think about things.

5. Love notes from my son.

6. The way my husband takes my hand before we enter a crowded room.

7. The miracle of my snowy white Camellias blooming in the winter when you least expect it.

8. The velvet warmth of a sultry Southern evening paired with the magic of fireflies.

9. Chocolate croissants from Trader Joe's.

10. Taking a long, steamy bath with Chris Botti's jazz playing in the background.

Now it's your turn -- what's on your teeny thankful list?

Purse Memories

It all began with the missing iPod.

I knew it was somewhere in the contents of my purse/snack bag/portable brain of mine. Out of desperation, I dumped the entire contents of my purse on the counter for total reconnaissance.

After sorting through the immense pile, I began to notice the contents were sort of bag-like-scrapbook of my life. Spread out before me was not only a pile of junky stuff, but bits of memories, funny little items and things saved for no apparent reason.

There was the pressed penny from a recent trip to the zoo. It housed the sweet memory of a summery week spent in Michigan visiting family and friends. Not just a penny, but a chance to treasure my son's viewpoint of seeing my birthplace through his eyes.

Then there was the Thomas the Train sticker. My son's reward for a trip to the doctor. The quiet comment from him saying "Mom, I'm not too old for Thomas the Train," then watching him secretly slip it into my purse out of the sight where no one would see.

A collection of leftover Tylenol Junior tablet wrappers brought the reminder of a family wedding in Florida. Upon arrival, my son developed a scary-too-high fever. Alone in a strange hotel room, all night I kept vigil with cold compresses. Watching the clock, I barely slept to stand ready to give him the next dose. I remember the miracle of the next morning, when he completely recovered, allowing us to spend a joyful day with family at the beach.

At the bottom of the purse I found tiny Lego men and strange pieces that I knew had invaded my entire home, but now like Carolina Kudzu had shown up where you least expect it. A surprise was a Moosehead beer cap. I neither drink beer nor like it, except for on extremely hot summer days. The cap must have been saved as treasure from my son and placed in my purse for safekeeping.

I thought about what the contents of my purse might say about me. If it was found by some private detective and analyzed for diagnosis, I'm sure it would come back to say something like "an extreme fetish for breath mints, weird gum, hair tools and lipgloss. Extremely jumbly - how does she find anything?"

Like an adored scrapbook, I was surprised that my purse contents told such history. The items offered sweet nostalgia from a past season of my life. Not simply a bunch of stuff in a bag, but things that told my story. I never did find my iPod in there, but I did find something even better -- treasures of times in my life worth remembering.

Little Cowboy

We are counting down the days until my son gets to unleash his "inner buckaroo."

As we make our way to the motherland of rural Michigan, we arrive just in time for the opening of deer hunting season. My 8 year-old son is completely beside himself at the idea of the great outdoors, guns and wide open spaces. It may not be PC, but it's true. The cowboy gene cannot be denied.

Part of me is glad for it. I want him to know what it's like to walk through a frosty field. To understand the silent quiet of watching the world from the hidden perch of a deer blind. To be completely enveloped in nature without the worry of getting hit by a car, stolen by child molesters or having to be perfectly-mannered at a desk.

He will walk in the footsteps behind his grandfather and his uncles, just as I did as a young girl. I can see him now, wearing oversized hunter orange gear, ambling quietly behind, studying the field's movements. As a girl, my dad and I would perch quietly in our grown-up size fort, listening to our own steady breathing, watching the grey field become ablaze with the red sunrise. After what felt like hours, we would numbly come home for hot chocolate, while my dad would fry up some corn fritters to go along with homeade maple syrup.

The simplicity of taking a walk in nature and appreciating its delicate balance is a lesson you can only learn by doing. I want him to discover memories of a time and a place that is simple. A place that doesn't require a carpool, a suburb or a commute on a highway. To appreciate that hunting was how people used to sustain themselves -- like it or not, it was the way people survived.

As a mom, I'm about as pro-NRA as the rest of the mommy club. But I want my son to know what it's like to be a part of a place that knows how to take care of basic needs. In rural Michigan, people know how to survive both with the land and from the land. There is an underlying respect of nature that can't be appreciated going down the road at 65 miles per hour. It takes a slow quiet walk in the woods. It takes a watchful eye, an appreciation for the rhythm of nature and all creatures within.

Getting Scary

It's scary season and in the spirit of things, I have been working on scaring myself daily.

Last week I read "do something every day that scares you."

I was trying to remember the last time I attempted something truly scary. Usually it's life that does the scaring -- watching the news, praying with a friend that was struggling with breast cancer, making casseroles for a family who is undergoing bone cancer treatments. You don't have to work very hard to be scared every single minute.

I was running through my daily moments trying to find anything I did that was a bit edgy, risky or truly dangerous. Here's my day: car pool, getting some writing done, paying bills, going to the gym, a few errands and then back to carpool. I think the scariest thing in there is the driving.

Scary doesn't have to be huge -- like bungee jumping, doing an Ironman or scaling a mountain -- although those are all good and creepy things to do. The scary I was looking for is in the taking risks. Even little ones that weren't really a big deal in the scheme of things, but a teensy bit dangerous nonetheless.

Scary to me is picking up the phone and pitching my ideas, sending out my writing, actually doing the work and being okay with getting a lot of rejections. It's getting my book done. It's being committed to the craft of being a writer and following through, despite the fact that it doesn't pay well and it's dang hard work.

As we close in on the season of mischief, I'm going to get busy scary myself today.

A good question: how have you scared yourself today?

Remembering Mom's Advice on Staying Well

I’m feeling a bit draggy lately.

With all the news about the flu and its impending doom, I wish I could go ahead and get sick. That has to be better than listening to the constant barrage of ranger danger talk on the news or reading how many new cases there are today. No amount of antibacterial wipes can convince me out the fact that I’m a walking flu time bomb.

Besides the obvious of washing your hands a million times, I was wondering what else I could do for my health this season. I have already read the wealth of knowledge available from the all-knowing medical resources. So instead of turning to the experts for ideas on wellness, I decided to go to the original source: dear old mom.

Our moms functioned fine without having to worry about flu shot supply or sanitizing every nook and cranny of their homes. They lovingly and knowingly took care of us without the help of WedMd or government sanctioned quarantines. So here’s a little old-school advice, courtesy of mom.

Rest.

If you are feeling a little run down, take a nap. I’m always surprised how much better I feel after a rest. I don’t know why this solution is such a shocker, but many of us don’t think of it or fight it all day long. Don’t wait until you’re completely knocked out by sickness, take a nap.

Get Outside and Run Around the Block.

My mom’s cure for anything was to “get outside.” I think partly it was a self-preservation strategy, but it’s also very wise. She insisted we get some fresh air every day. If we were having a bad day, her solution was to get rid of it by a trip around the block at least three times. If you can’t run, a nice walk is a good place to start.

Have a Little Cup of Tea.

My mom is Scottish, so sitting down for a cup of tea was a precious ritual. Tea happens to be great for you with all sorts of antioxidants for your body. There is something so comforting and reassuring about pouring a mug of something hot and delicious. Make a pause in your day for a good cup of tea to refuel your spirit.

Come Home Before Dark.

Mom expected us to be in before dark for dinner, homework and getting ready for bed. Too many commitments, working late and cramming in the umpteenth activity saps your energy. The idea of getting home before dark is a nice rule of thumb to protect sacred family time and to replenish some down time in your day.

Sit Down and Eat Your Dinner.

In today’s zoomy society, sitting down at a table to a nice meal feels like a luxury. Coming home from school, my mom always had a pot of something hearty on the stove. Usually a soup, or stew filled with lots of veggies. Fall is a great time to fill your slow cooker and concoct a meal guaranteed to mend the spirit. Skip the drive through and plan ahead to come home and slow down over a meal.

Take a Nice Hot Bath.

Mom claimed a hot bath would “wash away the day.” Baths are a great way to unwind from a hectic day and also a way to check in with yourself mentally. If you don’t have a tub, try soaking your feet in a small basin or steaming your face over a hot sink. These small treats don’t cost much, but re-fuel our spirits in a self-loving way. Footed PJs are optional, but always a good idea.

Eat Your Veggies.

This classic advice was true when we were five and still is today. Listen to mom, eat your veggies. The problem is most of us are still stuck in that five year-old mentality that they taste horrible and have to taste like dryer lint to be good for you. Now that you are a grown-up, you actually get to make things you like. If you don’t know how to cook veggies that taste decent, go to www.epicurious.com and search away. Be a grown up, eat your veggies.

Wrap Up in a Blanket.

If mom was getting out the emergency measures for when we were sick, there would be ginger ale, toast treasures (specially cut up pieces of toast with gobs of butter) and there would always be “the blanket.” Mom used to wrap us up in a special velvety blanket and lay us down where she could check on us often. I think she knew sometimes we needed a mental health day, or a time to feel loved and adored. What are the things that make you feel lovingly cared for? You may consider making an emergency sick stash for a future event. Maybe it’s only permission to take some time off. If you need a day to wrap up in a blanket, do it. Take time to give your body what it needs.

Mother Yourself.

Even though these old school ideas aren’t very scientific, they go a long way in keeping us well. What’s remarkable to me is how far I will go to care and comfort my family when they are sick, but finding that same care for myself is rare. Maybe not getting sick is really about being a great mom to myself, not just for my family. I hope you will find time this season to take good care this season and more importantly, to find a way to be your own best mother. After all, she did know best.

Lunch Funnies

Day in, day out making the same peanut butter and jelly sandwich for an entire year of elementary school lunches can get old. I have tried other things in my son's lunchbox. But nothing reminds him of home and the goodness of mankind like PB&J. I completely understand.

When I was a kid, I went home for lunch. In today's go-go society, that seems pretty odd now. The fact was I lived exactly two blocks from school and it seemed natural to pop home for a meal. Even better yet, the school thought it was fine too.

During my middle school years, I remember walking down leaf strewn streets during gorgeous Indian Summer days. The cool crisp fall weather and blue sky overhead was a refreshing escape from the drab cafeteria. Waiting for me would be my mom and a bowl of tomato soup with oyster crackers, or sometimes what she called "toast treasures." They weren't really anything more than buttered toast cut up in thirds. Having that chance to escape even for 30 minutes became a touchstone for my day. It became a reassurance, a comfort-style grounding.

In an effort to repeat that for my son, we happened upon the idea of the "lunch funnies." It all started one Wednesday when I witnessed my son's classmate laughing hysterically over her lunchbox. Showing no shame, I snooped over her shoulder to see that her dad had written a hilarious knock-knock joke. It was not a one hit wonder either, she told me he made up a new one every single day.

Now I have written a nice “love ya” note or sometimes tucked “have a great day!” well wishes in my son's desk. But to put a joke in every day and to actually invent it too, that was taking it to a new level. I loved the idea of the lunch funnies -- a happy way to make a plain day sparkle. Lunch with a joke was a sweet reminder to put a smile on his face. Even though lunch would always be PB&J, I could invent new wonder daily with the lunch funnies.

Some say imitating genius is the highest form of flattery. Smartly, I borrowed the joke idea and made it my own. Like finding the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box, my son looked forward to my lunch time whimsy. Later I would find the jokes I had written stuck in his locker, folded up carefully and tucked in his pockets, secreted away in his back pack. He would save every single one and carry it with him all day long.

He loved it so much I started inventing new ways to be funny. One time I put a pack of sardines in his lunchbox with a note that said “something is fishy around here!” Then there was the sporting phase where I would put in golf balls, mini basketballs and wrote notes about “have a ball at school!” The balls weren’t the best idea because you can imagine the ruckus that followed with rolling a golf ball around a bunch of second graders.

The spring brought the bug phase where I would put pretend rubber bugs in things like snack crackers or crawling on sandwiches or popping out of snacks. The bugs made for a high scream factor among girl classmates, so I had to taper that one off quickly.

This year in third grade, we are back to the jokes again. Each day he loves to report back on how funny he thought it was or ask a question if he didn’t get it. More than anything, I wanted my son to remember that even though I wasn’t with him, he’s still on my heart. I wanted his daily lunch funnies to be a reminder that despite how good or bad your day goes, you can always find an opportunity to laugh. To know, even in the ordinary moments, there is joy.

PS. If you want to feel really inadequate as a parent, check out Cookie Magazine’s 30 Days, 30 Lunches Blog. A friend sent it to me as an inspiration with amazing ideas for lunches including puzzle-shaped sandwiches, sculpted animal snacks and heirloom quality note-cards. Check it out at www.cookiemag.com/magazine/blogs/food/30-days-of-lunch/.

Small Time is Big Time

If you had to come up with one little thing that would make your life better, what would it be?

Repeat, little thing, not big thing. I recently read this idea about teeny tiny changes and thought the chances of something small making a difference are only that, small. Nevertheless, I thought I would give it a whirl and my little thing would be to spend 15 minutes a day on piano.

The backstory is I started playing piano several years ago on a whim. I had taken it as a child and hated it. My piano teacher, Mrs. Coon had breath that smelled like feet. She used to press her bony fingers down hard on top of my hands as I played. Apparently she was going to put piano into me by force. The only good thing about going to Mrs. Coon’s house was riding the school bus there and getting to watch TV while my brother had his lesson first.

The practice lasted until my mom could no longer afford it and I was all to glad to be done with Mrs. Coon. Fast forward about 30 years. A friend and I were having a conversation about regrets. We were asking each other if we died today, what would be our greatest regret for not having done in this lifetime. Without hesitation, I said “piano.”

It shocked me that it came out. Somewhere in the dusty attic of my soul, this deep longing to play piano showed up. The truth was that I loved piano, I didn’t love the way I learned it. I wanted to be good at something that was hard, that took practice, using a totally different side of my brain. For me, there is a complete undoing that happens when I listen to stunning piano music. Like combing through the ratty parts of my spirit, piano somehow tapped into hidden, lost places.

I longed to play, to be able to read music, to sit down and hammer out a jubilantly spirited tune. To be like a movie during the holidays, where friends and family gather around a beautiful baby grand, belting out Christmas carols as I accompany on the piano.

So I began the piano, or pseudo-return to my childhood over three years ago. At first it was fun, really really fun. I found a fantastic young piano teacher who was spirited, yet challenging. She would clap and sing along as I heartily played the Mexican Hat Dance. It was a blast. But as I progressed in my lessons, it got hard. As you know, anything worth doing, is hard. And I noticed it became harder and harder to find time to practice. Without meaning to, piano was sliding out of my life.

In my heart I wanted to keep going, but it required more effort than I had planned. As I read about the tiny changes, I immediately thought about piano. If I set aside 15 minutes a day, which is not very much time, I would at least make an effort. Fifteen minutes is nothing, it’s a cup of coffee, a trip to the bathroom, a flip through a magazine – I could handle 15 minutes.

I found that once I got started in my 15 minutes of fame, I was lost in it. All I wanted to do was keep going. Ticking off my 15 minutes soon turned to 30 minutes and I looked forward to my time just to play each day.

Seriously, you may be wondering, what is the point of this piano? Nothing really other than sure pleasure. This is my time to do something completely ridiculous and lovely all for me. I’m not going to be a concert pianist anytime soon, but Christmas caroling parties might be in my future. It shows that I have a passion that I'm not afraid to put to use, however ridiculous. It’s certainly a much better use of my time than Facebook.

The beauty of it is that it only takes 15 minutes – or at least that is what I tell myself. But those 15 minutes are probably one of the best parts of my day. It's ironic to me that to do the things we love, we have to fool ourselves into it. Fooling or not, this small is big to me.