If You Can’t Say Something Nice

Today’s new word – coined by me - boys and girls, is snarcasm.

snar-casm  (snahrˌkazəm) noun

a turn of phrase that is so wittily crafted that, despite its overt unkindness toward a subject, it must be revered as a thing of beauty.

Here is an example.  Some years ago, after escaping from a tedious evening of bad food and dull company, my husband cheerfully observed, “Well, the dinner was inedible and the conversation boring . . . but at least, it was long.” This was the perfect summation of a not-perfect event AND it made me laugh.

Snarcasm.  If you can’t say something nice, say something funny.

Heartful

How is it that a heart that is broken can remain so full of love?  It surely is one of the miracles of human being-ness.

As Mother’s Day approaches, I find myself in a kind of emotional riptide that alternately pulls me under into the salty dark of tears and loss, only and always, eventually, throwing me back to the warm safety of happy memories and loving family.

Grief comes and goes as it pleases; we cannot control it. We can and we must remember, though, that the   magnitude of our grief is the mirror image of the magnitude of our love.  I hold tight to that fact and I know I am fortunate to have loved so deeply.

My grief is different than yours, but the same.

It is born of loss.

The nature of the loss is different than yours, but it is the same.

It is born of love.

Although it is broken, my heart is truly full of love, so this Mother’s Day, I wish you a heartful of love, too.

May I Have Your Attention, Please?

Some things are NOT news.

Just because a talking head tells you about something, it does not mean it’s important, so don’t let yourself be mesmerized by the 24-hour news into beginning to apply the same level of importance to every story that they shout at you.  We hear about how we’re all becoming desensitized to violence because of our exposure to fake violence in video games, movies, and television; I am worried that we are at risk of growing hyper-sensitized to “the news.”

This week, it seems there’s been as much coverage of the coming out of a professional athlete as the use of chemical weapons in Syria.  I have more in-depth information about Jodi Arias (psycho sleaze-tart) than (Secretary of the Treasury) Jack Lew.  I realize I can’t stop the media spewing tabloid-style stories, but I hope I am disciplined enough to filter out the noise from the news.

Can we please apply our own standards and ignore the garbage stories, the ones that are as low-class as gossip, as creepy as a peeping tom, as completely irrelevant to our quality of life as what kind of breakfast cereal is favored by orangutans?  I sure hope so.  Years ago, this crap was relegated to the National Enquirer; we were only exposed to it at the grocery store check-out. Now it’s everywhere, on every channel, all the time, mixed in and diluting the serious news of the day.

I refuse to let any news outlet distract me with useless (and tasteless) in-faux-mation.  I don’t need to know it’s okay for Gwyneth Paltrow to have a cigarette because she’s such a food and diet guru. Tell me what I need to know to stay safe and healthy and to (really) help my neighbors – and the weather, always, the weather.

Happy May Day!

Lollipop Liquor

I just saw another ad for (more) flavored vodkas and found myself pining for the “good old days” when there was no need for such foolishness. Professional bartenders carefully and skillfully mixed liquors, liqueurs, juices, and herbals to create drinks worthy of having an hour of the day devoted to them.

A perfectly mixed drink, served in a proper glass, carefully garnished, is a beautiful thing. The making of such magic is also a beautiful thing. (Food and) drink, well prepared from fresh and fine ingredients, is to be savored. These new flavored vodkas and their other liquor store partners are to cocktails what quarter pounders are to chateaubriand. They’re nothing more than high-test juice boxes, Kool-Aid with a kick, and, to me, that’s sad.

If we fast-food everything, we are losing the pleasure of ceremony. It’s so much more enjoyable to sit down at a well-set table with people you love than to slug down a taco from the drive-through window, so step away from the blueberry bubblegum blast vodka. Make yourself something wonderful, fresh, and just for you.

Oy, I need a drink!

(If you need some recipe help, try looking at the drink category on this website, but I warn you, this is like Pinterest for foodies. http://www.tastespotting.com)

(Why) Does EVERYTHING Have to be a Competition?

It doesn’t.  Yes, there are times when keeping score is appropriate. Yes, there are times when it’s perfectly fine to want to win.  It is just neither necessary nor healthy to turn your life into a series of battles.

Anyone who knows me will vouch for my bloodthirsty ways when confronted with a board game or card game – or Jeopardy against my husband.  They’ll also vouch for my “leave it on the field and shake hands when it’s over” attitude.  I hold no grudge and I am not a sore loser (although, I will admit that I really like to win.)

I like to win in those small, contained, everyone-is-on-the-same-page challenges. Some things, though, should not be about winning. Some things require more than sportsmanship; they require compassion, including showing a little to yourself.

For many years, I limited my life by simply avoiding things I was not pretty sure I’d be able to do well. I was afraid of “losing,” of looking incompetent, of not being among the best.  What a waste of energy. What a collection of missed opportunities and unlived experiences.

Competition, even when you set it up against yourself, can be exhilarating and inspiring – when it’s properly in place.  When you fall into the habit of making everything about winning, like I did for too long, competition gets in the way of life. There are many more things to be savored for the simple act of doing them than for getting a gold star.

Do something for fun – really, just for fun. Don’t worry about winning.  Not everyone is Fred Astaire, but if you’re moved by the music, dance.  We can’t all hit a 300-yard tee shot, but it’s okay to play a round, if you allow yourself to enjoy the game.

I’m going to put down my judge’s paddle, turn off the stop watch, and take a little breather from score-keeping.  How about you?  Wanna play?  Everybody wins!

Everybody’s Special

Wow! This month is, according to my Facebook feed, Autism Awareness Month, Child Abuse Awareness Month, Stress Awareness Month, and about thirty-twelve other “Awareness” days of one sort or another. I am exhausted and distracted – and a little bit annoyed.

A note here: I raised a beautiful autistic and mentally retarded child who died of cancer, so I am speaking from what I believe is a hard-earned position of authority, as respects “Awareness”.

My proposal, sincere and pure, is to raise awareness every day of every month for PEOPLE – all of us – awareness of the needs we share – care, kindness, love, respect. We don’t need to be “special” to appreciate a gesture of understanding; what makes every one of us special – deserving of active awareness – is our humanity.

I am making today, and every day, my personal People Awareness Day.

You’re welcome to join me. You don’t even have to buy a bracelet.

In Defense of “Lunks”

Okay, I’ve been sick for several days – as in stay-in-bed-and-fight-fever sick – so, lots of time with the television to keep me company and there has been a recurring commercial that just has me wishing I had the energy to throw something at the screen. It’s for the gym that prides itself on its “Judgement Free Zone” (Seriously, I copied this directly from their website, misspelling and all!), but goes on to proclaim its “No Lunks” policy. Seems the whole point of the sales pitch is that some people, specifically people who are serious about training, are not welcome.

Setting aside the fact these faux fitness folks can’t even be bothered to spellcheck their national website, there are more than a few problems with the Purple Planet People, but all of them can be rolled into one concept: they are bullies.

What else can you call it with a website that features a “Clunk a Lunk” game that apparently lets the jealous and petty, pasty and flabby feel superior by bopping a cartoon he-man on the head and ads that would have us believe people with well-developed muscles are not very bright.? Hope nobody finds out that Arnold Schwarzenegger, one of the icons of extreme muscularity in bodybuilding, has an IQ of 140. Judging the muscular population pretty harshly, aren’t you Purple Planet?

I am almost sixty and am not athletic at all, but I belong to a gym where I lift little tiny weights alongside people who lift impressively heavy ones. I am not judged by them; I am encouraged by them. Being in the presence of successful people, no matter the nature of that success, raises my game, inspires me to try harder and do better for myself. How can that be a bad thing? It is all good.

When someone tries to sell you something – a product, a Planet, a plan – by denigrating a group, even if the group seems like it can take care of itself, look under the curtain! As my brilliant sister opined on a recent political dust-up, “Just because the target of a bully is not intimidated, it does not mean the behavior was not bullying.” Let’s not let the bully get away with it. Call him out every time.

As soon as I kick this fever, I am going out to lift things up and put them down.

Congratulations!

Every once in a while – okay, a lot of times – I go off on a self-help kick that usually devolves into making a list of all the things I should be doing, what I have neglected, stuff I needed to do a long time ago; you know, the Guilt List.

I know I am not alone in this behavior, and misery loves company, so it does not take much to find support for this negative self-talk. We get so wound up in the threads of tattered promises we’ve made to ourselves that we end up mummified in the process. I was sharing my most recent diet indiscretion story with my sister, lamenting how a hot date with some homemade ice cream had completely ruined all my hard work of eating right the days prior. Her trusty and infallible Bullshit Detector lit up and she lit me up. “Why is it that you insist on punishing yourself for the “bad” things you do, but you never congratulate yourself for all the good things you do?” Damn, I hate it when she applies the kind of logic that I would immediately see as brilliantly simple and perfect advice for others to me. She is right.

Because it is much easier to beat myself up than to pat myself on the back, I won’t say I was completely cured of negative self-speak. I will say I have begun to actively consider the whole of my daily routine, not just the missteps, and to give myself some love for taking good care of me. Today, that meant something very big – getting a physical – eeew! (I rewarded myself for the blood draw with a teensy dish of ice cream.) Tomorrow, it will be less dramatic, I am sure, but I will give myself proper credit for flossing and wearing my seatbelt and not having another teensy dish of ice cream . . .

Here’s Not Looking at You(rself,) Kid!

To a woman of a certain age, there is not much that is more of a buzzkill than a mirror. Sometime this winter, I slid into the very bad habit of inspecting my face, taking stock of all wrinkles, whiskers, splotches, and other common and expected signs of my years here.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

Eyeballs are owner-operated. It’s your choice whether to focus on the unattractive or the beautiful.  Everywhere I look (except the damn mirror,) I see beauty. It’s all around and it’s free. What a joy that our eyes are naturally aimed at the world around us!  Seems like we’re designed to look outward, to know there is more to this than just ourselves.

Pretty cool – and pretty.

Thank you, friends and strangers, animals and trees. Thank you, world. Here’s looking at you!

Spring Fever

Oh, I have it.  Really, I have pre-spring fever – that overwhelming feeling of “enough already with the gray skies and the blustery wind and the still-need-a-parka-and-gloves-and-it’s-March, for chrissakes!”   It’s that breaking point when, after slogging through January and February, I’m pretty sure I can’t take another moment without some sunshine on my pasty winter-worn face.  Spring is so close, I can almost taste it, but it’s not here YET.

They say it’s always darkest before the dawn.  Well, last Sunday’s dawn brought a glimmer of renewed hope – Daylight Savings Time has arrived!  As I turned the clocks forward, I felt my attitude turning forward, too.  A second wind, a warmer wind, is on its way.

It’s time to let go of the heaviness of too many cold gray days and trust the impending return of warm sun-filled spring to lift our spirits and our energy.  Meanwhile, I think I’ll just take a nap ‘til it arrives.