Going on a Bear Hunt.
It is a myth that women forget the pain of childbirth. Our memory is not erased, we have just replaced heartache with the happy feelings we experience upon holding our newborn baby. Scientists refer to it as the “Halo Effect” and it has been proven to change our perception of reality. We are not wearing rose-colored glasses; we are highlighting the love for the new baby and giving less air-time to the pain of the delivery. I think parents do the same thing when they describe the joys of sending their first child off to college. They focus on the planning and the adventure of finding a school that fits, and less on the actual delivery into a new home or their arrival into an empty nest. The experience reminds me of the children’s story: Going on a Bear Hunt.
If you are not familiar with it, in the storybook “Going on a Bear Hunt,” the family heads off on their journey to find a bear. They try to make it a fun game, but after many exercises, they learn that they can’t go under it, or around it, they simply need to go through the squishy muddy parts to get to the end. Last fall, I asked my therapist how I could make the college transition easier and less depressing. She simply told me that I need to go through it. I couldn’t go around the sad parts, or over the painful ones, I simply had to wade through them. I found her advice helpful and tried to give myself time to adjust.
While I have felt heartbroken again this year, college drop-off was easier the second time around. This time, I know there is an adjustment period. I also realize nothing is final and in the past year, we all have learned how quickly things can change. The excitement of the adventure was preparing, packing, getting his dorm room set-up, checking out the campus and eating at local hot-spots. The squishy muddy part is not as much fun, but I imagine catching an actual bear isn’t either.
Ironically, just as I was getting my oldest off to college, my sister-in-law was giving birth to my niece. Sweet baby Jane was over nine pounds but my sister-in-law gushed into the phone about how wonderful and elated she felt about her new baby. She and my brother are navigating the joy of living with a toddler and an infant. I am not giving them any advice because they too need time to go through the mud and learn to navigate their own adventure. There might even be some times when they feel like they are living with a den of bear cubs.
Whether you are adjusting to living in an empty nest or a newly crowded den, it is going to be an adventure, so sit back and find the joy in the ride. Sometimes getting muddy can be a good time!
Bubbles.
My sister Sarah laid next to me, giggling as our Mom whispered instructions. Eyes closed, my hands over my belly, I tried to stay still and keep my Dannon coffee yogurt snack inside.
“Imagine an egg cracks on your head and is rolling down your neck,” she guided.
“Gross,” Sarah whispers beside me.
“Now the egg has turned to water and is slowly pouring down your shoulders. Breathe as it rolls down your arms,” apparently she could hear us?
“Think of anything that is bothering you and let it roll with the streams down your body. Push it along with your breath.”
I wish I could remember what was worrying me at eleven years old? My mom thanked us for being her guinea pigs and began setting up easels with graphic posters of dilated cervixes. We shuffled out of our living room as pregnant women ushered in for their Lamaze class. I have used my mom’s lesson when I have struggled to fall asleep.
Breathing is a skill we practice while exercise, stretching or as you bring a little person into the world. When we are angry, anxious, or stressed, we forget it’s power and instead hold our breath. Fine tuning the art of slowing down and exhaling can help us prepare for the uncertain future.
Currently, I am trying to heal from the pandemic past, not worry about the Delta future, and enjoy the messy middle of our bubble. It is not an easy place to float since this summer even champagne bubbles are struggling.
As children we are given pinwheels, bottles of bubbles, and encouraged to blow dandelion seeds into the wind. Kids know how to find the joy of breathing. As we are flooding back into the world, joining them in the yard might be the best move we make.
Got any kings?
Go Fish has been my favorite card game since I was little. I love the simplicity of the activity; no complicated rules to follow. You ask, you offer, you trade. The person with the most matches wins and you start another round. Isn’t it ironic how this game actually works in real life? You ask for ideas, you share yours, you trade experiences, except in this case, everyone wins.
When I am exploring a place to go, I ask around to see who can offer suggestions before I search. I love going “fishing” for new places to see, shows to watch or books to devour. I trade my recaps for new ideas.
Years ago my friend Caty shared that she kept details on her vacations in a travel journal. We were planning a family trip to Arizona and her notes provided me with great recommendations for places to see, stay, and eat. I duplicated her trip to Key West and passed along her ideas for Costa Rica to my brother. Knowing that a friend explored the spot prior to our arrival, eased my anxiety.
To kick-off the summer, we took our family down to South Carolina. Charleston was on my “adventure list,” and my youngest wanted to begin his college search in the south. Traveling to an area where we didn’t have friends or family would ensure that we would have quality time together.
If you have teenagers, you know that “forced family fun” is not always met with enthusiasm. You may have seen Jennifer Gardener’s movies about the parents who spent twenty-four hours saying “yes” to everything their children suggested? After a year of saying no to going out without masks, no to large gatherings, and just a lot of “no’s” all around, we needed a “yes trip.” Our version was to embrace spontaneity by following our son’s recommendations, try new foods, stay out later, and not controling our vacation schedule. Our favorite activity was learning how to drive Jet Skis around the surrounding islands together.
Not all games are played with a group. When I am struggling to shift into a positive mood, I play mind solitaire. I use photos or quotes to help me to pause, reframe and taste the moment. In her podcast, Yale Professor Laurie Santos shares that you can increase joy by ruminating over the good parts of the experience before, during or after. This is called savoring, which is the “act of mindfully attending to the experience of pleasure.” You can also enjoy the moment by soaking up someone else’s joy. My Dad did an excellent job of this by saying “does it get any better than this” when we were together at a BBQ, on a beach walk, or enjoying coffee on his porch. Suddenly breakfast would taste better, the view got brighter, the conversation livelier.
By displaying vacation photos throughout our home and giving gifts I have purchased on the trip or ordered online after we returned, I continue to savor. Hats or t-shirts from a favorite local spot, a cookbook from a yummy restaurant, or a candle whose scent reminds us of the adventure and intensifies the memories. I post pictures of our family vacation to inspire others to “trade” with me. Once I share my own journey, I can collect ideas for future trips and discover new places to explore. I create a dream list of future adventures which I keep in my daily sight. It is a game that gives me such joy.
I’ve got South Carolina for you, care to trade for Montana?
The Recipe Box
She smelled of cigarette smoke as she waltzed into our home, holding a gold lame blouse on a hanger, a pie basket over her arm. Gramma Phyllis would perch at the kitchen counter, watching her chickens hustling around in a scramble of dinner preparations. We all stopped in our tracks once she unpacked her sweet smelling basket.
Apple pie, chocolate cream pie, rhubarb pie, pineapple pie and blueberry pie were her specialties. At each visit, her dessert arrived in style, traveling on the backseat of her Le Baron convertible in my great-grandmother’s picnic basket. I wasn’t a fan of warm fruit, but Grandma Phyllis’s blueberry pie came to our house and changed my pie bias. Her pie had fresh plump blueberries that burst in your mouth, peaks of homemade whipped cream, and warm crust that invited you to dive in. She taught her great grandson’s how to duplicate it, and we make it as a family each summer in her memory. One fourth of July, my youngest son fearlessly entered a pie eating contest, but did not enjoy the store-bought imposters.
At my bridal shower, my mother asked guests to bring their favorite recipes. I have my aunt’s chocolate cake, my sister’s banana cream pie, and my mother’s cherry cream cheese tart recipes twenty-five years later. Since I have been married, I have collected subscriptions to cooking magazines, cookbooks bought by friends, recipes passed down from family, and recommendations emailed to my inbox. I have an overflowing basket of recipes I have planned to organize but never completed.
Each year my Gramma Phyllis would take a creative class to learn something new and she would use those skills to make our Christmas gifts. The year I was engaged, she painted a recipe box which I recently moved to my nightstand. I often wake in the middle of the night with ideas that I do not want to forget. I scribble notes onto an index card and place them into the recipe box. Writing down keywords helps me to quickly fall back to sleep. When I wake up the next morning, it is fun to try and read my chicken scratch and decipher if it is an idea worth pursuing. Many of the articles I have written for this newspaper grew from this collection of thoughts. I imagine that my grandmother would be happy to know that she helped create the recipe for my success.
Playtime
I am drawn to movies that highlight female writers. Little Women, Sex in the City, Bridget Jones, Jane the Virgin, and Something’s Gotta Give, all feature inspiring female authors. I love watching Diane Keaton bang out a play in her beach house, SJP publish her columns into a book, or Jane type away at her telenovela while pregnant. Movies and books have the power to inspire me with stories of women following their writing dreams. Recently while watching the film version of Little Women, I was transported back in time to reading Louisa’s books as a shy little girl. Snuggled into a cozy nook of our home, I would escape into the stories of Jo, Beth, Meg and Amy. The movie also reminded me of the joy I spent growing up with my cousins. Christine, Nicole, Stephanie, Samantha and Sarah were little women, we just didn’t wear petticoats.
Some of my favorite memories include the times we spent creating plays, performing endless dance routines, writing our own newsletter, and interviewing each other for our pretend talk show. Our mother’s old bridesmaid dresses were the perfect costumes, ABBA and the Bee Gees albums provided our soundtrack, a typewriter inspired our newsletter, and we recorded our episodes onto my cassette player. The “a” key on the typewriter was missing so my pen name was Somi, and I wrote stellar reviews of Floshdonce and Greose. We were never bored, although our parents grew tired of watching our theatrical productions. My red boombox, a Speak n’ Spell, and the attic became our recording studio, our little sisters were our guests, although they struggled to articulate appropriate answers to our questions. We would entertain ourselves in that hot space and created together until we were called to dinner. With the exception of playing with Barbie’s, many of the activities that I enjoyed as a child are how I choose to spend my free time today.
As Ingrid Fetell Lee explains in her book Joyful, “play can put us in a powerful flow state which allows us to let go of everyday worries and be absorbed in the joy of the moment. The most joyful people I know manage to hold a space for play in their adult lives,” she explains. Not spending all of your free time catching up on tasks, but on finding that inner child and enjoying playtime with her will make you happier.
What do we fit into our day despite feeling overscheduled? Shining light on how we choose to spend our playtime can also help you if you are struggling to find your purpose. I was hired for my first job in development at Boston College after my manager reviewed my resume and learned that I created a charity golf tournament in honor of my late father. She turned to me in the interview and said, “if you like to ask for money in your free time, I imagine you are good at fundraising?” She took a chance on me once I discussed my passion for philanthropy.
When my husband Todd asked what I wanted to do to celebrate my birthday, I explained my wish. A true kid at heart, Todd loves any type of outdoor play and enthusiastically began planning. I reached out to my cousins and asked if they could play golf on my birthday. It took thirty seconds for them to reply that they would both take off work to join me. I am an awful golfer, but I love playing anything outside. After a year of being trapped behind a mask and screen, it felt great to be on the golf course where I could be my loud self, my smile uncovered.
Summer is the season when even the most dedicated workaholics take vacations and enjoy time away from their work. I suggest we take note of what lights us up and makes us feel like a kid again. Whether it be with your cousins, spouse, or children, what really makes your smile beam? I am not suggesting that you need to plan an adventure across the country, or buy a trampoline for your backyard. It can be as simple as dancing around the kitchen to your favorite movie soundtrack and discovering the little men and women inside. Happy Summer!
Flip Your Pancake
I often burn the first batch of pancakes I make. I am not known for my patience, so it is a pretty safe assumption that it is due to a failure to wait for the griddle to heat up. I have accepted my pancake cooking destiny and simply toss the first few into the trash and focus on the golden perfection of pancakes number three and four. Blueberries bursting at the seams, butter oozing down the stack, and a signature “dipping pool” of syrup accessorize my Instagram-worthy breakfast. Posting a photo helps me to savor my creation and inspires others to build their own pancake pile or head to their nearest diner for breakfast.
My first thoughts after Alexa wakes me, are often of my day ahead and the tasks that will follow. It takes an effort not to get dragged down by the burnt side of my day. When I arrive in the kitchen and see last night’s dinner dishes that “needed to soak,” my mood too gets soggy. Owlivia, our pet rescue owlet, helped me each morning to “flip my pancake,” or shift to the positive side of the situation.
During the two months when I was greeted in the kitchen with video footage of Owlivia, I could change my mindset and start my day with joy. My husband and I drank our coffee hunched over his phone as proud parents watching her midnight feedings. I would post to social media and immediately see the ripple of friends, relatives, co-workers, nurses, teachers, doctors, and children enjoying her growth.
“We are listening to their hoots as we fall asleep each night. “
“I played the video for my kindergarten class and they were mesmerized.”
“We gathered at the nurse’s station and replayed the video so many times!”
We made new friends, connected with old ones, and watched relationships grow alongside her. When my motherly instincts kicked in,, I relied on my social feed to share positive thoughts, prayers, and insights into her worry-some behavior. It was during a time when many of us were concerned for our own nests. Would our own children survive this time, would they fall, would they learn to fly after a year of lockdown, would they leave the nest? Owlivia gave us hope and a beautiful distraction from the crazy world around her tree. She gave us a positive connection that expanded across generations.
I will never forget what Owlivia looked like the day we met her. That little fluffball with the giant eyes looked like they were sewn on. The first time she smacked her beak into our camera when she gobbled down a mouse in one bite, the way she watched her mama fly from the nest. The memories we have made this part a little easier to swallow. Having to let her go was difficult, but I am grateful we had the time to appreciate this little miracle. She taught us to thoughtfully observe animals in nature around us and reminded us that the gift is fleeting.
After this year, you may read many suggestions on how a pet can improve your mental health, but that term can be used loosely. A pet rock, a snail, a stuffed animal, even a wild animal can immediately improve your day. At a time when many of us feel burnt, it is important is latch onto something to flip your mindset. Don’t get discouraged if you have to toss out the first batch. Once you flip your pancake, you will be looking ahead at a full stack.
Magic beans.
I found a photo of when I was on the swim team, and I noticed that the spectators were watching the end of the pool. The race was over, yet I was still swimming. I was not a terrible swimmer but I was afraid of getting splashed. This was before contact lenses, and I thought goggles were clunky and dorky. It was difficult to be on the swim team since I could not dive.
I would stand on the starting block at the beginning of the race, trapped in my anxious mind, and simply fall into the pool. If you belly flop into the swim meet, you cannot catch up to the competition. My parents would yell at me after the meet. “You NEED to dive into the pool Sami. C’mon, just dive in. DIVE!” To their shock, this strategy did not push me to plunge into the water head first.
When I threatened to quit, my father tried a new strategy. “We will take you shopping to pick out a new Adidas track suit.” I made it through a second season to get the matching pair of Nike sneakers. A new outfit did not help me conquer my fear of diving, but I did look better in the team photo.
Some may consider the carrots he dangled to be a bribe, but I appreciated that he gave me something to look forward to at the end. I was not going to become a swim star, but getting exercise was good for me. They also hoped that joining the swim team would help me make new friends, but I failed at that goal as well.
My swim team memories are helping me today to pause and consider my fears when I don’t dive in. When procrastinating a project, I think, why am I standing on the starting block? Often times, it is not the dive, but the fear of keeping my head above water. Many of us want to know what lies ahead and be guided into a new situation. We are all looking for a magic bean to get us up the beanstalk.
“You look amazing, how did you lose weight?” we ask, waiting to hear the secret.
“I moved more and put my fork down” is always the response.
“How do you have time to write?”
“I get up earlier.”
“How did you save money for that?”
“I cut back on my spending.”
The magic formula we are all searching for is simple, but just like Jack, we have to accept that there is no magic beanstalk. Instead of beans, we CAN leave ourselves little breadcrumbs to keep us looking up and ahead. Meeting a friend for coffee, going out on a dinner date, planning a workout with a buddy, or booking a trip on the calendar. My friend Kate calls these “buoys,” since they keep you afloat. They can be plans far in the distance, but having something positive to hold onto is proven to shift your mindset.
I was having a tough day at work recently when I received a text from an old friend of my sister Natalie. She reached out to let me know that she heard my father being quoted by a speaker at a Boston Bizwoman Mentoring event. It felt good to hear the advice he had shared with her, over twenty years after his passing. I immediately contacted the speaker to let her know the impact her words had.
“Let me give you some context of the moment I shared with your dad that changed my path and approach to my career,” she emailed.
“I asked to meet with your dad “off the record” and shared my insecurities about being in my twenties and having such a huge opportunity. He said: “let me give you a piece of advice I would give my daughter. Lead.” He encouraged her to get out of her own head and ‘dive’ right in. He did not say belly flop into the deep end. He did not say enter the pool slowly and watch your competition ahead of you.
Today, I make an effort to go head first off the starting block, and if the fear of water splashing on my face slows me down, I remind myself that I have a towel, and the ability to get out of the pool and dry myself off. I am also sure to keep a lot of buoys floating closely within reach. So I encourage you to go ahead and dive. DIVE.
Meet Owlivia, the Rescue Owl.
Our neighbor, Dale, walks his property each day, picking up sticks and fallen debris. Ten days ago, he discovered a sweet little baby owl looking up at him from his front yard. Owlivia, as Dale named her, chirped up at us, pleading for help. We did what we could. I captured photos and shared videos with friends and family. Dale called local nature organizations for advice. Todd built her a nest in an antique drawer.
Todd spent the first-night transferring Owlivia to her new spot without imprinting his human scent. He attached a camera to the tree, and we waited. We worried that the mom would reject her or not be able to find her. I shared the footage and asked friends to send her positive thoughts and prayers.
I rescued the drawer from a broken antique chest in my mom’s home and planned to use it to serve sweets at our firepit. Todd had a different vision for the drawer and it began serving a new flock. We watched the mom selflessly feed the baby owlet multiple creatures, until she flew into her own nest. Dale shared that an owlet had fallen the previous day, and he had buried him. My heart ached for this mama. Was there a hole in the nest that the babies fell from? Did Owlivia get pushed out by accident? Did she bravely think she could fly?
Todd called in an owl expert to examine Owlivia for injuries, and she explained that she was young enough to have her “egg tooth” on her beak. She encouraged Todd to stay out of the nest. Too much hovering with the owlet will cause stress and anxiety for the parents.
We all watched Owlivia preening her feathers and bonding with her parents. We did not hear the mom nagging her to brush her “egg tooth” or clean her nest? Owlivia’s age of three weeks was determined after viewing her “egg tooth,” which is used to break the shell of the egg and help the owl to escape from it at hatching. We learned something new each day.
As Todd shifted the camera angles, we watched them feed and connect. We replayed videos of her spreading her wings and testing her legs. She inspired us to start our days with a good stretch. I found myself pausing at the driveway to listen to the melody of hoots and screeches. The noises of these Great Horn Owls provided a whole new meditative experience.
The owls appear to be in sync and connected to their young, but we have no idea what goes on in the big nest high in the sky. We try not to make assumptions on what is happening behind the branches. As day turns to dusk, their harmony is comforting and we tuck ourselves in.
“Do you think the parents are happily enjoying time alone in their tree?” Todd asks.
“Are there other babies they need to take care of? Is Owlivia an only-owlet?” I wonder. Our pillow talk has shifted from our own nest to theirs.
Owlivia happily watches our neighbors walk, run, and bike by her tree. She appears to enjoy her simple home and doesn’t shy away from the camera. Animals are an easy topic to share and talk about instead of the tired COVID conversations. Owlivia has been featured in classrooms, at nurse’s stations, Zoom meetings, nature volunteer groups, dinner tables and bedsides. Times are tough for so many and people are subscribing to catch a glimpse of the sweet story of this bird.
She either fell from a nest that was not built properly, or she tried to fly too early. Either way, she landed in our hearts from a mistake, and that failure has turned into our great joy. We are trying to soak up her owl wisdom, and look forward to adding to this list before she flies away.
Life Lessons from Owlivia:
Be open and flexible to a new plan.
Believe in the power of prayer.
Embrace your failures.
Know when to back off and observe from a distance.
Shift your view and perspective.
Teach your chicks to care for themselves.
Listen carefully to the sounds of nature.
Do not make assumptions about what goes on in other nests.
Live simply, but find a good view.
Start your day with a good stretch.
Finally, if you don’t stop to notice your surroundings, you might miss the magic.
Choose Your Words
“Thanks for doing the right thing,” my son's boss replied when he texted-in sick to work. Tyler had explained that after a strep test and COVID test, he still had a sore throat. He didn't want to let her down or jeopardize his job on his last week before heading back to college. Her reply was perfect and any guilt he felt had evaporated and he then climbed back into bed.
“We are thinking about grabbing bagels and coffee and popping by for a visit if you guys are around? I text.
“Sure.”
My enthusiasm deflates. Does that mean “sure, we'd love to see you?” Or “sure, okay, if you want to?” It's about as exciting as “you look fine.” The word “sure” is on my list of words I don’t like to use.
When we were growing up, we had an enthusiastic live-in babysitter. My mom insisted she wasn't a nanny and always stressed that we “don't want people to think we are affluent.” Live-in babysitter sounds much less privileged. Carol Ann came from a large Mormon family in Utah and moved in when my brother John was a baby. We were encouraged to explain that this change was due to my mom going back to work, it wasn't that she was a home and needed extra help. We were coached a lot on how to explain the fact that we had a nanny flown in to take care of us. Not sure who I was explaining this to at age 12, but they sounded like a very judgy crowd. Carol Ann brought with her a cassette tape and a book of Power Tunes by Brigham Young University. My sister Sarah and I sang along together.
Sing along, “It's your attitude, attitude, that makes you do the things you do. Attitude that makes you who you are. You've got to be kind, you've got to be a friend…” We sang the songs about determination, perseverance, and work ethic. These words have stuck with me.
I lie awake trying to figure out what time it is, but I can't see the clock. I decided it would be healthier to move my phone across the room, so I'm left to my inner sundial to wake up. Multiple snores come from other bedrooms and I think about the day ahead. My thoughts are not happy. I often start thinking of what needs to be accomplished. In the current Covid days, I'm left thinking about chores verses entertainment. Why didn't I finish putting away the laundry yesterday? Did Mason pick up his bedroom like I asked? I should have gone grocery shopping so I don't have to deal with that today. I mentally run through my to-do list and I'm not ready to bounce out of bed when the alarm sounds. Actually bouncing sounds exhausting. I stop myself and put my feet on the floor. I look at my mood board I created with inspirational words, phrases and quotes that sits on my bedside table and I am immediately uplifted at something I read.
You've got this! Adventure, imagine powerful, brave, superior, shine, glow, wonder, smile and joy. These are some of the words I see on the mood board when I open my eyes each day. They help me out of bed to jump start my morning. I head to my coffee pot, ready to flip my “pancake”.
I heard from an old friend who shared that he was going through a break-up by writing in a diary. He was shocked at how good it felt to put his feelings down on paper.
“I knew that you were doing a lot of writing but I had no idea how therapeutic it could be,” he confessed.
“I had met this boy last fall and thought that we shared a spark.”
“What ended this?”
“When I admitted I was falling for him, he told me that he respected me.”
“Ick, are you his grandfather or love interest?” I asked.
One word, “respected,” did so much damage.
Maybe it's just a trigger word for me? When my father was really annoyed, he started his lectures with, “with all due respect my friend” and nothing sweet ever followed. He was not your friend; he wanted to reprimand you and drive home a point.
“I'm calling to schedule an episiotomy.” The nurse on the other line could not contain her laughter. My friend’s husband asked, “I guess I need you to explain the name of the surgery that I'm looking for, and I expect you're going to be telling this story at cocktail parties?”
“I’ve got you,” the captain of the football team said to my son as he carried him off the field. Those three words brought me such comfort as I was retold the story in the Emergency Room. As a mom, we can only hope others will help take care of our children when we are not around.
A friend of mine keeps an angry folder, after she writes an email when she is upset, she slides it into the folder for twenty-four hours and allows it to marinate. She then reads it the next day and decides if she still wants to send the message. She understands that she might need to change a few words in the light of a new day.
We tell toddlers “to use your words” as they are learning to speak. We often overlook the fact that the things we tell ourselves aren't always positive. I love writing because of the power that words hold. They can inspire, uplift and motivate. They can express love or deliver joy to the recipient. Choose your words wisely.
The Boy Next Door.
My husband, Todd spends most of his free time working in our yard. As soon as he heads outside, he is joined by his two buddies. One has floppy ears, and the other is our neighbor he calls “fifty-one.” It is heartwarming to see them sitting on logs taking a break to burn the tree limbs they've collected.
Many Saturdays, they are side-by-side stacking wood with Simba wagging his tail between them. They compare early morning gym routines, they share college stories, and they laugh over the many pranks they’ve pulled. Fifty-One stacks wood for our fireplace and is outside early with Christmas morning excitement on the day Todd rents a log splitter.
When Simba goes missing, we look in Dale's Garage first and typically he is at the workbench enjoying a snack, or on the deck catching the popcorn his wife Eleanor has popped for the birds. Simba loves that Dale keeps treats in his coat pocket and scratches his back with his rough work gloves. The same gloves that Todd replaced earlier this year, framing the old ones for his garage as a trophy of their yard work.
“This is all your land,” Dale explains to Todd as they stack a woodpile that will last until we have grandchildren. “Fifty-one percent of it is yours, I own forty-nine” Todd responds. Their nicknames are born.
If we are working late, Dale happily takes care of Simba, texting us the details of where they walked and what they dropped behind. He watches our house when we go out of town, and isn’t ruffled by a group of boys in the woods we share. This is not his first Rodeo he has three grown sons of his own.
Three weeks ago, his bride of fifty-eight years was rushed to the hospital and did not return to our neighborhood. Watching Dale experience the heartache, like so many who have lost loved ones during COVID, was heartbreaking. Our neighborhood came together to help him with meals, took him for walks and taught him a few helpful domestic chores.
Those cookies were heavenly,” Dale thanks me on a recent visit to our porch. “Todd and Mason get the credit,” I explained. “You bake,” he asks Todd? Your generation amazes me,” he laughs. Dale explains what he has learned in his three weeks as a bachelor and it makes me appreciate having a husband who is not afraid of the kitchen.
I look out our window and see Dale feeding the birds popcorn, adopting Eleanor’s chores. Simba and I take him on a walk, stopping as he delivers treats to all of the dogs in our neighborhood.
Like my favorite elderly character Carl from the movie Up, Dale is now forced to create new routines. He is upbeat as he tells me about the dinner he made and plans he has to clean out the attic. He has adapted quickly to being in charge of turning out lights when he leaves a room, feeding their cats, and doing the laundry. He is proud of his scrambled eggs and he has invited the cats to sleep on Eleanor’s side of the bed.
Like Russell in the movie, I would like to bestow Dale with the “Ellie badge” for his courage to take on this new adventure. I know that Eleanor is proudly watching his every move.
Pass the Face
“Make sure her head is held up. Slowly, one step at a time. Careeeefffuuulll” my Mom smiled with gritted teeth as she coached me down the steep staircase.
“Sami, your elbow needs to remain strong to support her head.”
My new baby sister Sarah had just come home from the hospital. I had spent the morning waiting for her to grow up and play with me. Impatient that she was sleeping, I placed my newborn sister on a pillow and carried her down the stairs. My mother heard me approaching and guided me with the calm demeanor of a bomb expert. I confidently delivered my new friend to her open arms.
I am sure that if I had the same experience, I would have screamed or at least appeared VERY anxious. I had used my mom’s make-up to paint myself into clown-face, advertising my craving for attention. I assume that my mom was tired herself, and was less than enthused to be confronted with a possible dangerous accident. She maintained eye contact and we played a successful game of “Pass the Face.”
“Pass the Face,” is an improv game where you mirror the other person’s emotions. If they are excited about Halloween, you have to squash your fear and get on board to LOVE the holiday. You have no warning as to what their emotion will be, you simply have to catch whatever is thrown at you and copy it.
I play this game on a daily basis without warning. I walk in from work and faced with a complaining member of my family, I start to bitch and moan. If I am around unhappy people, I mirror their grumpiness. I try to fight it with a game of “Flip the Face,” but quickly my positive attitude and face falls.
It is ironic that I painted myself in the one face I am afraid of clowns. Whenever there is a frightening clown on the screen, I run out of the room. For years, my family has been encouraging me to face my fear. Ever since I watched the horrific mime episode on Little House on the Prairie, I have been deeply afraid of clowns. Clowns appear to be entertaining, yet a terrifying villain lurks underneath those creepy painted faces. My sons constantly ask me to watch clown-based horror movies with them, hoping it will be the cure. My sister even went as far as finding a workout class where I would be chased by actual clowns, which I refused.
Last week my son Mason asked me to watch the horror movie “It” with him. If you have teenagers, you know this rare gift I was given. The invitation would be revoked if I suggested a different option. The crazy clown was scary, but not only did I survive, I felt a huge relief once the credits rolled. The proud look on Mason’s face when we finished was a reward in itself. I texted Tyler at college to share my accomplishment.
“I wish I could have seen your face!” he replied. Proudly conquering another fear, I happily passed along a screen-shot of my face.
Random Acts of Kindness
She explained how she swaddled him tight and got him to take a bottle, and I gratefully fell into her deep embrace. It was after midnight, and I was sure Melissa needed to get home to feed her own newborn baby boy. The following day started with discussions of who would speak at the funeral, when would it take place, would we wait for outer towners to fly in. At some point, a dress from Ann Taylor appeared on our doorstep, tags on, and in my size. How did Cathy know I needed a funeral dress? Jennifer arrived with an overnight bag, and I protested, not wanting to take her away from her new husband. She sat with me as I cried in disbelief. She placed a plate of eggs and toast on my lap as I nursed my son, and I gratefully swallowed each bite.
We greeted hundreds of friends as they came through the line of the wake,
“Oh, she's okay. We are fine. We'll all be ok.” I comforted and reassured guests that we were going to get through this tragedy. Our feet ached, our tummies growled, and my cousins helped me take breaks when my milk came in. My mom’s friend Kathy whispered into my ear that we should drive over to her house once we were finished. Swollen-eyed and exhausted, we completed the odd tradition of standing by our father’s casket, helping other people feel better.
Kathy greeted us as her husband Craig played the piano in their living room. Their elaborate table was set by candlelight with fine china, and their children stood at attention like waitstaff. They served us a feast, and we gobbled up every last bite. We laughed and cried as we shared stories of awkward things people said to us in the funeral home. The family waited on us like we were in a fancy restaurant while we reminisced about our Dad. We slept well on the eve of his funeral thanks to this very generous gift. Twenty years later, these random acts of kindness are the moments I cannot forget about my father’s funeral.
After I published the first Sunnyside column, my friend Sue laminated the copy and I gave it to my father-in-law. A new friend Bethany mailed me her extra paper with a sweet note of encouragement. I received a handmade card with a package of decadent warming chocolate from a friend I have not seen since middle school. I am impressed that she took her time to purchase, create, package and send it to me from her post-office in Eureka, California.
Many people think generosity comes from your wallet, but sharing your time, energy and words can make other people around you feel good. When you are surrounded by good, you feel lighter. When you are the giver, you shine a little brighter. It is called the “Giver’s Glow.” Dr. Stephen G. Post has researched this theory in his study at New York’s Stony Brook University, proving that often it is better to give than receive. And a random act of kindness is a Covid-friendly activity you can try right now.
Spreading good not only makes you feel better, it can inspire others to follow. These moments that make you smile, I call joy bursts. Share your #joyburst and tag me @samigreenfield so we can spread the good together!
Highs and Lows
I found a journal I had written at thirteen and it included a list of my likes and dislikes.
Reading during a snowstorm, in front of a fire.
Snacks, steak, steamers, skating, and sledding.
I assume it is a coincidence that my top “likes” begin with “S?” I enjoy all of those activities today, except rarely treat myself unless the snowstorm falls on a Sunday, or I am celebrating with a surf-n-turf dinner out.
Slushy snow, changing my brother’s diapers and wearing hats in winter top my dislike list. Hats do keep you much warmer, my mature self understands. Thankfully, my brother has also grown-up. I am happy to have this sweet snapshot into my thirteen-year-old mind.
At the beginning of the pandemic, we ate together every night. That joy wore off eventually. Tyler went to college, Mason had activities, and we began to eat solo; juggling virtual schedules.
In December, the band was back together again. We chatted away, sharing what we had missed since the last visit. Winter break was longer than usual and we got back into our routine of juggling and did not always eat together. On one rare occasion when we were breaking bread at the same time, I suggested we share our “highs and lows.”
When the boys were little, this was a great way for us to encourage small moments, and get a peek into their thoughts. What did they consider a low? What brought them joy? What did they have the courage to bring up? When we vacationed with my family, we would ask the group to share their highs and lows at the larger dinner table. The activity bridged the age gap and gave the group a new connection.
I love that our sons happily fall back into this routine without missing a beat. We learn about a struggle with a grade, frustration over a work issue, a connection with a teacher or coach. Sharing doesn’t come easy in our house, so any crumbs I can gather are appreciated.
We are all tired and grumpy from the endless Pandemic, and this season is cold and dark. I feel like a character on The Little House on the Prairie, preparing food and trying to get my chores done before sunset. I spend an hour making dinner, only to boomerang right back into the kitchen to clean-up. We can talk ourselves into a circle of complaints and there are more lows than highs.
By bringing back the dinner game of “highs and lows,” we learn what is making each person smile. It shapes the following day. If Todd’s high was hearing that Mason took Simba on a walk, Mason might be motivated to repeat the performance. If Tyler’s low was struggling over a paper he was writing, we might ask him to read it aloud. When my high is getting take-out delivered; you can see the pattern here.
Taking a moment to share what makes you smile is not easy. If you read, watch or listen to something that lights you up, pass it along. Someone else might realize that they can duplicate it for their own pleasure.
“You bought yourself tulips instead of waiting for someone else to give them to you?” Bravo!
“You read your book in the afternoon?” I can do that!
Playing in the snow instead of tackling laundry! That is allowed?
I have never heard of anyone complaining that they are tired from too much joy, or sick of smiling. This month, put yourself first and create more bursts of joy to power your day
Joy Bursts
Sipping coffee before the rest of your house wakes, freshly laundered sheets, a funny text from an old friend. These days, it doesn’t take much to brighten our moods. But how often do we stop and notice these moments of joy?
We spent the fall learning how to work safely in our offices while juggling our kids’ hybrid school schedules and their new work-from-bedroom scenarios. Drained by Zooms and the guilt of additional screen time, the weeks became more difficult to manage. We worried about the mental health of our kids at home and those away in this new world of college. I needed to shift my own frustrations to a happier outlook.
I suggested to two of my college friends that we text each other one moment of joy each day. “Share anything that makes you smile, or gives you a quick hit of joy,” I explained. “Focus on yourself, not what you are doing to bring joy to others.” My goal was to uncover what made us smile each day. I wondered how we could cultivate more happiness?
“Took a hot Epsom salt bath after dinner #joyburst” I sent to Bryson and Loren.
“Used a hair mask and blew out my hair even though I had no place to go,” Bryson shared.
“Met a friend for a run #joyburst” Loren
“Listened to Oprah’s podcast on a slow walk #joyburst” Loren sent us both.
“Eating my lunch outside without my phone,” I sent.
Our bursts of joy became contagious. I turned off my alarm clock, remembering that Bryson enjoyed sleeping in the day before. I searched for a spa playlist that gave Loren a #joyburst the day prior. Todd asked me about their joy bursts at dinner and shared his own. If my day was gloomy, I found myself trying to find a reason to smile and share. The quest for joy bursts distracted me from my gloom. We shared photos of recipes, podcasts, quotes, and songs. The more focus we shined on our joy, the brighter these moments became.
When our boys were small, we read the book “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day,” and laughed over how miserable he was. The more Alexander stomped around complaining, the worse his day seemed to get. Gloom breeds doom.
By changing our mindsets to search for the good moments, we can find more reasons to smile. We don’t need grand celebrations or adventures; we just need little everyday sparks to feel more joy. A text from a friend, watching a movie with your child, a warm bath at the end of the day. Simple moments bring joy and when added up, brighten our day. But it is up to us to search for these moments and savor them.
If you have been struggling to find joy lately, do not give up hope. Your search might take longer or be more difficult, but I bet you can find a little something to make you smile. On days when I cannot find anything, I look to my friends to see what is making them happier and try to duplicate for myself. That is why sharing your joy is so important, you never know who might need inspiration at that moment.
I give my family books in their Christmas stockings, even though the books sit on their nightstands and often go unread. I have faith that eventually, someone will be inspired to read one of them. It hasn’t happened yet, but I cling to hope. I have given them journals as well, trusting that they will use them when the time is right.
Last spring, I started getting up earlier to add in time to read and write in my journal. This simple tweak to my schedule has given me a few moments for myself to start my day in a positive mindset. On the weekends, Todd joins me with his iced coffee and laptop. It is a nice change of pace from our busy weekdays.
As I was writing this piece about joy bursts, I looked over at Todd and noticed he was reading the book I gave him for Christmas, with Simba warming his feet. That joy burst smacked me right in the face.
Next month is Valentine’s Day, a time when we are encouraged to show people how much we love them. What if this year you showed yourself some love? Grab a friend and start sharing your #joybursts so we can spread the love together!
Perception is everything.
I can’t go skiing because I don’t have any equipment, I explained to my new boyfriend Todd. If you know my now-husband, you can imagine how excited he was about this idea.
“My family has tons of equipment that you can borrow! My Mom will pack us a lunch, and we can take a quick drive up to the mountains of New Hampshire.”
I didn’t want to burst Todd’s excitement bubble but I had not skied since high-school, and I was a pizza-pie-snow-plowing skier. I had a fear of heights and too many bad memories of my sister falling off ski-lifts. As he chattered on about the fun we were going to have, my anxious brain went into overdrive. But I did not want to ruin my “adventurous new girlfriend imagine,” so I reluctantly agreed to go shop in his parent’s basement.
If you are analyzing my anxiety at this point, I should explain that my in-laws are part superhero. They all share some weird gene that produces an increased metabolism. No one in the family exercises to burn fat, they all need to burn off energy and ADD weight. Any sport they try, they excel at with the ease of an Olympic athlete. When I visit my mother-in-law in the spring, she will greet me with Linda Hamilton arms which are extra impressive at eighty-one.
“Oh Sami, I have been rearranging the attic,” she will gush. Mary Greenfield created at-home workouts before they were trendy.
Back to my story. I was greeted by my sister-in-law the former ballerina, Jodi. “Help yourself to any of my ski stuff Sami,” she graciously offered. I looked her up and down and knew I could only borrow her hat and earmuffs.
My mother-in-law steered me to the basement and went back to packing us a picnic lunch. Todd went off to the garage to wax our skis with his father, and I began sorting through the bins of clothing. To my delight, I slid into a pair of stylish black ski pants that fit me like a glove. I danced up the stairs and began shoop-shoop-shooping into the Greenfield’s kitchen. This was going to be SO MUCH FUN!
“Hey Sami,” Todd’s older brother Chuck greeted me. Chuck resembled Thor and had an intimidating presence to match. I confidently waved, feeling like Suzie Chapstick.
“Why are you wearing my ski pants?’’ he asked me innocently. I turned ten shades of red.
I shuffled into the driveway and found eager Todd adjusting the skis onto the roof of his Jetta. His mom was wrapping each handmade Rice Krispie treat, sandwich, and apple into a wax paper sleeve. His father was checking Todd's packing and suggesting new routes to take based on snowfall. I continued to remind myself that I was wearing his brother's pants.
Todd had the patience of a trained ski instructor and by the end of the day, I was snowplowing with grace and speed. We took fireside breaks to enjoy the picnic lunch, forgetting about the freezing temperatures. The apres-ski beers at the lodge bar tasted better than ever. Todd and I went skiing most weekends and began to appreciate the snow and proximity to the mountains. We planned ski-weekends with friends and family and the winter flew by! We shared so many laughs barreling down the slopes together. It didn't matter which ski pants I was wearing.
Published in Wicked Local Sudbury, January 14, 2020
Christmas Morning
We had to wait at the top of the stairs, clutched to each other in our Holly Hobby bathrobes. My mom brought us teeny glasses of orange juice as my Dad scurried around turning on lights.
“Ok girls, lets see what Santa brought,” our Mom announced, allowing us to run into the living room. Second rule was that we had to find the note from Santa before opening any presents. You can’t open the gift before the card. Our traditional offering was cookies and a Heinekin, with a few carrots for the reindeer. Next to his plate of crumbs, he always left a quick note of praise to my sister and I.
My parents believed in one big-impact gift per child. There were four of us, but they also both grew up in poor households where gifts were considered a luxury. The Big Wheel and Barbie Camper made my top-ten of all time. I would have included the play kitchen, except for the fact that my parents waited until Sarah was old enough to ask for it, so they could get more bang for their buck. By twelve I understood that the end results were more impressive when you baked in the real oven.
One Christmas morning we ran into the room to find a moving stocking. To our delight, we carefully removed a small puppy from my felt stocking. We had been asking for a puppy ever since our cat Friday had passed away so this was a huge surprise. We spent the morning playing with our sweet dog. Unfortunatly, she did not arrive trained, and left her mark on our Oriental carpet. Later that day, my father asked my Aunt to take the dog off our hands. I do not remember any discussions, or books read to us on pet loss. It was the 1970’s, so my cousins came over and we worked on our Bee Gees dance routine. .
Whenever I see commercials for children getting puppies on Christmas morning, I laugh. The gift may not have worked out, but the funny memory remains.
If These Walls Could Talk
When I hear Saturday Night Fever, I cannot help but break out my old school disco moves. The band 10,000 Maniacs brings me right back to college, and Neil Diamond has me falling in love with Todd all over again. No need for a Back to the Future DeLorean, music has the power to transport me back in time.
My mother is a collector and would prefer to give away her treasures versus trashing them. Our boys enjoy the hunt of searching through the nooks and crannies of her home and discovering memorabilia. Early on in the Pandemic, we helped my mom clean out her garage and discovered her vinyl record collection. Promising to sort, organize and donate them, Tyler brought her records home. As we flipped through the albums, the memories came flooding back. My grandmother taking me into Boston to see Annie, dancing to the Bee Gees with my cousins on Christmas, Donnie & Marie Osmond at the Cape Cod Melody Tent, and an evening showing of Grease with my father. Imagine my surprise when he tucked me into my Snoopy sheets and gave me the Grease triple record-set. As Tyler began his project, I played many of these songs and it was an instant mood-lifter.
Like many others, our boys have spent most of their time this year working in their bedrooms. Mason enlarged a photo of his favorite view for his bedroom wall so he could start and end his day with that positive site. I framed a photo from our Wyoming vacation and it is a beautiful view as I get ready each day. Tyler covered a wall in our basement with my mother’s album covers, and used the records to decorate his bedroom. As I walk through our home, I am reminded of my first concert or favorite song from middle school, and I cannot help but smile.
I have a college girlfriend who randomly texts me songs that she knows will spur fun memories of our past. My son created a French music playlist for me when I told him about my favorite scene in the movie Something’s Gotta Give. And when my friend who is a spin instructor in town posts her favorite workout tunes, I add them to my exercise routine. Thanks to technology, we can share music as a quick way to brighten someone’s day.
One of the downsides to this unique time period is that we cannot change our scenery with a vacation or a getaway. We can fill our homes with music and make little improvements to our walls that can help us reframe our thoughts going forward.
New Traditions
It was so nice to FaceTime Tyler at U.V.M. today.
I am happy that the coach found a field to hold practice for the football team.
I love the new book that Sue gave me.
I force myself to write three things that I appreciate into my journal each night before going to bed. These small moments of gratitude do not flow easily, but it is a habit that I need for my mental health. I focus on shifting my mind from daily stresses so these times do not overwhelm me.
Not very original, but one of our Thanksgiving traditions is to go around the table and share what we are thankful for. When our boys were small, this was a challenge for them. Trying to think of something to share was difficult, as was the pressure to speak at the crowded adult table. On a trip with my college friends, we discussed how to teach our children gratitude for the privileged life they led. Together, we created the “Thankful Bowl” and designed the following activity for our families:
We kept pieces of colored construction paper on the table with a few pens. As we sat down to dinner, we helped the boys to write out one thing that they were grateful for that day. Their thoughts ranged from being thankful for a new Lego tower to having food on our table. The slips of paper were added to a glass bowl, and the colors of the paper made for a simple centerpiece. Part of the joy came from capturing a glimpse into their little minds, as well as watching them write or draw their ideas. We shared a few of these thoughtful notes on Thanksgiving Day, taking the pressure off of them to have to think on the spot. I saved many of them in an album, and today they are a sweet reminder of simpler times. Tomorrow, we will read them as an COVID-friendly Thanksgiving activity.
It is harder to find joy in 2020, but if we search, we might be able to find one moment each day that made us smile. And one day, we will all appreciate these times as faint memories.
gifts come in all shapes and sizes
My sister Sarah is selective about what she drinks, but I know she can’t resist the Vinho Verde from Trader Joe’s. We walked onto the top deck of the ferry and two guys offered to move their bags so we could sit down. They told us about the wedding they were late for and we shared our favorite Nantucket hot spots. We laughed with our new friends, glad they chose to share their seats with us.
John and Pookie picked us up and we moved into the charming home; ACK Last. We walked down the cobblestone street for a fun outdoor dinner. We laughed, we cried, we thanked Pookie for taking us out. Jesse popped by our table to say hello. We had a drink with Liz. We strolled back and all climbed into my huge bed to watch a few minutes of Father of the Bride. We slept in luxurious sheets, showered in beautiful glass showers, and felt like we were staying in a five-star hotel. It was very generous of Elizabeth and Pete to share their guest house. Such a gift to have the time without spouses and kids, and relaxing not to sleep in the home we were packing up.
We were fortunate to enjoy the getaway to Windswept from 1982-2020. Three marriages, five grandchildren, one island wedding occurred in that time. We lost a father, four grandparents, an aunt, one “Tucket” dog, and two cats. The walls could retell some incredible stories. Pookie had wanted to let it go when our father died, but she hung on so our children too could enjoy it’s charm.
I am grateful to Jesse’s grandmother Eleanor for taking Pookie with them on vacation when she was ten years old. They included her on numerous summer trips, helped her with summer employment, and eventually inspired her to rent, and then buy her own home on Nantucket.
When I think of how the journey to the Grey Lady began for our family and then ended, I appreciate the gifts from Eleanor, Pookie, and Elizabeth. ACK last, I feel ready to let go.
The ten day postcard.
You can find lots of great articles on why camp is a great experience for a child, but it should really be recommended by marriage therapists. For a few summers, we sent our boys to two weeks at Camp Coniston in New Hampshire. During those two weeks, I learned the following:
I am a creative, thoughtful, calm person when not caught in the blender of parenting.
Even though I get my energy from people, I do enjoy a quiet house.
Grocery shopping is not a chore when you pop into the market to select items for one or two meals. Basically, pretending I am French.
Sleeping naked is enjoyable and decreases night sweats. It is hard to do this when the boys are home.
Sex cures a lot of issues.
You can take trips as a couple, but being home together navigating real life can also be a treat. Eating take-out on your coffee table while watching inappropriate t.v. brings you back to the early days.
It is nice to realize that our arguments stem from parenting and that we can still connect as a couple. This reminder always helped us stay on course for the year before they went back to camp.
Fast forward a few years to preparing to send our first-born off to college and I find myself comparing a lot to preparing for overnight camp. The packing list is similar, the clothes are only a little bigger. Tyler did not need a head-lamp, bug spray or self-addressed envelopes for college. Those items are replaced with a large bottle of Advil, a laptop, and a bundle of chargers. Packing for college is not stressful after Tyler’s overnight camp experience. Camp taught him to make new friends, adapt to new surroundings, and be independent. I do not worry over his adjustment to his college dorm, his two-week stay at Camp Coniston prepared him for this.
The first summer he went, I waited ten long days to hear from him. One of the rules of the camp is that they do not bring any electronics, and parents cannot email their children. I agree that this allows them to fully engage and decreases their chances of being homesick. Our family dynamic shifted with only having Mason at home, and I tried to adjust. We got one postcard at day ten, which I re-read a dozen times analyzing if he seemed happy by his use of exclamation points. When we picked him up after two weeks, he couldn’t contain his excitement as he shared his adventures and toured us around the campground. He returned the following summer with his brother, and they shared a few summer sessions together. While they learned a lot during the experience, I am grateful for how the experience has shaped our future. Thank you Camp Consiton for the prep work!