On the Bright Side

It was challenging to decide what to write about for the November edition of the Happy Herald. Gratitude is always something that comes to mind as our country honors this emotion with a national holiday this month.That is a beautiful thing. But this is also an election year, which gives November another particularly distinct trait. An ugly one. So, I wondered if there was any way to find the beautiful in the ugly. First, I’m fairly confident I speak for all of us when I say I’ll be very grateful on November 9th that  the election is over. There were moments during the past few months when I honestly thought I was living in an alternate universe. But if I am, we all are so that a moot point. I do believe, however, that many of us are actually living in parallel ones. Unless you actually were in another universe over the past few months, I don’t need to tell you how incredibly awful the cacophony has been. It was so loud it was really difficult to hide from. But what really astounde

As our kids grow older, my husband and I like to take credit for the parts of their personalities that we are particularly fond of while claiming, of course, to have no idea where the not so impressive qualities could have come from. I would have to say that I’m a full-fledged Type B personality, while my husband is more like a Type A - Type B. Nothing rattles him, but he doesn’t exactly know how to relax. He’s always thinking about his next move, whether it is pre-downloading the next Netflix binge before a current series has ended or planning our retirement. He never sits still, but also rarely gets stressed about anything. I, on the other hand, though I too rarely get stressed, am more of a ‘roll with the punches’ kind of person. I’ve actually been quite proud of my ability to look on the bright side and accept life’s curve balls with grace. As for the kids, we have two boys, and one steers his life the way my husband does while the other rides the waves like his mom. Observi

Staring at a blank page is a dreaded reality for writers. I have several projects in the works. I’m writing a children’s book, a novel, and researching other projects. At times it can be overwhelming, but not for the reasons you may think. I love research so much I could disappear in a library and never come out.  I have enough journals and rough drafts to fill ten libraries. But seeing a manuscript to completion is my achilles heel. I love the reasearch; I love the writing process…. What makes completing a project so difficult? I took a writing workshop this summer that helped me realize that the only thing getting in the way of my writing was ME! I realized that I have been placing an enormous amount of pressure on myself to live up to expectations that a) likely do not exist, and b) have nothing to do with me. My problem revealed itself to me as I was taking a train across New York state toward the end of the summer. Looking out the window at the old homes and mansions on the

You can tell a lot about a place by the way they treat their animals. I spent the first half of the summer in Costa Rica and met the most kind-hearted, life-embracing people I’ve ever encountered...anywhere. Monkeys and humans share the mangoes from the trees, cats relax on bookshelves in coffee shops and “dingoes” (as stray dogs were affectionately called) wander the streets visiting their favorite spots, beckoned by nickname from all of the locals. The mutual respect between the people and the animals in 'our' little town made my heart smile. And it seemed to carry over to the wildlife as well. A bird landed on my coffee cup one morning, chirped me a little song and flew off (true story!). Coatis poked their noses right into our beach bags, and iguanas visited us on our porch, eyes staring and heads cocked, seeming to ask, “Are you leaving soon? I want to sun myself on that chair.” But the attitude that I think best exemplifies the genuine kindness of the people we met,

With each passing year I appreciate the pace I am afforded during the summer months more and more. Especially because I find it increasingly difficult to turn it up again when summer is over. I’m not a spring chicken any more and I just have to admit it! By mid-May, which in Teacher Land is mid-testing-madness season, all bets are off. The diet and exercise plan are replaced with extra long working hours and fast food meals. Sleep is superseded by paper grading long into the night. Chores around the house go undone and multiply exponentially. Times like these call for innovation… like removing one or two large items from the dishwasher to make room for some new dirty ones and rewashing them all. You think, “Brilliant!” as the dishwasher takes on a second function as cupboard. When random loose items like batteries, screwdrivers, flashlights, rubber bands, pennies and toenail clippers make their way into rooms where they do not belong, they find temporary residence in one of a growing

My big, intimidating, mean high school English teacher asked the class who was taking the SAT on Saturday. Vaguely aware that there even was such a test, I didn’t raise my hand. After class he bellowed from his desk, “Van Wagenen, see me!” My heart stopped. I’d had a rather scary run in with him a few weeks back (more on that in a moment). I cautiously approached his desk. He asked, “Are you going to college?” “Yes,” I replied. “Where are you applying?” Ummmm, hadn’t really thought about that yet. Honestly, I didn’t even realize you had to apply. I just thought when the time came I’d pick a college and go. He scrawled a note onto a slip of paper and said, “Bring this to the guidance office.” “Okay,” I said. On the way I read it: “This young lady is clueless. Register her for the SAT and get her started on the college application process. Frank” He was actually Mr. Frank, but he was big on using last names only. Here’s the back story. A few weeks earlier the same, “Van Wagenen, see m

My youngest son turned 21 in January. Such a milestone! I shared an adorable baby picture of him on Facebook wishing a “Happy 21st birthday to this little man.” In addition to all of the usual responses, “Happy birthday!.... where does the time go?...” I got a beautiful message in my inbox from an old college friend. It was a copy his wife singing her own rendition of  “Stop Time” from the musical Big . She sang with such heartfelt passion I got chills. Ironically, as her lovely voice sang, “Birthdays fly - 7,8,9,10” all I could think was I don’t miss that. At all.  With each birthday party, I was just happy to be closer to the next. “Then he’s two, such a little man, so alive and so smart..”   and such a pain.... Was I a bad mom?   I recall the terrible twos, fours, eights, twelves, fifteen through eighteens… each phase getting scarier than the next. I may have wanted time to go backwards, but never stop. At that point I just wanted a fast forward button! Sometimes I think it woul

"Now more than ever!" Sometimes I think if I hear that phrase, “more than ever” again I’ll jump out a window. It is repeated so often, especially during election cycles. Candidates insist that we have “never before” seen such a crisis - whether fiscal, cultural, international… Henny Pennies need to convince the electorate that the sky is falling and they are the only one who can fix it… before it’s too late!!! Hogwash. But while the “now more than ever” cliché is overused and misleading (there are plenty of episodes in our history that I am, frankly, glad I missed) it is easy to see why it is such a popular mantra. Cable news channels compete for attention in an oversaturated marketplace. Wolf Blitzer hosts his show from the “Situation Room,” requiring a new “situation” (or several) to get his audience hyped up and hooked for two hours every day. That is a lot of situations. Fox News and MSNBC need to compete with all of the “breaking news” on CNN, so they chime in with

I’ve been reading Thomas Merton’s Seven Storey Mountain, his self-proclaimed “autobiography of faith.” The mountain borrows from Dante’s Mountain of Purgatory. In his book, Merton explains his frustrations as a young man at not really knowing his “vocation.” He felt called to be a monk, but was not quite sure if it was his vocation. He spent the better part of a decade looking for signs to verify his worthiness for such a calling. Rather trust his own instinct,  he convinced himself that he must be wrong and continued to go to work as an English professor at St. Bonaventure, in upstate, New York  He milled about writing novels and teaching, convinced that what he really wanted to do - become a monk - could not be his actual vocation. Thus he stayed stuck in a job that kept him from growing into his potential. His hang up about his true vocation got me thinking about the word, and about the difference between a job and a vocation; between a vocation and an occupation. A vocation