I just returned from a long awaited “bucket list” trip down the Danube. While waiting and planning for this trip for the past sixteen months, I felt sure this would be the cruise of a lifetime. Instead, the ship was stymied by heavy rains in Slovakia prior to our arrival that caused flooding and high waters downriver which meant our ship (run by Viking) would be unable to “fit” under the bridges along the way. My river cruise turned into a bus tour over half the time. 

I was told it takes about 10,000 repetitions and reminders before a child learns to say “please” and/or “thank you.” Courtesy is a lovely thing, but not automatic.  

However, does repetition translate into authentic appreciation or gratitude? Have cultural norms merely trained us to spout rote responses in the name of politeness without meaning?  

According to “Psychology Today” https://shorturl.at/o7iSV gratitude is an appreciation for what one has. How many of us are truly satisfied with life as it is, with what we own now? Am I? 

I’m working on it.

It’s March and once again, despite knowing this happens to me every year, when the temperature hits seventy and the flowers bust out, I think, “hooray, spring is early this year.” Until the thermostat plummets into the thirties the very next day, and I have to drag out my sweaters. Dang. When will I learn? 

Last week, a friend introduced me to a wonderful book, All Creation Waits by Gayle Boss who wrote this book with her own children in mind to make the Advent season, those four weeks prior to Christmas, more meaningful than the typical chocolate coin calendars. Boss has since adapted the book for adults. Her short animal essays (twenty-five of them) beautifully capture the hours, days, and weeks prior to the numbing cold of winter each animal must endure and ultimately adapt, from turtle to chipmunk to fox and even bear. These animal stories have much to teach us about our own relationship with darkness and cold and self-preservation.  

...is my book to sell. Or, that an elusive influencer out there would read my book and post a picture of it along with a kudo or two. Or, a producer’s friend would send him the next great idea for a film adaptation of my book! Is it too much to ask?

What is it about this time of year that has us all dreaming of sugarplums? Oh, I don’t mean real sugarplums. Look them up, they are somewhere between fruitcake and plum pudding. No doubt, it’s an acquired taste. Back in 2008, Chef Peter Greweling told NPR Host Linda Wertheimer that he thought sugarplums might wander back into popularity like they were in the 19^th century. Sorry, Peter, that hasn’t happened. But I digress.

For those who don’t remember, "Daydreamin” is a song by the Lovin’ Spoonful back in 1966. That really dates me, I know, so I might as well confess that I was still in high school. But what is odd to me is how an old tune like this one can suddenly land in my mind and not let go. It’s become a mantra of sorts.  

The main verse I sing is this one, but of course, I change the word “boy” to “girl” and my “bundle of joy” is usually an event coming up.  

What a day for a daydream 
What a day for a daydreamin' boy girl. 
And now I'm lost in a daydream 
Dreamin' 'bout my bundle of joy. 

What happens in the silence?

Back in my acting school days, we were often encouraged to dwell in the small silences between sentences—to not feel compelled to speak straight through, but to allow the character to think, to consider, to ruminate, if you will. And then going even further back, I remember a one-act play, actually a “sketch”, by the avant-garde playwright, Harold Pinter, in which silences were a key aspect. Of course, the two characters were both in midlife and I was in my twenties; what did I know of broken marriages and broken lives where silence reigned? That would come much later.

I don’t remember when I became intrigued by the church calendar. Certainly not while I was active in Charismatic and Evangelical churches, where the only calendars celebrated were Christmas and Easter week. At my Methodist church, we acknowledged Advent with the lighting of candles on a huge wreath (3 purple and 1 pink) but they didn’t have much meaning for me. When my late husband and I adopted our children (aged 4 & 5), we had a variety of Advent calendars, one with tiny books that told the Christmas story and two others that involved daily chocolate. I don’t think I need to say which calendars were the most popular.