Happiness, ad infinitum

I must say, I am quite grateful to my friend Miranda for her Happiness Challenge. It has me seeking and finding all the joys in my life that I may otherwise have taken with all the blase' expectation of an overly spoiled child. I will apply said challenge to my life at large, keeping track of things in my personal journal. That way, whenever I start feeling morose or ungrateful, I can look back on all the ways I have been remembered by God and the Universe, and given a token of that remembrance.

Happiness Homework

I am behind. This is me playing catch-up.

Day three was awesome. Giving is generally always better than receiving: Kevin and I set up a deliciously luxurious hammock for our dear friends Jordan and Rebecca, for them to find when they came home from their honeymoon. We were very excited, and very pleased with ourselves when we had it all put up. There was much high-fiving, and shouting of "Go Team Moore!" (yeah. we're kinda nerds like that.)

Day Four was work...not so much joy in that, but I gave my all through a really tough labor, so maybe it wasn't about my happiness? Maybe, day four was about bringing others happiness? It was challenging for me, because they were a life-sapping couple, but it did occur to me that there was a Divine Reason for me caring for them...who knows.

Day Five was work again. So, my happiness was Sleep, after the work. The dreamless sleep of the dead. (Or those who work night shift!) And my two sweet doggies who curled up with me and let me go unconscious for a whole five hours, before they woke me up to go outside. That was nice.

Day Six was Sunday, and my happiness was again, bound up in someone else's. We drove "up the mountain" to see my sister-in-law's new house. It was really lovely, and I was happy for them, and happy for being a part of their wonderful family. It was a beautiful day, and I was happy to hold my husband's hand in the car, and be aware that, in that particular moment, I felt both happiness and satisfaction. "All was for the best in this, the best of all possible worlds." I took a mental picture of it, to add to my "mental picture photo album".
We got home and hubby hit the hammock, and I hit the gardening. (I am seeing a pattern emerge: I am happiest when I'm outside. Preferably getting dirty.)

Day Seven was Monday, and I found my happiness cleaning my little house of cobwebs, clutter, laundry, and stray teacups...I catalogued some books that had been staring at me for weeks, and actually cleared the surface of my desk. It felt really good. I'd been feeling pretty funky, and was amazed to find what an overhaul of your home environment can do for your mood!
I went to Sleep tired, and feeling better - purged of the negativity that a messy house can bring (if you're sensitive to that sort of thing).

And Day Eight. Glorious Day Eight. It brought the resurrection of one pesky pergola from the heap it was in to its full imposing height over the table in our back yard. It was fun! My husband's parents came over and we WORKED! And that thing was tricky!!! We made pizzas, and then got that sucker up! And it looks fantastic. So that was my happiness for yesterday. That, and painting my nails later that night.

Happiness Challenge, Day Two

Today I found my happiness in a tiny 84 year old woman who questioned me thoroughly about who I had "set" my hair. She chuckled when I told her it was what I was born/cursed with, clearly disbelieving me. Her cheeks pinked when she asked me if she could give it a tug, and I got a full-teeth smile when I told her she could, but not to tug too hard. "You could sell this," she told me. "I'd want to be first in line!" A nurse came and wheeled her behind a curtain, to wait on the doctor to step in to see her. I heard her say, "Did you see that nurse I was talkin to out there? Well I was trying to get her to tell me who does her hair, but she won't give it up. Smart girl!", I chuckled to myself.

Then, after Lauryn's fantastic belly dance class (which is a happiness unto itself), I saw the sun shining full blast through the heaviest of downpours. It was beautiful and strange and I stored it away in my memory of things that are both strange and breathtaking.

This is easy!

White/African/American

The Medical & Dental School of New Jersey should hang its head in utter shame and disgrace. They booted out a student who described himself as a "white African-American", saying that it was offensive and inflammatory.

But, er, he is. He is white, Mozambiquan and American.

He was born in Mozambique, and holds American citizenship.

HELLO JERSEY: THIS JUST IN, A SPECIAL REPORT: THERE ARE WHITE PEOPLE IN AFRICA!!!!

Seriously?

Be ashamed, Jersey. BE VERY ASHAMED!!!

Let's Talk About Racism

So what's bugging me right now is the subject of "institutional racism" as portrayed in the media in regards to a comparison between the new first lady, Michelle Obama, and the first lady of talk, Oprah Winfrey. Apparently, an innocent blog comparison between the two, written in praise of Michelle's galloping global success, became an overnight pariah for all things institutionally racist.
The issue?
Well, we obviously can't just go around, blatantly comparing two influential black women, now can we? Such a thing is concretely indicative of the seething hotbed of undercurrent racism that still flows through the veins of everyone Caucasian.

Wait, whaaaaat?

So as a biracial woman, who grew up in the South (Georgia, to be exact), I get racism.
I get that it is a very alive, very potent, evil.
I get that tolerance and acceptance of all persons and cultures and races should be the order of the day, and we should lovingly educate and correct (in brotherly love) those for whom it is not...

My point, however, is that I think we may be so hyper-vigilant and overly-conscious of our none-too-distant history of hatred and ignorance that we are creating racism where there is none, or where only misunderstanding dwells. We are so quick to point the finger at a "racist" incident, that I'm afraid we may be launching a modern day witch hunt. Not to mention trampling all over our first amendment rights as well.

For the Belly Dancers

This poem has revolutionized the way I view bellydance. I share it with you, offering all of the appropriate acknowledgements. I found it on Donna Mejia's website. It was written for her by a student. If you are a dancer, and especially if you are not (yet!) I urge you to savor this slowly. Take it in and digest it. Let it live in your skin.

For the Bellydancers

This dance comes from sword and sun-cracked land.
In her journey, she discovered oceans, thunderstorms, mountains of green.

She comes to you, shoes filled with motherland sand
so her feet will feel at home wherever they walk.

She appears loose in her skin. Too many women have asked to try it on
and tossed it back when they found it too big for their cameras.

Let your body be a place she can rest joyfully,
a peaceful ground of curves like the dunes she’s homesick for.

But from the back of the studio, I can see you avoiding your eyes in the mirror
the way my daughter does when she knows she’s about to be scolded.

I say nothing.

A dancer knows there is no greater punishment than her own shame.
Your body wants to please you, and you can only point to where it fails.

You demand the same from me:
break dance into a thousand scattered pieces for us to examine and collect!
See, teacher! Look, I got this piece, and this piece and –

No.

Our bodies hold language clenched like an immigrant child’s native tongue.
Your muscles lie silent. Start talking!

This is an immersion class. You will stumble.
Your spine will not take orders easily.

You and your body are speaking different languages, and I am not your translator.
I can only show you what can happen when you listen.

First, you will uncover beats:
your hips will twitch when they hear thunder,

your feet will fall into step with raindrops,
and your sapling arms will move with small breezes.

Dance is the art of making peace. A moving body only becomes a dance
when your blood-rivers refuse to carry

any more ships armed with self-hatred and harsh thoughts.
A body cannot roll without breasts, ribs, belly, hips and fingertips.

This dance was not born from your (white) body, but treat her like an honored guest.
Give her entrance to the place you’re afraid to touch;

she will not hurt you.
Let her play with you.

Tell her she looks good on you.
Tell her out loud.

She will wear each drop of sweat like a jewel in her crown, so work until you both shine.
Speak to your reflection as though you’re courting a queen

and if you’re kind enough,
she’ll ask you to dance.

Dane Kuttler, 2008
Writer, Wandering Minstrel and
General Mischief-Maker

Home Is Burning

they dont really get on

well together
cant talk without a
fight
she doesnt hear him
and he wont hear her

so they raise their
voices to hear
themselves over the
other
then presume the

other is yelling

then the defense
kicks in
and their voices just
spiral upward
and drift around
them
like bits of hot ash
burning where they fall

they dont seem
to get on so well
together
and their skins
are covered
in many small burns
in various stages
of healing