Lessons in death...

A few mornings ago, I read this article on Huffington Post, "5 Things I Learned From Helping My Dad Die." Despite literally watching my own dad die, despite the vivid memories I have of how his last breath sounded, I read the essay in its entirety without crying. And I just wrote this post without crying. While those acknowledgments give a partial answer to the prompt itself, I think a more complete answer is important...not because my understanding of the death process reflects some profound and instructive emotional journey, but because it pays tribute to the person my dad was, the person my mom is, and the person I have a better chance of becoming because I am their child. Just as Mom always let Dad live the way he wanted (and he, her), she helped him die that same way: with quiet dignity, with confidence of self, with humor, and with acknowledgment that sometimes life just "is what it is."
***
For those who don't know, my dad died of colon cancer in 2010, some ten years or so after initial diagnosis. For those who have read this blog much at all, you know that he was my hero. I can look at pictures today or think of some funny quip he offered and immediately break down in tears. I remain heartbroken. I miss him literally everyday. And, I will unabashedly tell you that those things that many find comforting like "he's in a better place," or "things happen for a reason" just make me angry. Sure, we can always look back at something bad and find some encrypted lesson to make ourselves feel better. I certainly don't assume that to mean, however, that there is some great cosmic order. Horrible things happen to wonderful people. No higher being I could respect would destine that. And I say that only to preface the seemingly and potentially contradictory points that follow. Just because I learned valuable things between 2000 and 2010 does not mean that I am grateful for the experience. That's ridiculous. I would trade anything I know/own/have done to have my dad back.

Nevertheless, for the reason mentioned in the opening paragraph, here are five things I learned from helping and/or watching my dad die:

-We should all be clear as to how our funeral and burial should go. Dad talked to the preachers he wanted to preside over the service and explained how he didn't want a sermon. Mom knew what kind of music he wanted. He was buried in his Wranglers and button-down shirt by his barn.  Avoiding these conversations will not delay death. Be realistic and plan a service that honors the person you/they actually were. Sure, everyone hopes that funerals provide some comfort to the family, but it seems more important that they celebrate the things the person loved. After the deaths in my life from 2008-present, I started and have revised a "Funeral Requests" document that outlines how things should go for me.  Lord knows there better be some Avett Brothers playing rather than gospel hymns.

-There is no shame in letting your loved ones help you. It doesn't matter if that entails cutting your toenails while you're in a hospital bed, or spending the night on the couch beside you so they can wake up and get you homemade soup in the middle of the night and then jump to grab the mug when you nod off, or being a nurse that handles any issue without flinching or disgust, or sleeping in waiting room chairs while you're in the ICU or the fold-out oversized chairs, night after night, when you get moved to a room or canceling or changing plans because it is obvious you don't feel good even though you were willing to go. Your loved ones want to do these things. Let them.

-There are things worse than death. Drawn-out suffering is good for no one and sometimes there is a peace that comes when someone dies.  Dad pulled through more surgeries, treatments, and procedures than even the strongest man should have been able to do. And even when it first became clear that he was in fact near death, he held strong for several weeks after the first night we were all called to the hospital. It was time, though, when it did happen in the middle of that particular night. Acknowledging this does not make anyone a bad person.

-Illness and impending death do not justify selfishness or pity parties.  Dad was in the Cumberland County Hospital for the last two months of his life. Every day when I would walk in, he would ask me about my day.  He acknowledged a life well-lived, a life in which he had always done "the best he could." He smiled when visitors stopped by and often said something witty or endearing. I love remembering his sly grin, appreciative and surprised eyes and the sound of his voice when he said, "well, there's Miss Chicago," upon seeing Caroline walk into the hospital room. He didn't get frustrated when we all got tickled at something ridiculous. He was nice to the doctors, nurses, technicians, and interns. He repeatedly said "thank you" to mom, the hospital staff, and anyone who came by to talk. Neither reveling in "why me?s" nor making other people feel sad/guilty/awkward has ever cured anyone.

-People of dignity, die with dignity.
***
I have written about my Dad a lot, but in all honesty, I don't know how much I have ever said about his actual death.  If I have failed to do so in previous posts, I want to thank the staff at the Cumberland County Hospital from the bottom of my heart for the respect they showed my entire family throughout the last few weeks of Dad's life. Sometimes kindness, expressed in funny stories from former Ag students, the providing of extra pillows for the wife who spent every night in the hospital room, in turning a blind eye when a beloved dog was not-so-sneakily brought in for a visit, is far more valuable than the most advanced medical technology. Thank you for giving him, and the rest of us, far greater quality of life than any family in the throes of death would ever expect. Thank you to all who came to visit and to all who continue to tell "CLT" stories when they see me. Thank you to my mother and my grandmother for being examples of strength and unselfishness; you never used cancer as an excuse or sympathy ploy; you worked in cahoots with Dad when he wanted to lie by omission to shield others from pain or worry; you didn't tiptoe around him just because he had an incurable disease; you accepted early on that things would be hard, but that you would deal with them as they came; you gave him physical support, mental focus, and emotional strength when he reached those very few moments of weakness. Thank you to my Dad for living and dying so nobly.

Lessons from the circulation desk...

Until I started working at the library, I had no idea what a huge variety of people live in Cumberland County. That isn't to suggest, of course, that I had ever espoused the redneck generalizations and stereotypes of small, southern towns; I knew we weren't a bunch of uneducated hicks who all drove big trucks and had field parties well into our 30s and 40s. Those people exist primarily, if not only, in Luke Bryan songs. Do we have dumb people? And racists? And homophobes? And moochers? And jackasses? Well, sure. ... just like every other small town and big city in America.

On the other hand, we also have some of the most genuine, hard-working, and kind people I will ever know.  If I were going to run out of gas, I'd want it to be in Cumberland County. If I needed help moving furniture, or assistance at the barn, or advice on some random piddle project of choice, I could turn to any number of neighbors and friends.  In my moments of arrogant exhaustion, I regain perspective by looking around at all those people who are getting up earlier than me/working longer and harder/coming home later.  If I want to see goodness personified, I only have to drive three minutes and spend less than that with my grandmother.

Obviously, this is not some profound conclusion. Just as some seem inclined to promote the barefoot and pregnant nonsense, an equal, if not greater, number consistently play-up the "aww, shucks" nature of small-town life. Laced with oft-unintentional condescension, descriptions of the compassion, pride, and revered naivete of areas like Cumberland County sometimes seem like back-handed compliments in a "bless their hearts" sort of way. Intelligence is neither assumed, nor acknowledged. Political awareness is overlooked. Reading, music, and art affinities get lost in discussions of smiles, waves, and general hospitality.

My point is simply that in addition to all the things I mentioned in the second paragraph, Cumberland County is also home to some of the most multifaceted, interesting, and intelligent people I know. And working at the public library reminds me of this nearly every day.  For every one rude person who comes in trying to scam us in an attempt to check out movies under an alias, there are four who give me book suggestions or talk about something they saw on the news or invite me to a play or ballgame or fundraiser in which their child is participating. Local authors come in and do book signings.  A huge variety of people stop by to pick up farmers market applications. PhDs, retired doctors, renowned artists, decorated military servicemen/women, teachers, skilled craftsmen/women, jack-of-all-trades pseudo engineers and farmers with more knowledge than nearly every professor I've ever had, and successful business owners frequent the library just as much as those to whom many assume the public library caters: the unemployed, the poor, the shiftless, the outcast, the loner.

We also have people who take ten years to reach the crux of their argument. Sorry. ...

I say all of this to highlight one particular comment from one particular patron on one particular Saturday morning. She said something I found so profound that it has stuck with me for 15 days and literally been on my mind every one of those. Offering a review of Elizabeth Gilbert's The Signature of All Things, a book
she knew I had read and enjoyed a few weeks prior, she applauded the way it came full circle at the end, describing how the tragic heroine finally acknowledges that "the most monumental thing we ever have to face is the betrayal of ourselves, the betrayal of our common sense."

Now, as I said, I've read that book. And I consider myself a fairly analytical and introspective person...BUT, I would have NEVER come up with something so articulate and eloquent.  I would have been incapable of reducing a 500-page novel to something so accurately poignant. I'm not sure I have ever had an original thought so replete with tragic depth and truth.  And, I think it important to note that as much as I initially was, and have remained, impressed by her conclusion, I have been equally haunted by it for two weeks now. I have looked at her words, the quote I quickly scribbled down on the little yellow post-it notes we keep by the circulation desk and have kept it affixed to the cover of Gilbert's book that I'm currently reading, Committed: A skeptic makes peace with marriage.  But these are glances, despite their frequency, unsustainable by choice. To linger would be to question. Focus would breed regret. Simply put, if I took the time to really think about this statement, to consider the times I have betrayed my gut, my heart, my mind, it would be painful. Trying to rationalize those times to myself or to anyone else will be emotionally and descriptively difficult. I know I have been there though. I know she is right to call it the most monumental of tasks.

I don't feel ready this morning to go into any details. As I've said since I started this blog around four years ago, when I write stuff down, I'm more inclined to do it.  I just thought putting it out there would be impetus for me to take the time to really evaluate choices that I would rather hide in the confines of a mind purposely overflowing with projects, recipes, and chores.

Plus, it gave me a chance to brag on my patrons and the area that I do so love.
Thank you for keeping me inspired. Thank you for encouraging me to think.  Thank you for being so much more than Luke Bryan songs suggest, Cumberland County.
***
I haven't posted much this winter, so I thought I would share a few of my favorite moments from the past few months...

A few redeeming February moments...

Things I have loved this particular February...
Jimmy Fallon takes over The Tonight Show. Paul Rudd joins him for a lip sync battle.  If you don't like this, quit reading my blog.

This literally entertained me for about an hour one morning.  It made me want to go buy some goats and a sheet of flexible steel ribbon.

This reminded me how happy I am that I chose Centre.  If I have kids, I hope, beyond measure, they take the same path and ultimately find themselves in classes such as these. ... Or spend three weeks in Kingston, Jamaica studying at the University of the West Indies, eating lobster prepared by Bamboo Bobby on his makeshift beach grill, and drinking more Red Stripes in a 21 day period than they will the rest of their lives. ... Or snickering with their roommate and best friend who has also decided to wear a belly chain in the middle of January to their "Alcohol & Society" lecture. Purely hypothetical...their momma was far too classy to do stuff like that.
***
Something I love about every February...
I honestly don't care one way or the other about my own birthday, but I really enjoy celebrating those of the people I care about.  And while each family member below is certainly worthy of his/her own post AND the potentially "cold" format of a social media site might suggest insincerity, my affection and respect for each of those spotlighted could not possibly be more genuine. Thank you, February, for producing such people of substance.

February 27 - The best person I have ever known.  I mean that.

February 24 - The best former student I could have ever picked to set up with my sister.  

February 18 - The best friend I will ever have. 

February 15 - One of the best fathers I will ever know.

February 14 - The best (and only) protector I'll ever need. 

***

"But February is an acquired taste. February used to be the month I paid the least attention to, except as inspiration to plan a long road trip as far away as possible. Now that I've acquired the habit of staying put, February is the month that keeps me closest to home, feasting on the memories of travel and news of my neighbors." - Vivian Swift, When Wanderers Cease to Roam 

I'm grateful for the cinnamon toast and coffee I like to have in the mornings in front of the fireplace.  I'm grateful to know the people whose birthdays I celebrate. I'm grateful for memories of Jamaica and belly chains. I'm grateful for books that keep me occupied on snow days. I'm grateful that February is growing on me, too.  

Loving Blind

Every year I write a poem for our Christmas Eve get-together at Mom's.  Typically composed of bad puns and play-on-words that could at best be described as "a bit of a stretch," these holiday-themed ditties rely on questionable rhyming schemes and an ever-present pool of Turner mishaps. This year, however, I did a little something different. Remembering all the old tapes I found in Dad's barn office over the summer, I decided to make a compilation CD with songs from each of the tapes.  While the wonderful Terry Murphy took my handwritten playlist and magically turned it into a finished product (I still don't download music), I worked on an accompanying poem that served as this year's Christmas Eve reading.

The fact that I find most modern country lyrics to be about as kitschy as my holiday poems...and thus had an avenue of critiquing things like "country girl, shake it for me," was just an added bonus.
***

Luke Bryan is ridiculous.

Many clichés find home in the lyrics of country songs...

a plethora of American flags, rusted tailgates, and tragic "loves gone wrong;"

throw in some beer, maybe a football game or two and radio success is sure to follow,

with windows rolled down, drivers passionately mimic phrases that seem unfailingly hollow.

And, you know, maybe songs from our past were much the same,

simplified versions of small towns, chock full of double names.

Being part and parcel of our memories, however, they inevitably rank higher,

gaining significance as we subconsciously elevate them out of a lyrical quagmire.

Songs like Loving Blind and Forever And Ever are permanently etched in my mind,

perhaps a testament to an authenticity often lacking in the contemporary kind;

or maybe it's that I see my dad in the words of Willie Nelson, Garth Brooks, and Lyle Lovett,

in songs that embody cross country road trips nearly any daughter would covet.

I see him as the stoic cowboy in a Chris LeDoux song;

the Simple Man Ricky Van Shelton insists others got wrong;

the devoted father who taught his girls to Keep it Between the Lines,

the man with an unintentional legacy who will be Always on my Mind;

the concert-goer and chauffeur at the Kentucky State Fair

(a night spent with George Strait and the five pre-teen girls in his care);

the young man with a touch of outlaw in a Johnny Cash or Merle Haggard sort of way;

the jack-of-all-trades dreamer who Kenny Rogers would've played.

And so on this Christmas night I celebrate not the choral hymns of the holiday season,

but the Guitars, Cadillacs, and Hillbilly Music that defy religion reason.

I celebrate the man I'd give All the Gold in California to have back,

the father I miss everyday...and to whom my adoration never lacks.

And thus, part of your presents are a collection of old country songs,

taken from the tape case of a man who never met a story too long.

He was the cowboy and farmer and occasional ruffian they all tried to portray,

and so take this CD - and a little bit of him - as you go on your merry way.
***
All the songs italicized and all the artists mentioned in the poem are on the playlist.  Here is my favorite...

This I (don't) believe in...

In the last post, I closed with Silas House's essay, "The Knowing," written for the recently released anthology, This I Believe: Kentucky, a collection published by an organization of the same name. As described on the company website linked here, "This I Believe is an international organization engaging people in writing and sharing essays describing the core values that guide their daily lives. Over 100,000 of these essays, written by people from all walks of life, are archived here on our website, heard on public radio, chronicled through our books, and featured in weekly podcasts. The project is based on the popular 1950s radio series of the same name hosted by Edward R. Murrow."


I included it in the last post, one dedicated to animal-themed projects, because I love Silas House and I love my dogs.  I appreciate that of all the noble concepts he could have so eloquently explored - some element of faith or friendship or tradition or love - he chose a theme seemingly mundane. While many of us consider our pets "family" and understand the reciprocal devotion nurtured in these relationships, if given the opportunity to tell the literary world about our "core values that guide [our] daily lives," I doubt many of us would go with "dogs make us better people." No, we'd probably try to tug heartstrings with moving soliloquies about things that seem more "literary worldish." We'd use a bunch of adjectives.  We'd employ emotional catharsis to relay passion. We'd likely make the stoics and skeptics among us gag. 


And I offer that last little pleasant prediction because I myself have felt it. Sometimes when I hear people talk about their certainties and beliefs, I secretly scoff. And while aware of my figurative eye rolls, I have never really thought too much about the motivating rationale until the past few days.  So, while I included the House essay because of a very literal and obvious connection to the last post's dog theme, it has (somewhat frustratingly) sparked a much different philosophical conversation in my head. I have been forced to consider, "What do I believe or believe in?"


The answer I've come up with: very little.


And I want to say up front that I don't think what follows puts me on some intellectual or analytical pedestal. While doubt is sometimes a product of open-mindedness, science, or research, it can also be a sign of weakness, selfishness, or lack of resolve. In fact, I associate some of my own skepticism with these obviously less noble motivations. I certainly wish I could, in good conscience, espouse lofty (yet entirely authentic) faith in more than I do.  When it comes down to it, however, I take neither pride in, nor feel guilty about, my conclusions on the four basic categories below (categories that seem to be the "go-to"s when discussing belief/faith). It simply is what it is.


In religion...
I pray, but to whom or what, I don't know. I don't believe that things happen for a reason and I take very little comfort in notions of "divine paths" or "destiny." I would never suggest that I have an understanding of heaven or hell or that I know who might end up in either. I know kind people who are atheists and kind people who are devout Christians; I don't think either kindness trumps the other.  I don't have any real sense of what faith means to me.


In others...
I have complete trust in only two people.  I know what to expect from them. I think they have a strong grasp of their own core values and feel fairly confident that if I were to ask them questions today, I would get the same answers I would get if I ask them those same questions in ten years. I feel like they know, and appreciate, the me that I like.  This isn't to suggest that I don't respect, or even love, other people in my life; I simply don't find a sense of comfort and stability in those relationships.


In myself...
I can come across as confident...and sometimes I actually feel that way.  Speaking my mind about things that matter to me is not a problem.  I consider myself a moral person with good intentions.  Nevertheless, my issues with stability in others are the same issues I have with myself.  I worry I don't have the resolve to stick with/to things for the "long haul;" I'm always dreaming of other possibilities or pondering what I could - or should - be doing.  I have little confidence that the things I want now will be the same things I'll want in 5, 10 or 20 years.  I crave a sense of settledness, and yet fight against it with everything I have. 


In love...
While some people do affect us in profound ways, often both indescribable and unexpected, I don't really believe in soul mates.  I think we can love a variety of people in completely different ways and occasionally at overlapping times.  I don't think "love is enough" or that "love conquers all." I think sometimes those who would be best for each other can't be together because of circumstances beyond their control. I don't think things necessarily "work out in the end." I think we can miss and regret and mourn someone for an infinite amount of time.  Does love exist? Of course. And do some people have what most would classify as "true love"? Sure. Will we all have it? No.


What I do believe in...
*Dogs DO make us better people.  Whatever my understanding of faith is, I have more of it in my animals than I do in anything else in my life.  I know Charley will scratch my nose when I try to put the leash on her in the morning because she's so excited to go out.  I know Lucy and Willie would protect me at all costs. I know Lightning is not going to kick me when I'm cleaning the stall while he eats breakfast.  I know which blanket DC likes to use as a bed and which of my shoulders Wendell prefers to sit on while he loudly gives himself a bath. I know they all make my life better. I know they make me less selfish. I know they know I love them.


*the Avett Brothers. This sounds dumb considering I doubt my faith in a higher power, in others, and myself. I don't care; it's the truth. I see my life in their songs.  I feel more alive when I'm at their concerts than I do at just about any other time.  They inspire me to be more honest because they make me think about how I really feel.


*the influence of books/art/synchronized dance and the power of collective joy.


*the legacy of my father and my desire to lead a life that he would be proud of.


*the possibility that one day I'll have faith in more.
***
I also believe that sometimes we have to fake it...for our own sanity, so as to not put others in weird positions, to keep or regain perspective, and/or because wallowing never fixed anything.  I saw this on a friend's Facebook or Pinterest page a couple of weeks ago and although neither an uncommon nor particularly witty cliché, it was a affecting slap in the face when I needed it most.

I had been sad and sad for a while. I had not worn much makeup because I figured I would just cry and mess it up at some point in the day. I just didn't care what others thought or saw. I was stuck in my own frustrations.

The best thing I did for myself: I got up one morning and put on mascara. 

Not allowing yourself to fall apart...this I believe in. 



"Dogs make us better people. That's what I believe." - Silas House

Unlike Terry Staley, who resolved to be nicer and drink fewer Diet Cokes (pledges that lasted almost two days), I didn't even pretend to set new year's goals for 2014. I would rather drink nothing but water for the rest of my life than run another marathon; securing a certain amount in a savings account by the end of the year makes my 15 cats and 3 dogs laugh; since I have blueberry bagels with my coffee every morning and frozen cool whip topped with cookies, cake, or candy every night, losing weight seems unlikely. I guess, generally speaking, I just want to be more creative, work harder, and think of others more. 

 

A few pet-themed suggestions on the creativity front...

 

1. Poetry can invoke eye rolls. Poetry can be intimidating. Poetry can be really damn hard to write.  Nevertheless, poetry can also be fun. Have someone give you an opening line, then you add one, then back to the other person, etc.  Tag team your next poem. Lee and I did this one last fall.

To love a dog is to be parent of a child who never learns to speak, each need assumed from squeals and small dances deciphered,

dances that to the untrained eye seem gibberish in motion, but as subtle as Vegas neon to the doting maker of homemade dog treats.

 

To love a cat you must first admit you are its pet, and always ready when they are accepting affection;

for you see, even the most adoring of felines is prone to play the cowboy that rides away, not the corseted woman with an unfortunate namesake.

 

For them to love each other is more common than cartoons would have us believe, though Garfield and Odie are pretty spot on.

Whether it is the cat's instinctual inclination toward indifference or the pup's incessant hunt for new playmates makes no difference;

as long as they rally around the same bipedal, they are family, and may tease one another to reinforce that fact,

"tease" occasionally evidenced in a good ol' paw swipe to the nose or WWF take-down in the grass, neither performed in malice or spandex.

A bit of stolen kibble or an overzealous tongue bath may be the first shot in these short-lived feuds,

feuds ended by an inevitable truce born and bred of sibling love and a shared giant pillow.

 

They never grow up, always quick to tap into that inner kitten or pup, and deserve more years than nature gifts them;

for in a fair world, those most inclined to forgive and equally unlikely to disappoint, would be memoralizing us in poem instead.

 

2. Vow to actually make some of the things on your Pinterest boards before you pin anything else.

Leash and Treat Holder

Very professional and well-written instructions: Cut board however long you want it (mine were about 12"). Paint paw print wherever you think it looks good. Buy coat hanger/leash hanger and edged wall mount at Brown's Supply and screw in. While at Brown's, also get that metal ring thing that I think has something to do with a radiator. Get tiny screws and attach unknown metal ring to board by bending the slats a bit with a flathead screwdriver and screwing in. Tighten the ring so that it snugly holds a mason jar. Fill with dog treats. Hang on wall by dog entry/exit. 

3. Read everyday, even if it's just an essay....like say, this one (includes audio...you're going to love his voice), from my one day husband, Silas House. 

"The Knowing" as featured in the This I Believe anthology
(This really does make me think of Waffle, Lucy, Willie, and Charley).

"I believe that if more people were like dogs, we’d all be a whole lot happier.

My dogs make me a better person just by being themselves. They don’t care about what color I am, or whom I love, or my religion, or any of the other ridiculous things that separate us as people. They only care that I am kind to them and others. That’s what should matter.

My dogs also know that giving and receiving affection are the most important things in life. Yes, eating is right up there, too. But I believe that if my dogs had to choose between lying still in a patch of sunshine while I sat beside them on the grass giving their bellies a good rub or devouring a meal of the same dog food they get every single day of their lives . . . well, I truly believe they’d choose the loving, despite their genuine devotion to gobbling down their kibble as if they might never have another morsel of food offered to them in their whole lives.

When they offer themselves up to receive adulation, they cause me to become still, to remember that most things actually can wait a few more minutes to get done because this moment right here, this moment of sitting beneath the trees with their swaying limbs, the sun warm on my face, the scent of the creek down in the woods, the birdcall in the deepest parts of those woods, and the holy world (all of it holy, every single bit of it) shimmering all about me, this moment is what life is about.

Having a dog—or any pet—makes us better people. They force us to slow down (each time I return home I have to spend a few minutes patting the belly of our outside dog, Rufus, because he’ll lie down on the driveway on his back, right in my way as I’m rushing to the door; I can’t refuse that and I often fold myself down onto the ground with grocery bags standing all around us to give him some loving), to pay more attention, to be kinder (especially to Pepper, who came from an abusive household before ours, and carries all of that grief in his eyes, in his damaged back, in his wariness), to give and receive affection, to be patient (especially on days when Holly Marie just doesn’t really feel like going to the bathroom anytime quick), to love and love and love.

Writers aren’t supposed to throw that word around much. We’re supposed to be stingy with putting that on the page. But it is necessary when talking about dogs because that’s what they embody. They remind us, time and time again, of the most important thing. Such a shame that we actually forget that. But we do.

I know that some people think it’s a sin to think an animal has a soul, but I do. I don’t care what anyone says or thinks. Because if anything in this world is close to God, it’s a dog. I believe a great amount of being in touch with God is required to hear the thunder from way off, or to feel the trembling of a train miles away, or to know when someone they care about needs them, and offer comfort no matter what, and not have one tiny bit of judgment in their whole beings. I believe a sort of holiness is required to remind us that everything in this world deserves affection. Dogs know these things. They know and know and know.

Dogs make us better people. That’s what I believe."

"Fishin' in the Dark" would be my second choice.

In the last post, I mentioned this article, "18 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For Again." I don't know why "18" was picked. I somewhat question the use of "Again" in the title; I'm not sure a few of the list-toppers have ever been commonplace. Several make me feel guilty because I know I should be doing them, but aren't (ex. "making phone calls to relatives" and "answering things in a timely fashion").  Nevertheless, I'm so glad Zach posted this on my Facebook page. I love that even today, some three weeks or so after I read it, I can still name most that are on the list.  I love that the author mentioned "getting dressed up for no reason" and "cooking a nice meal for the sake of doing so." I love that it inspired me to come up with my own list...

25 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For...in my humble opinion:
1. Watch your favorite movies.
In the past two weeks, I've enjoyed Love Actually, When Harry Met Sally, and The Great Debaters.

2. Ask your grandparents questions.
Don't go for open-ended questions like "What's one of your favorite memories from childhood?" No one likes that kind of on-the-spot question. Stay simple: What was one of your favorite toys growing up? What was Dad's favorite food when he was little? What was your first job?

3. Make to-do lists. Keep them handy.
The time it takes to sit down and write out your list will be much less than the time you spend looking befuddled in a parking lot and wondering why you just drove to the Dollar Store.

4. Do pranks on co-workers.
Don't waste a lot of time doing it, but do it nevertheless. Why? Because it's fun.

5. Tell people you like an accessory they're wearing (earrings, socks, scarf, etc).
Sometimes we throw on whatever clothes are handy/clean/required, but we tend to purposely choose accessories that we think "look like us" or make us happy. It's nice when people see us the way we see ourselves or comment on things that we think reflect our most authentic selves.

6. Get a library card!
Because reading something every day makes you better. In every way.

7. Really pet and love on your animals.
Our animals are more devoted to us than nearly every human in our lives.  They don't stay mad at us when we've been jerks. They are always excited to see us pull in the driveway.  Don't take them for granted. Obligatory pats or head scratches are not good enough.

8. Tell people why you respect them.
Of course it's nice to let people know you appreciate them, think they're funny, and/or enjoy their company.  Respect, however, is hard to earn and much harder to keep.  Those who are able to do so, deserve to know.

9. Read something in the news that really doesn't interest you.
Every morning, I pick out at least one article on the Huffington Post that I really can't relate to or have very little interest in. Why? Because it's good to learn something. It's good to be disciplined. It's good to do things that you really don't want to do.

10. Make your own breads, pie crusts, pizza crusts.
It's not hard. It's cheap. You'll know what's actually in it.  You'll be more inspired to then make pies, pizzas, and actual meals.

11. Plan weekly menus.
You'll be less inclined to buy crap you will not use.  You'll save money. You feel more organized when you walk in from work and are hungry.

12.Write.
Anything...cards, poems, gratitude jar entries, diaries, blogs, quotes on chalkboards.

13. Make your house "look like you."
If you don't smile when you look around your house, change some things. Pottery Barn is nice, but it does not speak of a life well-lived.

14. Have coffee/tee/cocoa in the afternoons.
In a favorite mug.

15. Think about one good part of your day before you go to bed.
Go to sleep with a grateful heart.

16. Figure out what song you think would be the perfect flash mob song.  Ponder scenarios in which you could make said flash mob happen.

17. Take a small gift to someone.
Suggestions: a good pen and cute notepad, a bag of their favorite candy, a gift certificate for a Blizzard.

18. Tell people "thank you" even if it's "their job" to do the task in question. More generally speaking, don't be shy with long overdue "thank you"s.

19. Dream. Imagine possibilities. Give yourself a chance.
We are typically too quick to belittle or question ourselves. Don't settle for what is; always have "what could be" in the back of your mind. This doesn't mean, of course, that it's okay to take what you have for granted. It is simply a reminder to stay inspired.

20. Make something prettier than it was.
Paint something, clean something, add flowers, tie a ribbon.

21. Write down a few things that scare you or that you don't understand.
Do a few. Educate yourself.

22. Write down your weaknesses and/or times when you've messed up.
When you get frustrated with someone else, remember this list. 

23. Pick up litter.
"Someone else will get it" is dumb. 

24. Park farther away than you have to.
We could all stand to be a little less lazy.

25. Make your own list of things you want to make more time for.
***
I know "classy" isn't the word most would use to describe my house.  I'm completely aware that I will have to eat my words about Mom's house having stuff everywhere.  I'm fairly certain that if one were to put something down in my house, there's a good chance it could go undiscovered for years.  But...I like that it reminds me of my friends and family. I like that there are books and handmade projects and art all over the place.  I like that, at least to me, it reflects a life well lived.

 

 

 

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The pizza crust recipe I like to use...

 

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My flash mob song and another one of my favorite movies...