Heirloom Happiness Seeds

No mockery in the world ever sounds to me as hollow as that of being told to cultivate happiness...Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure. ~ Charlotte Bronte

Perhaps its just because its Friday, the end of a long week, and Dominick has been sick in bed for much of it, and Luke in and out, and I've been dashing up and down the stairs and bedrooms between boys to refresh the throat coat tea, offer a bowl of berries (we are trying to expunge our freezer of all last summer's berries--straw, wild blue and rasp), insist that vitamins be taken, fluids be swilled down, teeth brushed, and I'm, well, tired out. It could be that I'm worried about my friend Lisa, who is recovering from her own breast cancer surgery, with a double mastectomy and the start of reconstruction that is reminding me that I am not quite done with my own, and I'm suddenly feeling unsure of everything. Maybe it was the long drive to and from Ludlow on Wednesday night for Luke's soccer game, where we parents huddled under umbrellas and wondered if the rain might turn to snow, or if thunderstorms--the only, and I mean only, impetus for either cancelling a game or ending it early--would send us home before nine, and I'm simply still recovering, since the game spilled into the twilight hours, and we all climbed into our beds stiff and weary that night. Or quite possibly, I can blame the Celtics for my fatigue, and all my outpouring of energy on their behalf, often late at night, when I should be sliding into slumberland and dreaming my wacky dreams, that has sapped me, leaving me spent and wondering where exactly I've put my vigor and vim...Anyone seen my energy? I seem to have lost it somewhere...

There's something about this time of year that hits most everyone with a smack and a swerve that leaves people feeling overwhelmed, and says, Look, you have a choice. Get out there and enjoy this beautiful weather, dirty your hands, till the earth, and commune with nature, or deny yourself those pleasures, and finish up the school year with a vengeance, attend every good weather event (and there are a gazillion), and be sure to Spring Clean your house as well. And let's not forget the unrelenting demands of your childrens' schedules--that inexorable combination of youth sports, school to-dos, final projects and program happenings that culminate this time of year in a frenzy that leaves most parents gasping for air. Striking a balance between some down time in the garden (and let's be real, here, planting a good-sized vegetable garden, re-edging and mulching your perennial gardens, and taking care of a decent sized piece of land doesn't always feel like "down time") and all the gas-powered hoopla requires some serious motivation and resolve--and careful planning, sacrifice, and astute adherence to a family philosophy of sorts that might include spending less time in the car (hurrah for that) and more time with each other, at home. But there is so much that is winding down this time of year, with send offs and grand finales and celebrations, and there is closure to be had on many fronts, and the draw to be a part of it all is so very strong. It is a difficult terrain indeed to navigate without getting lost every now and then.

Either I have the start of a fever or the Tamoxifen has graced me with an extended hot flash this morning.

At times, we keep our circles close around us, and at others, we gradually expand them to take in a broader view, air out our limbs, keep our minds, hearts, and eyes open. There are times, too, when our worlds are punctured by news from afar, and the effect is immediate and intense and deeply unsettling--and this spring has not been without the usual--though worsening--catastrophic events around the word. I think we often underestimate the influence of such major calamities on our little worlds half way around the planet--there is a soul-searing effect on all of us, and as we go about our days, we cannot help but feel as if something isn't quite right.

There are too many reasons to feel a bit off-kilter these days--however small and tidy our circles are. And we cannot deny the power of those natural cycles of time and energy created by earth and sky that our bodies know well, but that our intellect often fails to acknowledge. Call them subliminal effects, but they are there, and undeniably a huge part of our ancient wisdom and the sense of mystery in our universe, which keeps us all searching and wondering and trying to impart our answers on everybody else. I like the questions better than the answers.

Trouble is, I have so many. What changes do I make in my life so that the breast cancer (or any other cancer) does not return? How can I best carve out space and time for me in my life, when it feels so awfully crowded with taking care of others? Is it okay to be selfish? (actually, I am sitting here writing this and feeling very selfish indeed, as my kids listen to books on tape in their bedrooms...) And what, exactly, does that mean anyway? How do I best care for my family and myself at the same time? How do I become unstuck and unblocked, find my courage, and jump into the river, become the river, flow assuredly, and know exactly where to go? And those, of course, are questions that inhabit my closest circles. Bring out the edges a little, and the questions start multiplying.

As ever, I am grateful for all the free therapy I have received from so many of you out there. I am trying to "let the world take care of me for a little while," but that means putting my trust in something that well, I haven't always trusted. So, as everyone does, I keep trying. Happiness may not be a potato to be planted and cultivated in the earth with manure, but perhaps one can sow the seeds for balance and harmony and harvest the joy that often blooms in the darkest, most unexpected times. That's where I'll be, skirting the edges, filling my basket, and trying to scrub the dirt from underneath my finger nails.