Happy Thoughts

We’ve heard it said that happiness is a state of mind and I believe that. Just don’t ask me on a crappy day. All kidding aside, even on those days, when it feels like we are the thistle, standing in a bed of poppies, we can still feel rained on by happiness. I’d like to thank two dear friends Deanna Schrayer at The Other Side of Deanna and Elizabeth Etheridge Ramblings for reminding me of this and for the splendid Happy 101 Award. They are velvet roses in my friendship garden. Thank you so much!



Now I'd be delighted to share ten happy thoughts with you. And if I've passed on the award to you, please share it with five others who make you happy and let us all know what keeps you smiling while you're at it. Thanks and congrats to all!


Ten happy thoughts:


1. Of course faith. Without that, I'd be lost. My sense of direction is terrible but I know which way is up and which way is down. Up, please!


2. Family: They are my treasure, my soft place.


3. Friends: the virtual ones and those within touching distance are my sugar and spice. When I’m having a horrible day, an email or phone call is all I need to remember to smile. I couldn’t be more thankful for my friends if I tried. I’m blessed in this department.


4. Writing: I forget the world when I’m knee deep in a story. There’s nothing better in my mind than turning out something from the heart and sharing it with others. If I’ve made one person smile, think, laugh out loud, weep or otherwise carry on, I’m all the happier.


5. Pets: Our two little dogs, lying around like kings, eating, drinking and wagging tails, make me grin. They know instinctively if a family member is sick or having a bad day. When that happens, they take their spot next to the afflicted like sentinels. They’ll do this for days if necessary. They are tremendous teachers in the unconditional love department. We also have a chubby grand cat who has managed, with her charms, to reduce me to mush when she sits on my lap and kisses my nose.


6. Giving to others: sending cards, gifts from the heart, emails, phone calls, taking someone to lunch, listening when someone needs a sympathetic ear, not judging but loving.


7. Birds at my feeder, flinging seeds.


8. Working hard in my garden and seeing instant results. When my hands are plunged in the dirt and I’m out there, making things happen, I can’t help but smile. Later, when my back aches, I try to remember that.


9. Fresh, clean laundry. I know this sounds trivial, but I learned to appreciate creature comforts after being without them for an entire week. A hurricane will do that for you.


10. Nature: in all forms. The view from my back window,lanky pines, swaying in the breeze. A hike in the woods clears me out like a good rubdown.


Those are just a few. I’m really quite simplistic when it comes to happiness. Just do what I love and give what I can when I can and appreciate tiny things, which are really huge things. That’s it.

Okay, now I’m getting out my happiness wand and sprinkling a little joyful magic dust over five beautiful blogger friends who make me smile. Thanks for the sunshine, dear ones. I’m happy to know each of you and I'm blessed by your words.


Tina Lonergan The Clean White Page



Stacy Post A Writer's Point of View



Jitu Rajgor Thinker's Page



Duta Places with Character



Anita Beyond Diapers and Spills

Spring Frills

Something thrilling will happen soon and it has to do with nature intoxicating us once again with her charms. Right now old man winter has his white woolly blanket thrown over landscape's bed but hang on tight and a fresh morning will soon arrive.

Covers will be flung back, the bed sun-warmed. And then, popping through a steamy mattress of soil will be vibrant pink and yellow ruffled tulips and perfumed roses and multi-colored fields shrieking with evening primrose and baby blue-eyes. Our gardens will yawn first, and then shout with bullet shaped blue bonnets and crimson clover, like bright red tubes of lipstick. The days will lengthen; night caught short, the pungent smell of roots, new leaves and lavender exploding in air.

Prepare to feast your eyes on purple fhlox and red frilly poppies and lavender colored larkspur tightly packed around stems. And those mischievous robins will be back, too, excavating backyard worms in the midst of Indian paintbrush and rain lilies which open slowly at dusk to appear in full flower the next morning. Oh, and butter yellow corn flowers, we can’t forget those loud ones, butterflies swooping around them like in air ballerinas’.

We will emerge,too, from dark winter houses, blinking and rubbing our eyes in sheer wonder at the rich, staggering beauty, scent and color surrounding us.

Here in Texas we also have many trees which riot with color and scent. Mountain Laurel, whose grape fragrance could rejuvenate a zombie and creamy tulip magnolia’s, which remind me of generous scoops of vanilla ice cream. Lest we forget ornamental pear, exotic in lace, their lusty scent driving bees and butterflies wild.

Yes, spring will arrive. Sooner in south Texas, but even in colder climates it will come. Release your grip on the white quilt and keep an eye out. You can’t miss the lacy bows and hot pink tights.

Speaking of hot pink tights, my colorful blogger friend, Ronda at rondaswonderland mentioned the 5th Annual Cyberspace Poetry Slam on her latest blog entry. She has a hothouse of ideas over there, so please pop in and say hello if you have a chance. I hope some poetry finds you as well. Here’s a wee one of mine to share.


Flower Pageant

There is a garden I know
Where opulent flowers grow
And birds rally there, lizards, too,
Perch on hems of daisy’s, that’s what they do.

They laud flowers modeling exquisite dresses,
Roses in hot pink, passion flowers red tresses,
But when it’s time to choose a winner,
Birds fly home for dinner.

The lizards with bubblegum pouches,
Linger on verbena couches,
Puzzled at what to do,
Knowing they must say who.

Flower girls hold heads tall,
Daisy, Rose and Poppy, all dolls,
In closing throw a celebration ball,
For a flower pageant has no stiff laws.

Miss Myrtle

Outside my living room window something is distracting me. Miss Myrtle, who only comes round in summer, is dancing in flouncy papery skirts to a windy rendition of natural, smoky tunes.

Miss Myrtle in hot pink ruffles and green leggings seems to shout, Peek-a-boo! Yoo hoo, over here. I’m blooming now, popped like fuchsia colored popcorn. Am I not gorgeous? The least you can do is notice.

I always notice.

There are two Miss Myrtle’s in our backyard, one fuchsia, the other a tender pink. With blossoms top heavy yet papery I think of gigantic lollypops on a stick. Or ice cream. Maybe cotton candy. No matter how you look at them, the eyes get drenched. With pale thin limbs which peel and shed, they are frumpy looking most of the year. But in summer, when those pellet sized buds explode, it’s as though a million tiny butterflies have gathered for a lace profusion convention.

The given name of this tree is crepe Myrtle, which is sometimes spelled crape, which to me sounds like crap. So I’ll continue to call them plain ole Miss Myrtle’s although they are none too plain at all.

The Circus Tent

Our family once had a tent that reminded me of those seen in a circus. My Dad found and claimed it at a flea market. We groaned when we saw it and asked, “What were you thinking?”

He grinned and said, “It was a great deal and we can invite the relatives!”

Invite them we did. Grandmothers. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. If memory serves me correctly it could sleep forty. We might of had that many too, when you threw in our own family of eleven.

Dad sat that gaudy contraption up in a field and it bloomed alongside the creek like a rowdy flower. It seemed even the trees gasped.

By day we flipped and flapped in the creek, laughter peeling through trees. When tired of that, we’d slather our skin with a concoction of baby oil and iodine and lye on hot rocks to further brown our skin, which usually ended up blistered and angry red.

In the evening were icy Cokes, and sizzling burgers, smoke from the grill swirling, twirling and exposing our hidden oasis. We’d eat exhausted but joyful among a custard of whir and buzz, the high easy call of birds on the wind.

When sun and moon traded shifts, whippoorwills clicked on, spiking air with lonesome, haunting melodies. A bonfire sprung up, fire in the sky, everyone gathering round with twigs whittled on ends to accommodate fat marshmallows. And then, Mom, fretting at little bold ones, lighting theirs, red coal fire sticks, zipping and chasing, sparks flying. Meanwhile, the old folks sitting mesmerized in lawn chairs, cheeks infused with fresh color, eyes twinkling and full.

Later came the hair-raising ghost stories, fire popping and snapping, darkness so black and voices real or imagined whispering through trees. When kids were good and frightened it was time for bed.

Yeah, right.

The adults blinked right off, but a certain sister and I couldn’t. Like pushpins in sleeping bags, we didn’t budge. An owl hooted outside the tarp and we’d stiffen, our eyes round as coasters. A snap of twig, we’d shiver and cling. And then a brother or two slinking around outside, making bizzare noises as if we weren’t petrified already. Inside the tent were odd snores and aroma’s; a funky humanity mixture ripened by night, yet oddly comforting, new and old, different and the same all in one spot at one time in time.

That gaudy circus tent; another shiny bead added to the necklace of memory.


sug