Lesson 17- If you come to the party, you've got to dance!

How to leave a scene like Darryl Philbin

Last night I had a dream about Darryl Philbin, the warehouse manager of The Office. When I woke up, I really wanted to dance. I rarely need an excuse to dance. I love dancing.

 I think everyone should dance. I have told that to my son since he was old enough to stop wanting to dance. About six, I think. The age of peer pressure. That’s where it begins. Little boys seem to think if they can’t be good at something, they shouldn’t even try. They are missing what dancing is all about. Not moves, but freedom of inhibition. I still remember the guys at my high school that could rock the dance floor. I don’t remember their faces or anything else about them. I just wanted every guy I knew to be like them.   Dancing guys impress everyone.

Why is that?

Every mother wants her son to be a dancing guy, but we have no control. Peer pressure can whip that thought out of their head faster than you can say no. But the few who succeed become names women remember.

Though dancing is certainly a fast pass to a woman’s heart, dancing is not about romance. Dancing is about being comfortable in your own skin. Feeling graceful or larger than life, however silly you might look.  Let’s agree to leave that fear in high school. In real life, how you look is different than how you feel. And how we feel is everything, right?

 Look at Darryl

How fitting that the creators of The Office chose Darryl’s last day to be so interactive. As an employee, he was anything but involved with the rest of the office. You could say Darryl’s plan of escape was a dance.  From his wallflower comments about how no one would miss him, to assuring himself he would miss no one, Darryl skirts being part of the Dunder Mifflin team like teens at a dance.

He packs his desk. He hopes for an invisible escape, but is busted. Confronted by his office co-workers, Darryl agrees to hang around long enough to participate in one group activity. Nothing more. And his co-workers must decide. Blurring lines of office etiquette and intimacy, they honor Darryl’s last day with both something he is really good at and something he has always avoided. Dancing and involvement.

We should all leave like Darryl.

People want to dance. It’s the reason prime time TV is flooded with dance shows. Even when we think we can’t dance or have no one to dance with, we think about dancing. Or dream about it. Dancing is a reward for our far too often stationary bodies. It's physical interpretation of music that unleashes our souls.

Babies start dancing before they walk.  Long before they can read, write or hold down a job.

My granddaughter (who has asked to be called Blossom) has danced every day of her life, I’m almost certain. Without instruction or prompting. Many times without music- that we can hear, anyway.

We can’t take the prom attitude toward dancing anymore than we should live life like high school. We can’t wait and see if there might be a better person to dance with or something better to do than dance. There isn’t. I’m telling you. Ask the producers of Dancing with the Stars,  American Bandstand or Soul Train. There isn’t.

I am begging you to dance. I’m leaving you with this challenge and this link. Right now. Wherever you are. Get up and dance. Bust out your air guitars if that’s what feels good.

 Boogie Wonderland

You’re welcome.
Now let me know, was it as good for you as it was for Darryl?

Lesson 16- Every time a child is born, a mother is born, too

HAPPY KID'S DAY

Every mother has heard this question on Mother's Day or Father's Day:
"But when is Kid's Day?"
And every mother I know has given her version of this answer:
"Every day is Kid's Day."
But today I am telling my kids this is their day, not mine.

I'll tell you why. 
(And it's not because I might get more presents, although I might.)


When I was a girl, I dreamed of becoming many things. A mother was not one of them. Don't get me wrong, I knew I wanted to be a mother. But I never thought I would need training for that.

My mom lived the role of mother like she was born for it. She made it look effortless. Since I was a girl, too. I thought I had this one in the bag.


Imagine my surprise when I gave birth.



No amount of training could have prepared me for what was about to happen. From the moment your tiny form was placed on my belly, I was changed forever. A part of my heart once reserved for parents, first loves and adorable pets opened so wide it took over. This new heart (that seemed attached to all things) governed the rest of my life.

My capacity to say "ooh" and "ah" increased exponentially.


When you smiled for the first time, I witnessed the first smile ever. And when someone hurt you, the pain I felt was physical.
















When your dreams came true, my heart could not be contained.

 

And when you gave birth, I saw the first child born all over again.

It took a lot to make this day so happy. And I I couldn't have done it without you.
Happy Kid's Day, you two!





And thanks, Mom.

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new."   Rajneesh

Lesson 15- A picture is worth 1000 words

I don't really subscribe to that. I love words. Sometimes, the more the merrier.

But this week, nature left me speechless.

 

On Monday, I found that rabbits had eaten both eggplants in my garden. They had also eaten half a jalapeno tree and half a jalapeno. Wow. I couldn't believe my luck.

When I told my granddaughter, she suggested I take a picture and ask her Papa (aka Biker Mike)  to do something about it.

 

So I did. And so did he.

 

 

On Wednesday, the giant Amaryllis started blooming its head off.

She was stunning. Valerie Fields (who is fortunately my granddaughter) agreed. She told me it was so pretty I should take a picture of it.

I did.

 

 

Then, on Thursday, Mother Nature changed her mind about sunny days and we had a  visit from frost fairies.

We also a had a surprise visit by Snowflake
(really Valerie Fields, who decided she wanted to dress as a frost fairy). Snowflake also helped me drag the potted plants in for the night. I am very lucky to know her.

That's all I have to say about this week. And all I have to show for it.

How did nature treat you this week?

Share stories if you've got them!

Lesson 14- Keep a secret

When was the last time someone asked you to keep a secret?

I admit I don't get this request often. But having a grandchild keeps the skill alive. Don't worry, I'm not that grandparent. I don't keep secrets from my daughter. And I don't keep a secret that would harm either of them. But in my short experience as a grandmother, I've learned one of my biggest assets is being a confidante. In fact...

the biggest reason to keep a secret is to gain someone's trust.

some of  Valerie Fields' early work

I learned this from Valerie Fields who is (after all) my granddaughter. When she was five, she suddenly got embarrassed when we talked about her. And we talked about her a lot. She was always doing funny things. In a circle of adults, she was really all we had to talk about. But it bothered her. And she told us that, so we stopped.

I kept writing the things she said that made me laugh. Because that's what I do. And because I really needed a laugh. One day I decided to put them into a blog, so everyone could laugh. When I told Valerie Fields my idea, she was excited.
"Great idea, Nana," were her exact words. But when I told her everyone would also know the stories were about her, she changed her tune.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't think that's going to work for me at all."

She would be embarrassed. I knew that. Before I ditched the idea, I posed another. "You could use a different name, " I suggested. "Maybe your pen name, Valerie Fields."

She was only four when she gave herself that name.

It was at the beginning of her book making phase. She told us book makers had 'fancier' names. So she changed hers, for the sake of her career.
"Hmmm," was her response to my idea for another name change.
"I think I need a not-so-boring name for stories. Like Pinkie Gladys Gutzman," she suggested. (Yes, that one.)
And so it began. The first week or two she gave me the name she wished to be called. Then she lost interest entirely . And went on to the business of being six- like making books and drawing pictures.

later  work on same subject

Now I invent names for her myself. Like Oreo or Sweet Pea or whatever I am thinking of when I think of her. You see it doesn't really matter what she is called, as long as I am not telling the part she asked me to keep secret.
And that is the story of how six year old book maker Valerie Fields (who, I'm proud to say, is also my granddaughter) came to write her own privacy statement.  

Lesson 13- Plant something

They're in the ground now. The Arkansas Traveler, the Early Girl and the Porter Cherry. Also an eggplant, a jalapeno and a bell pepper plant. Seventy-five plus days from now, with any luck, we should be seeing some sort of harvest.

Let the betting begin!

Will it be worth the worry and toil?
Lucky for me, I love getting dirty. I mean, how many times does something not
end well when we get dirty?
Plus, I planted according to the Farmers Almanac Best Days for planting and
I had Valerie Fields (who is really my granddaughter) to help me.
Along with the vegetables, we also planted marigolds, Texas native hibiscus and wildflower seeds.

There are no guarantees in gardening.
Planting anything is about hope. Gardeners get giddy at the prospect of  flowers and food coming from tiny seeds. The journey from conception to harvest is huge. And Mother Nature does not play by hard and fast rules.
 
The obstacles begin at planting time.
Last night when I went to bed, we were under a tornado watch. Two hours later, the newly-planted were treated to an inch of rain.

Even the Best Days are subject to heat and cold. Flood and drought. Insects and disease. And in Texas, the hardest soil you could ever push your way through.

Seventy-five days is an eternity to an Early Girl.
 But gardeners dare to hope. And water. And water some more And chase away pests and predators. With every cup of soil I removed with my hand trowel, I said a silent prayer for the fledgling plants. That they might thrive and bring me smiles and good things to eat.

With ever trowel of soil Valerie Fields dug, she shouted out the number of worms she got.

When we finished, I told Valerie Fields to go inside and get a bath.
To use the nail brush to clean the mud from her pretty fingernails.
"Okay," she said. "But I'm counting this as a full workout."

Have you started a garden this spring? Which plants are you betting on?

Lesson 12- Try something

When was the last time you tried something new?
Yesterday the rain stopped. After a week of power outages and haunted printers, I decided I need to change my routine.

I picked up Valerie Fields (who is really my granddaughter) and we had a picnic in the backyard. For no reason, as Valerie Fields said. We fixed leftovers on pretty plates. I had ham and coleslaw and a piece of cornbread. Valerie Fields had a tortilla with cheese-and a boiled egg. When she noticed I had cornbread, she ate that, too. I put the tiniest piece of ham on Valerie Fields' plate. She turned up her nose. I asked her to try it, but I didn't beg.

After dinner, Valerie Fields wanted to ride her bike. Last week, Biker Mike took the training wheels off. She only had a couple tries then. She was fearless, but not competent.

It wasn't a great day for bike riding. It was windy. The ground was wet and I was tired. But Valerie Fields left the ham on her plate and walked the bike to the front sidewalk. She looked it over from top to bottom. She asked me questions about the hand brake. Something in her eyes told me a plan was forming.

She climbed onto the bike and fastened her helmet. When she asked me for a push, I ran a few steps to launch her. Then I let go. And Valerie Fields kept going. And going. She didn't wobble. She didn't fall. When the bike got stuck in the grass, Valerie Fields jumped off and started screaming.
"I did it. I did it, " she shrieked, as she jumped up and down. "Oh my gosh, I know how to ride a BIKE!" I ran to her.
"Valerie Fields," I asked as I hugged her. "How did you DO that?"
"I pedaled," she answered, without even thinking. "This time when you let go, I tried pedaling."

That tiny morsel of ham left on her plate paled in comparison to the challenge she had issued herself. In the wake of Valerie Fields' glory, I wanted to try something, too. Then I remembered the printer.

Lesson 11- Wallow

It has rained for three days. That's too long, even when you need the rain. I also have a problem I can't seem to solve. The presence of unwelcome obstacles to my daily routine has resulted in a pity party. And I am not at all ashamed. This week I am wallowing.

I love the word wallow. I love to say it, too. Wallow. Its definition conjures such imagery. Rolling about in a lazy and relaxed manner- think pig in the mud. Devoting yourself entirely to unrestrained pleasure- think toddlers and gigantic tantrums. It's like they are using their entire bodies to roll with what their minds are telling them. I'm miserable. I'm sad. I want a cookie.

a young Valerie Fields, just after a wallow



When my granddaughter (whose pen name is Valerie Fields) was three, I would watch with pride as she threw a tantrum. The seemingly endless fit included kicking, tears, wails and body jerks that made as little sense as whatever she was upset about. Most times it took only a small distraction (like 'Valerie Fields are you going outside with me?') to snap her out of it. But while the body and soul dance was going on, I was in awe of just how this worked for her. Often she would stop on her own (in just a matter of seconds) and walk away as though nothing had happened.

When my godson (Adam) was three, he had a different approach. When he was frustrated, he would lie perfectly still on the floor- usually in a doorway. It was a full body protest. And while no one was the least bit inconvenienced by his demonstrations, Adam was in full control. Getting up when he was good and ready. Like Valerie Fields, he called it quits only when he felt better.

Sometimes you have to go with your feelings to get over them. Burying emotions is not healthy. But a tantrum is not always appropriate. For my wallow, I've chosen a day of sighing and moaning. Physical, but unobtrusive. Very polite. Most likely no one will notice but me.

I can't control the rain, but I'm hoping tomorrow I will have a solution to my problem. Until then, I'm in for the wallow. I learned from the masters. Care to join me?