Introducing Boris and Bella, two narwhal stuffies.
I was in the midst of a community conversation on Zoom, and we were reflective, sharing deep needs together. From that sharing, a kindness arose: “I want to give you a teddy bear,” someone said.
Then there was a pivot.
Technically, someone started it, but in a rather spontaneous contagion, people seemed to leave their computer screens at once and come back with a bunch of stuffies. There were a variety of animals. We had bears and elephants. My two narwhals, Boris and Bella, swam across the Zoom screen. All of us, full grown adults, and most of us, adults in our senior years, decided that grown-ups need lovies too.
And in a moment of playfulness, we loved each other.
It’s fascinating how an encounter with music can transport us to another time. I was driving in my car yesterday, listening to my music on shuffle, when the keyboard intro to “Morning Glow” began, a number from the musical Pippin. I smiled instantly, and as the song progressed, I sang along with gusto. Feel free to have a listen.
I attended a high school that is nationally and internationally recognized for theatre, and I had tremendous adventures taking part in that. I was also able to do this alongside an incredible set of friends. At an age where we were developmentally known to shrug things off, we were aware that we were experiencing something very special when it came to our theatre experiences; I have a number of vivid memories where I remember thinking intentionally that I needed to savor this.
“Morning Glow” is one of those memories. We performed Pippin when I was in my junior year. This was my favorite show of my high school years, and as the Leading Player, it was my favorite role too. Because I had that part, I didn’t stand on the stage when Pippin, the main character, and most of the chorus sang “Morning Glow.” But I was in the wings, specifically in a little area just to the side of the front part of the stage near these textured, stone walls that were a part of our auditorium.
Every single performance, I sang there from the wings. I added my voice to my classmates on stage, and I loved that we got to create this. I felt this awareness of being young, very alive, and grateful. And I sang my 17 year old heart out:
Morning glow, by your light. We can make the new day bright. And the phantoms of the night. Will fade into the past. Morning glow is here at last.
It feels cheesy when I type it out in print. But it was a special moment every performance. And I felt that yesterday, too, multiple decades later while singing again from my car. I remember my from-the-wings self, grateful to create with others, present, in the moment, savoring.
In Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), people examine how their thoughts, emotions, and actions are connected. I like what my colleague says about this. Andrea Thomas, LLP, MA, Psychologist at the Henry Ford Comprehensive Epilepsy Center, shares,
“Our thoughts, feelings, and actions are all connected. If one isn’t feeling right or working in the way that we’d like it to, we can change one of them, and the others will shift too.”
This is true, but we rarely think about it.
Which of these do we want to shift? Which of these do we need to shift?
This is about a woman named Barbara who makes an absurdly great rhubarb cake. Then, when the popularity of this rhubarb cake takes off, she opens a bar to sell her cake. Unfortunately some Barbarians come, and they need some barbering to cut their beards. But hey, they can still eat that glorious rhubarb cake! Enjoy.
say in the flattest part of North Dakota on a starless moonless night no breath of wind
a man could light a candle then walk away every now and then he could turn and see the candle burning
seventeen miles later provided conditions remained ideal he could still see the flame
somewhere between the seventeenth and eighteenth mile he would lose the light
if he were walking backwards he would know the exact moment when he lost the flame
he could step forward and find it again back and forth dark to light light to dark
what’s the place where the light disappears? where the light reappears? don’t tell me about photons and eyeballs reflection and refraction don’t tell me about one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second and the theory of relativity
all I know is that place where the light appears and disappears that’s the place where we live
— Al Zolynas
Are there particular words, phrases, or images that stand out most to you?
Ripley loves me. She would love you. Ripley loves all people, especially her own humans, and all day long, she is enamored with them.
I asked my best friend, “What percentage of the day do you think Ripley’s tail is wagging?”
“Oh, 99.9%,” she answered. We asked the same question to her partner. “If she’s standing on all fours, 95% of the time. If she’s lying down, just a little less.” So definitely in the upper 90s. Ripley’s just always looking, often ready to cuddle, and… sometimes she gets so excited, she just can’t stand it. Ripley has been learning boundaries over the years. She can barely contain her eagerness, but she’s gotten so much better at it. The main thing is, the affection shines through, no matter what.
We would do well to learn from Ripley. We could let our affection show. (Boundaries intact, of course).
Like…
— Last weekend, my Mom, Stepdad, and I danced to swing music in the kitchen.
— Recently, I was standing in a line with a friend, and simultaneously, as if the energy just pulled us together, we each leaned in at once and co-cuddled. Neither one knew the other one was about to do so. We just met together that way.
— “I LOVE YOU RENEE,” a beloved young adult texted me joyfully.
Ripley is a good example, and she makes me want this all the more. I think I could be looking, paying attention, too. I think I could be enamored. I think I could be so eager, like I can barely stand it. Because people are pretty great.
Smiles from my bike. If I had thought to ask Sadie’s permission, I’d share our photo together.
I had a sad day.
There are no eventful or tragic happenings underway in my own life, but I’m finding myself aware of a number of deeply painful things happening in the lives of loved ones, plus deep losses and upheaval in our world. Sometimes, that sadness will get under your skin. I felt that throughout the day.
Feeling all of this, in the late afternoon on a warm day, I got on my bike, which tends to be one of my happiest undertakings. I love to feel free, zooming around town. I thought this might help me.
I was just a couple of blocks into my ride when an elder wheeled over to me. “We’re twins!” she said. Sure enough, we had the exact same bike in the exact same color. I asked her her name.
“Sadie,” she answered. (Not her real name) We smiled with each other and then we smiled again for a photo.
The light turned green, and we both took off. I was a bit ahead, but I noticed something. After I would pass people walking on the bike path, in the distance, I would sometimes hear a little, “Ding!” I knew that was Sadie just a bit behind me, passing the people as well. On a sad day, it was comforting to feel like someone was with me, taking a ride, feeling whatever we feel, noticing whatever we notice, and hoping to feel free on our bikes.
Thanks, Samesie Sadie. You made my heavy day lighter.
Smuggling Grace 