Of Lilacs and Earth…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

The spring sunshine is coaxing the trees to unfurl their tightly bound buds, and I’ve been waiting for weeks to see every bush, vine and tree green again. The lilacs are in bloom, and I wish I had a field of them, because the season doesn’t last very long where I now reside. When I had a life up North, a long row of lilac bushes higher than I could possibly reach grew all along the back yard, and the season lasts so much longer there.

I try to immerse myself in learning to like my life wherever I am, and I learned how to garden when we moved into a small bungalow in Wisconsin. The previous owner had a lush perennial garden on the small lot, and I studied how to care for the clematis, dianthus, bachelor buttons, roses, hollyhocks, trumpet vine and so many more flowers. My favorite look is an English garden, and in that climate most of us had pretty gardens resembling that.

When I moved to a house surrounded by woods on three sides I was enchanted with the wildlife, minus the raccoons, who learned in one day how to take apart my bird feeders. Foxes, deer, squirrels, coyotes, at least three different kinds of owls, snakes (I know!), turtles, bullfrogs, and too many birds to count live on our lot. It’s theirs first, so I try to work around them. My attempts at starting and English garden meant the deer enjoyed all the flowers I had planted, and I changed tactics.

How does this have to do with finding happiness and beauty wherever we are? By working with our situations, even if they’re vexing. It’s a good place to start.

After five years of gardening I hit on my answer. I grow fragrant flowers that repel the deer. Lavender and rosemary top the list. And I went to the market yesterday and bought almost all of they basil. The scent of basil mingled with lavender made my summer last year.

Even if you kill every plant you’ve owned, you can still find contentment in trying yet again to have a plant growing inside (or out). We need nature in our lives. When I started bringing in all sorts of plants, my husband was enthusiastic, but he says it’s a bit much now. I disagree. Every ivy vine climbing an inside wall makes me yearn for more nature in my home. You can start with something as easy as ivy. Try it.

If you have even a small patch of earth, plant seeds or plants and maybe a tomato plant. Being out in the freshness, letting the earth touch your bare feet is a way of finding our roots.

Studies claim we need to be outside more. Go look at a sunset. Wait one hour and look west to see this comet the news is so excited about. Open your windows and let the birds wake you up. Then you can close the windows and go back to sleep, because I’m not ready to face the day at 6:00 in the morning. Take your coffee or energy drink out by your plants or flowers and enjoy those moments.

You can be happy if you don’t have plants, don’t go outside and don’t have any way to walk barefoot across the grass. But why not give this a try?

I am mesmerized by the life of Tasha Tudor, the illustrator and author of many children’s books, like Pumpkin Moonshine. She liked the mid 1800s, so she lived in a new old house where she cooked over the fire, grew just about anything that would grow in Vermont, and she walked around in long dresses and bare feet with her corgis, geese, ducks and her varied menagerie of other animals.

Look up Tasha some time. Her convictions and her gardens were amazing. Maybe watching Martha Stewart or following someone into cottage core is more your style. Fine! Bake bread. Knit. Hang your sheets outside to dry. Sew pillows and burn candles made from scratch.

I promised myself I would write more often if I kept these short, so it’s time to for me to go and plan our trip to Utah. Which means it’s time for me to wrap up a bundle of happiness for you. Find something that connects you with the old ways of slowing down. Get off this phone, that computer and find a real book to hold in your hands. Light a small candle and breathe it in. Calm yourself. Herbal tea? One glass of wine? Bread with butter?

Finding our connection to the earth brings satisfaction. When you witness a stunning sunset, watch a bird building a nest or see the ocean waves beating against the cliffs, isn’t it enchanting? I hope you can find a way to walk on a bike path or drink in a sunrise this week. I hope you do something organic, something rustic and don’t rush.

I hope you find all the happiness your soul can hold.

Until next time,
Deanna

Night Walking…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

Sometimes when my husband heads off to bed I head out the door for a walk. It’s not often, but there’s something about a cozy night when people are in their homes, their lights are still on in various rooms, and the breeze is blowing lightly. Tonight I went out since storms will be here before sunrise, and I had to wander into the night and feel it. Even if storms aren’t on the way, there’s a secret mood to nighttime strolls. I’m alone and choose my path whimsically. It’s just me and the eight deer sitting on my front yard (as they were tonight).

Many times I decide to walk by our old house, and I did that tonight and felt the ghosts of young children sledding down the hill. I spied the electric box that’s still crooked, and I smiled, remembering the daughter who hit it with our car while she was learning to drive. I even noticed all the flowers are pulled out, but the open window in my old bedroom made up for the egregious sin of pulling out all the trees, plants and flowers. They have garden beds filled with dirt and nothing else.

If the sparse look is in, I don’t understand it. But I have my own gardens to tend at the new house, so I turned from the minimalists living in my old house and looked at my old neighbors’ homes. Friends for nineteen years, and I could still see the boys running between the houses to build Legos or play basketball. That life has been lived, so I left the ghosts behind and returned quietly to my quiet home, happy and content.

Maybe you feel as if your own night owl tendencies make you consider this time of the day as a comfortable old friend. I first started writing outdoors one night in May on a sweet spring night akin to this one. The thrill of doing something when no one else is out or awake is pure sweet nectar filling up my heart with quiet happiness. Even sitting outside late at night or sitting at an open window long after a respectable bedtime has come and gone is a joy.

I suppose the very early morning souls feel that way when the awaken and the rest of us are asleep and missing their time to watch in wonder. We all must have a time of day (or night) that speaks softly to us and calls us out. Some love the bright afternoons or the twilit evenings when stars begin to show up even while the western sky hasn’t let go of the day. When is your time? Can you safely head out and enjoy that time? What do you do to engage your soul and feed your mind?

Being a lifelong insomniac comes with some blessings. I once peered down from a bedroom window to watch the family next door dye Easter eggs long after I was supposed to be asleep. On night walks after my babies were asleep in their cribs I passed in front of the prettiest house in my then-neighborhood. I knew we would never have a home as beautiful and cozy as that, and yet we did. We had that cozy home even then, but I still wistfully wondered about a life in a house with a second story.

When the world falls asleep and we have the courage to turn off the TV and the music, turn off the phone and dwell in the quiet, much comes to the surface. Capturing the good and letting go of the bad or sad is a gift. For me an open window tells of open people who embrace the sun, wind, moon and stars. And open windows goes both ways: those inside are secure, protected and yet a breeze or the far-off sounds of trains brings a piece of outside to them. And those who are out in the wind and sun or under a crescent moon glimpse that open window on the second floor knowing comfort and safety dwells there. Inside.

Isn’t there something terribly, wonderfully wild about slipping away when others aren’t around? Have you ever taken trip to a place out-of-season? When the trails were for you alone, or the mountains were empty? Not liking crowds much makes me head out to places at different times, and there’s happiness to be found in the quiet solitude of a forest in March. Are we so used to busyness and sounds that we aren’t comfortable with ourselves alone?

This is about finding happiness or contentment wherever you are, and maybe you don’t live in a suburb. I wouldn’t walk very far at my cabin at night, though a porch swing seems fine. Even the city has pockets of sweetness, usually before dawn, though if you know where to go and what bookstore beckons with the promise of books, quiet and time then you have all you need. Are you happy when you unplug and sit in the silence?

One last story before I go to find socks, because the temperature must be dropping. I used to run at night when I lived in a place that had houses in one large circle making up exactly one mile. In winter in Wisconsin it gets cold. Frigid. But we learned to lean into the cold and accept it, so off I ran one December night. No stars or moon, but one half of the circle had homes merrily decorated and lit from within. I felt warm just running past the lights and the scent of woodsmoke.

Then the other half of the neighborhood was utterly dark. No porch lights, no Christmas lights and no street lights. I had to pick my way carefully through the dark, icy street, but one house had one decoration. In a tree a bell tinkled Christmas carols into the dark December night, and rather than comforting me, I felt as if I had wandered into a nightmare. Dark pressed against me, and I wanted to run from the bleak, emptiness of that side.

I went from light to dark three times to make the three miles that night. What does it mean? To me it speaks of even a tiny light, one as small as a candle making a difference. Even though I adore night, I crave the sound of the train rumbling, going somewhere, knowing people are on that train. The sounds of the owls calling make me feel cozy and cosseted. Maybe my solace in solitude isn’t as complete as I imagine. Maybe it’s the light in the darkness bringing comfort, the promise of warmth and people. The promise of home.

I’m wishing you all the happiness your heart can hold…

Until next time,
Deanna

Stormy, Windy and Alone…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

The hour is late for most people. Midnight, and I planned on going to sleep early because I’m at the cabin alone, waiting for some workers to arrive early tomorrow. Very early, and I don’t do early unless I must. So here I am in this cabin with storms on the way, and the wind is howling mournfully, and it’s hard for me to settle in with a good murder mystery. Wonder why, right? And my daughter asked if everything is locked. That didn’t help me to relax the way I planned this a week ago.

I’m on edge. I feel the storms even though they’re not in Kentucky just yet. The air has been heavy all day, and when I took a walk to the old family cemetery today (the place where the family living here in the 1800’s were buried), the air felt thick with early spring humidity. Can you believe I chose today to go visit the place up on the highest hill where a father and mother labored, building a home with large rocks for the foundation? That couple raised their children, but the cemetery tells of babies lost, of children who died when they were under five.

I felt the stones, and I thought about their lives here. Daffodils planted by the farmer’s wife still bloom nearby every spring. I have to remember to plant the bulbs in autumn. I want to cover the walking path with daffodils, so one day another woman will stand in a cool spring breeze and know I had planted more daffodils when I owned this land for a time.

I try to write about finding beauty and happiness no matter where you are, and on this slightly spooky night I’m making the fire burn brightly by throwing fatwood on the logs. I need a bright fire, expecting that the power will likely go out tonight, and I’m going to burn a candle all night long just in case. The fire is a comfortable friend of sorts, and I’m going to wrap the big blanket around me when I decide to go lie in bed and read until the storms come closer.

The talk about tornadoes doesn’t help me to feel comforted, but I’ll be ready when I head off to sleep. These storms need to pass me by, though I wonder about the rocking chairs on the porch and the cute grapevine tree that is a “thing” in the city closest to our cabin in the middle of nowhere. My dad called earlier to warn me of the storms, and then more family called wanting comfort from me. I suppose all children want to hear that all will be well, even when they’re adults and have families of their own.

Maybe that’s what this is about. Maybe we find happiness in a cozy blanket. Maybe it’s listening to the wild wind as it whips around our homes, knowing we’re inside and we can enjoy a cup of tea or whisky (I should say bourbon since I’m in Kentucky), have a cookie or a bite of a pie and feel cocooned in comfort. That’s contentment right there, and it’s pretty close to happiness.

The outdoors is beautiful. If you have the chance to own a bit of land, a spot in your back yard or even on the side of the house where you can grow tomatoes along with basil and some hydrangeas. Maybe a potted plant inside would work for you. Any time I have the chance to be outdoors, even in a subdivision where I walk on sidewalks and greet friends, even then I find happiness. If we need to hide away for a bit, we can head to a park and clear our minds.

Maybe we can find a wild delight on stormy nights, when we don’t know how bad it will be when it arrives. My mother loves storms, and we would sit together and tell stories as lightning flashed and huge, house-shaking booms of nearby thunder interrupted our tales. But I grew up and comforted my own children and dogs when storms came close, and tonight of all nights I am quite alone.

I think about the farmer’s wife who died at the end of the 1800’s. Did she have to stay in her small house, listening to the wind blowing circles around her? Why did she plant so many daffodils?

Can we find happiness and delight in the middle of life’s storms? Maybe not all the time, but comfort and beauty will be waiting for us when we choose to look for it. That walk today felt mainly bleak with the trees still sleeping and autumn’s leaves covering the ground. Another cloudy day. Just bleak. And then I heard the peepers in some small pond nearby! Those tree frogs are a sure sign of spring, and I smiled.

We”ll weather the storms. Alone or together. We can find beauty where we are, and we can choose happiness or at least contentment even on the darkest nights. Beauty is all around us. It’s a matter of perspective, I think.

Well, the hour is late and the fire is reduced to glowing embers, so I’m heading off to sleep for a bit.

I hope you find happiness wherever you are.

Until next time,
Deanna x

Dreaming of Happiness…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

This blog is meant to explore what makes us happy or how we can find moments of contentment and peace, if not joy. I’ll be more open that usual and say I’ve had very dark times when I was in pain, both kinds, and I know despair and unhappiness. They’re still companions of mine when trouble comes my way. Maybe you can relate. Even if you don’t, this place is for trying to find happiness.

Snow kissed my part of the world yesterday. Wind howled in the chimney, making clanking sounds, while the cold crept under the door to the back porch. Lured outside by the world suddenly coated in white, I visited our waterfall. Listening to water is peaceful and calming, and the creek rushed by with no notice of the wind or snow. Errands beckoned me back up the hill (cliff), and I noticed how happy fellow shoppers appeared.

Snow at Christmas is a treat, and since it’s supposed to be warm on Christmas we soaked up the wintery treat. Hot cocoa, lattes, and gingerbread cookies were justified, and Christmas felt real and close. If you’re lucky enough to have snow this year, take a note from the British: Go outside for a walk no matter the weather. Short, long alone or together, go out and embrace the fresh air. Breathe in that cold.

If you have sunny skies and warmth, then it’s even easier to be outdoors. Getting out and choosing to move around is a welcome break from lingering inside. Happiness is found in small places; the Christmas lights, seeing a gorgeous home bedecked for the season, discovering pine cones or berry-laden bushes to bring home, or maybe it’s just time away to collect your thoughts and daydream.

December feels like a rush sometimes, so daydreams are wanted. Can you slip away for a bit to rest, read, journal or sleep? How about grabbing a cup of tea and thinking about the good in your life. I’ve been listening to music while I wrap presents, and it’s generally not Christmas carols, but the songs put me in a good mood. I opened a box of dark chocolates and treat myself to one every night as I tie ribbons and quietly sing to myself.

With nights being so long and dark I bring out my candles. The scent is the most important, with the cinnamon-clove-nutmeg combination being my favorite. Some days when the air feels dry I’ll simmer a pot of spices on the stove while I’m home and the house is imbued with a cozy feeling. Another fragrance is fresh cut cedar. Cedar, juniper or balsam branches bring the freshness inside.

As for light, I have a tree in every room of the house. Not every tree is decorated or large, but I vary the lights. It’s all about the warmth of the lights, and one tree has nothing but cozy warm white lights on its frosted white branches. The bright large bulbs from the 1960s are wrapped around two trees, and I’ve always hung candy canes on them. Who knew my grandchildren would decide to eat them this year? With the wrappers still on them!

Finally, I realized after a day spent baking cookies for the weekend’s festivities, that we can find happiness in memories, in today and in our hopes for what’s to come. Perfect doesn’t happen, not even for the holidays, so we may as well enjoy the mess and laugh when things go slightly sideways. I remember baking with my mom and in my mind it was all sugar and sweetness, but we kids were a handful and full of extra energy during December. We choose to recall the good. Focus on the good, if possible.

I hope you have a very happy Christmas and a lovely end to December.

I’m wishing you all the happiness your heart can hold.

Until next time,
Deanna

December Delights…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

Rain is thrumming on the roof and lashing the windows, and I’m on my bed under a bright red, cheery blanket. This is the cabin at its best, especially on a dark night with no stars or moon and only the occasional stab on lightning. We haven’t lit the fire yet, but we will when I finally decide to climb out of my nest and have a pre-dinner drink.

Looking back up the hill when I’m just starting down the path…

The Kentucky cabin was supposed to be primarily for hunting and hunters, but it wound up being our place to unwind, relax, read, walk, talk and linger. I’m close to the land, away from villages and in the middle of nowhere, and I wouldn’t have it any other way now. I used to pine for faster internet and a coffeehouse, but I’ve learned to appreciate this place for the subtleties that bring bright moments of happiness.

Crossing the board over the ravine.

Campfires under the stars while we learn where the planets are and which stars really make up Orion, finding a pond we’ve never seen before (in the 1800s the farmer made ponds in this clay soil for his cattle to drink), sipping steaming hot coffee while watching deer eat and enjoying the rain and thunder knowing I’m safe and warm are those times of joy.

Looking up at my house on the hill.

Which brings us to my first December delight. Thunderstorms are here, and we had so few this summer that I’ll take that rare storm right now. Storms are my favorite kind of weather, and I’d order one a day if I could. Many of us are wishing for a dusting of snow right now, but I’ve been loving the warmer days. Tomorrow will be icy and cold, so I’m filling up on an early winter thunderstorm.

The creek is far down the ‘cliff’ but so peaceful.

December doesn’t have to be as stressful as we manage to make it some years. I’ve had many years when I subsisted on chocolate and coffee while trying to decorate, send beautiful Christmas cards, bake, purchase gifts for everyone, wrap the gifts and spend spare moments thinking about Christmas. I’m done with that. Seriously. We don’t have to do it all.

Christmas lights…

Perhaps it’s one tree instead of several with maybe a few ornaments, maybe cards (maybe), baking for what I like and want to nibble, and maybe this is the year to cut back on gifts. There are ways to reduce the crazy and noisy and create that magical December we imagine.
As soon as these words are written I am reading a fiction book that has nothing to do with the season. It’s a juicy mystery book. Sigh… Can you cut out the stuff you don’t like to do? And can you fling your arms and heart wide open to making December easier and more joyful? I think sometimes it’s good to pretend it’s a regular winter day and push all thoughts of holidays away.

Snowy field at the farm last year…

Of course we can make December delightful! Revel in the snow, wish for some, take a walk in peace and quiet, look at the Christmas lights and enjoy them (especially the mismatched ones!), treat yourself to hot chocolate or a few cookies, and knit, watch a great new movie or series, head off to hang at a coffeehouse, and smile at strangers in a good way. Bring the light into the room. Refuse to be frazzled by unnecessary demands. Revel in moments made just for you by you.

A blazing fire earlier in the evening…

While I now sit before the last embers of a dying fire and the cold creeps under the door next to me (I’m no longer in my burrow in the bed), I’m thinking about the cookies I want to make. Only three kinds, and one is very easy. I’m also thinking about hiking out to see the creek full of water here at the farm. Tomorrow night I’ve promised to help someone out, so I’m going to bid you a farewell. My wish is that you would enjoy the extra lights everywhere, since December brings the longest nights. I hope you find happiness in the ‘bleak mid-winter’ as the old Christmas carol reads.

Now that I’m back to writing, I hope to fill this space with peaceful days and evenings.

Until next time, I’m wishing you all the happiness your heart can hold,
Deanna E.

Spring’s Dance…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

For months I’ve looked through bare trees and across a wide creek into neighbors’ houses, noticing when they turn off their lights to sleep and when they send their dogs out in the morning. I’ve longed for a fellow soul to share my nocturnal habits, but in each house the lights go out long before mine do. Night is for the solitary creatures of the world.

So two things happened while I was away on a trip to Scotland. I became a morning person (with the aid of copious cups of coffee and tea), and the trees and bushes around my home in Ohio grew substantially during their long winter’s sleep. I noticed it today, finally. Looking out the windows, I saw less of the front driveway, and my neighbors are tucked out of sight until late October once again.

The trees almost touch the house now, and as long as I can still peer down at our creek and the small waterfall and perhaps spy a patch of the sky, I’m content. Lush, verdant green and a deep, almost stormy blue are my favorite colors, and I see them through every window now. This is a sweet time, with birds nesting in the oddest places, and owls hooting contentedly at night. I keep the back door open to see and hear spring.

This post is about finding happiness, and I liked seeing the Christmas lights far across the creek in every home last December (and thanks to that one neighbor who kept their tree lit until February!). We tend to keep our windows open at Christmas just to send out some comforting, cheerful light into someone’s cold world, and I felt happy glancing out and seeing a tree decked out in bright bold color. When January’s cold winds blew in, I found comfort in the scent of the wood burning in fireplaces.

I grew used to seeing neighbors and drew comfort from that, but I also enjoy being tucked out of the way among the woods that cover the cliffs and ravine. As spring moves through your world, lengthening into early summer in places, are you finding ways to enjoy this gift? Do you walk out and smell the lilacs, grab a honeysuckle and drink out the sweet nectar? Do the long mornings brighten your world? For me it’s watching the sun set more northerly, and the blessing of a lingering twilight.

I’ll write more about Scotland in my next post, but traveling is a splendid way to expand your world and find new ways that hand you happiness. I’ve long thought travel would be difficult with some things I’m dealing with, and I felt incredibly anxious ahead of our vacation. I shouldn’t have worried, since I settled into watching my husband devour full Scottish breakfasts while I enjoyed my morning coffee. I did it! I went away for two weeks, and now I’m ready to go to Scotland every single year.

I will share this with you. My husband drove on the other side of the road, which made for some interesting moments; but it gave us the ability to leave Edinburgh and all that wonder tucked into an ancient city and head to an island. We came to enjoy taking tea, so one day when we spied a small cafe, we stopped. The owner brought us pots of fragrant tea and the small cubes of sugar I so love (now), and when we tasted that scone all warm with melted butter and real jam, my husband and I felt like we had found a corner of heaven. A cosy, warming place for a wee rest from a gray drizzly day and the winds that blow ceaselessly.

I grew used to wearing layers, and I didn’t worry about having pretty hair, since it was tossed about anyway. And I fell for a country that was hauntingly beautiful. I saw Ireland from a high hill overlooking the ocean, and the stark alien landscape of Islay spoke to me. Was it all the sheep I saw? The peat bogs? The chilly beaches? The beauty of crawling into a warm bed each evening and reading, safely ensconced next to my sleeping husband? I craved warmth at the end of the day, and we chose not to watch television, so I fell asleep quite early.

Step out of your routines for a bit. Try some new way of ending your day, or if you have the means to take a small trip, then do that. Happiness can be found in the oddest places. Maybe yours is in a cabin near hiking trails, or perhaps a hotel in a city you’ve long wanted to explore. Just changing up your schedule can be enlightening and fun. This spring and summer, try to look at your world and enjoy it; and if possible find a new place to discover. It fills up your soul in unexpected ways.

All photos are from my Scotland trip.

I’m wishing you all the happiness your heart can hold.

Until next time (apologies, because I was locked out of my account for months:)…

-Deanna

Winter’s Embrace…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

I’ve been away from the North for over twenty years now, but I still remember winter’s bite on my cheek as I skied down a mountain in Upstate New York. The day my best friend and I went cross country skiing and found ourselves on the hardest trail makes me smile even tonight. We had to ski through a creek, several times and all we did was flail about and laugh.

Wisconsin winters brought a cold I’d never felt, so taking those first tentative steps onto the road counted as bravery. I ran in the cold darkness, since sunset arrived around 4:30. We had no street lights, so some evenings brought me freedom, while others handed me bleakness and every mile lasted a day. I learned to skate there, and we had a real pond that iced over in winter, so we could skate under bright blue skies and laugh.

This year I’m in a boot for twisting tendons in my foot, so winter has been spent enjoying fresh bread slathered with butter on it for dinner while I burrow under a blanket. Most evenings we have a fire, and my husband and I watch so many different shows. Evenings spent with him in candlelight by the firelight are beautiful and calming.

Winter takes her sweet time, and for me she seems to stay longer than I’d like, but if I take the time to watch the slant of the sun week by week, I notice the change. We’re on the other side of the winter solstice, and every day brings us another minute or two of sunshine. Where I live winters are full of grey clouds and sullen, moody skies, so we joke about not seeing the sun for months. Sunny days are fully embraced and enjoyed for the gift they are.

I suppose that’s why so many of us find happiness in a simple cup of coffee. It wakes me up and warms me through. I look forward to my first two cups, and later in the day I might have an espresso. (And I wonder why I’m awake at night.) Actually, I have always been a night person, and as the fire flickers and makes small hissing sounds, I hear the wind whipping around the house.

One of the coziest feelings in the world, other than climbing into bed and waiting for the sheets to warm up a bit, is feeling safe and warm inside while a winter wind blows constantly way up the chimney. Another winter favorite is waking up to the smell of French-pressed coffee and bacon. Pair that with some eggs, my twitter feed, and the pile of magazines waiting to be read, and I’m happy all day long.

Spring will begin to announce her impending arrival in small, quiet ways soon enough, and then we’ll spill out of our cocoons and visit by the mailboxes and during evening walks. But winter is a gift, even if she’s wrapped in grey and brings gusty cold winds from the Arctic. We have to accept the gift and find the good in today, in tonight.

Maybe a walk in the woods, looking at the brown, bare branches against the still green moss underfoot is just what our soul needs. Maybe we have to weave together our own magic to find the beauty and calm in a cup of fragrant tea, sketching and painting, writing poetry or playing music, cooking a steak dinner or baking bread. I revel in a season by reading books that take place in winter, and I always read The Long Winter by Wilder if I’m feeling down and exasperated with my own personal winter.

You can find happiness almost anywhere if you look. Find a park and walk, or enjoy the country road. Revel in the snow and laugh as it muffles your world. If snow doesn’t kiss your town, then enjoy the lengthening days, even if it’s not terribly warm. Wear your sweats and a pair of thick socks and turn on some music that fills you with moments of pure beauty. Dance. Laugh. Eat. Drink. Cuddle. Smile.

Revel in the heart of winter. Look up at her starry skies that look so clear you want to reach up and grab one to put in your pocket for a lucky day. Bake cookies and eat them. Stay by a candle if you don’t have a fireplace. I’m off to read the cookbooks I found at a used bookstore today. I have quite a treasure waiting for me, so I’ll keep listening to the gusty night and smile.

I hope you find happiness wherever you are. Until next time….

Deanna

Dancing Amid the Stars

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

Before I write about a wonderful night I never wish to forget, I apologize for not blogging here. Quora, Medium and my book edit have kept me busy, along with other irons in the fire. I promise to post here twice a month going forward. Ready?

I had the perfect July 4th (a day early, but who’s keeping track?) evening with the person I love more than any other I’ve ever met. We perched on the chairs overlooking the creek that is a small trickle, devoured brats (think large hot dogs) and sipped minty mojitos from icy glasses. We laughed about life, watched as the sun swung herself over the edge of the trees and noticed hundreds of lightning bugs playing in the darkened woods.

We had a second round of my new favorite drink, and I idly watched as the thumbnail crescent moon made her own early descent. My husband had brought out a speaker, and as we listened to Ohioans enjoying the new law opening up the use of fireworks, we took turns choosing songs. We started singing through Ed Sheeran and Chris Stapleton, made our way to some duets, and then we had ourselves a dance party.

The sweltering heat dissipated as the coolness from the woods surrounding our home crept up the hill and found its way into our laps, so the night begged for dancing. As we tried to dance the way we did in the 80s, we laughed, showed off to no one other than some scared deer at most, and we acted like college kids at a bar.

Since we first met, officially, at a dance bar in college, our lives have included dancing at various points. We took ballroom, and we only remember the waltz now; we cranked Nirvana and jumped around the living room with our small daughters. James Taylor entered our world as our son was born, so he would swing to Sweet Baby James. The Foo Fighters, Eagles, and even EDM have compelled us to dance.

I think tonight will be tucked away carefully in my mind. The stars gleamed above and while at times so many different people were enjoying their fireworks, we laughed about it sounding like a night of shooting. It felt like the old Wild West or a Western film. The night full of booms and the skittering bangs of multiple small firecrackers set the stage for us to abandon our normally quiet selves and enjoy one another amid music.

Sipping the cooling mint and rum for a quick moment between singing and dancing took me back to when I first met this man. He’s remarkably lithe and nimble for a guy who lifts weights regularly and is 6′ 2″. I imagine I look like I’ve been struck over the head a few too many times as I jump, twirl, swing my arms wildly, and even use some tai chi movements to add to the laughter. Suffice to say we would never do this in public, but we don’t care overmuch what the raccoons, deer, foxes, turtles, owls and bullfrogs think about our sweet moves.

As the tree cuddled the slip of a moon and sent it to sleep, we would sit and sing to the night, hoping our neighbors didn’t mind. I did sing in another life, and at one time I almost left high school to head to NYC and try my luck in theater. Thankfully I made the decision to let my friend head there alone, or I wouldn’t have met my soul mate. The man who has my back and more. The only person on the planet who has seen me as I am at all times. Weird, funny, loving music, missing playing (tune that piano is perpetually on my to-do list) and dancing with a man who freaky dances when needed.

My mind flew out to the time when our whole family sat on the back porch drinking whiskey and singing to Foreigner. I had no idea my kids liked that music, but they adore the 80s and wish they had lived through it. Concerts were cheap, and all I had to do was skip physics class to leave with my friends and buy tickets to Genesis, Devo, the Cars, or Elvis (Costello).

Or the time in the car when my husband and I had just belted out, Hello, by Adele, only to have my son follow that by singing in a perfect falsetto, some song I never knew, but it was fast with words spilling out of his mouth at a rapid rate. His sisters, judging by their laughter, had no idea little brother could sing. Or at least cover a song by a woman that was so sky-high.

But tonight was for me and my guy, and we needed this. The sound of continual shootings (fireworks courtesy of teens everywhere), starlight, mojitos, and music. And laughter.

I hope you find yourself on a July evening full of fireflies, moonlight, and music someday with a person you love more than life. And that you dance.

I’m wishing you all the happiness your heart can hold…
– Deanna Eppers

Shy Stars in the Winter sky…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

Freezing cold air numbs my fingers, and I finally donned some soft gloves today. I thought the bright sun beckoned me outdoors, but the cheery skies laughed at the shock I felt when winter’s winds buffeted me while I stood outside in just my sweatpants and sweatshirt. My cat braved the bright cold to watch the deer as they made their way down to the partially frozen creek, but my cat wears fur. Since fur isn’t “in” these days, I decided to wander back inside. I stood on the back deck long enough to feel my lungs and throat seared by the frigid air. I gave up far more quickly than my heat-loving cat.

Snow flying in the Kentucky air.

Winter’s cold has a way of ushering me indoors. I’m thrilled to find myself at the end of the day next to a roaring fire and yelling out wrong answers to Jeopardy, or binge watching a show. Which isn’t truly a binge, since my husband can sit for two episodes at most. Then we listen to vintage music or shove our noses in books. I’d like to think I pair a glass of wine with the wending way of words in my pile of novels, but the reality of wasted calories factors in. Chocolate and cream in my coffee matter more.

How do those of us who dwell within reach of winter’s embrace find happiness in the endless sullen clouds, the snows that fall and must be shoveled again, and where a run outdoors is almost considered dangerous? Look to the Swedes. They live in months of darkness, with cold seeping into their veins, and they’re happy. Swedes commit to the cold and practice a form of coziness, hygge. It’s the latest in loving winter, but they’re truly onto something.

When I lived in upstate New York the snows sometimes came up over my head, and we shoveled down our cereal just to be out in the glittering sunlight to build a fort. When my parents moved back there during my university years, I bought some skis and went skiing. My family decided to join me on these forays into powder and moguls, where all we worried about was shoving off of the ski lift without falling down. I went cross country skiing with a friend, and when we figured out that we had taken the wrong trail, or maybe it wasn’t a trail at all, we laughed so hard at our novice skiing efforts on the nonexistent trail.

The woods at our farm this past week.

We had to ford a swollen creek in those long skis. My friend and I finally abandoned our skis and hoofed it back to the chalet to hand in our rented equipment. My boyfriend (now husband) took the cross country skis out one dark night where the shy stars peeked out between the clouds as they passed. Looking up we marveled at the wonder of dark skies, bright new snow, and quiet, almost holy moments.

Winter is jolly, rushed, and full of celebrations in December, so the real test of our mettle comes in the long months that follow. My inclinations these days is to stay tucked up in a cocoon of soft blankets, with scalding hot coffee at hand, and burrow in deep as I sit by the fire. But winter has a magic that begs to be discovered by us. The Swedes make a point of going outdoors to collect items from nature such as rocks, feathers, sticks or moss to bring inside and use as decor. They also light up the darkness with bright white lights in windows and in the house.

If we took a cue from the people who enjoy winter and remain happy despite the cold and dark, we can hold onto ribbons of bliss.

Tonight I read about a challenge where a person commits to hiking at least one mile fifty-two times in one year. I have to ask my husband if he’d like to join my on a hike every week, and we’d have to start this week since we’re behind already, but what a unique way to get people out of their homes on dull winter days. Soon enough we’ll be posting about walks in the rain and hikes in the steamy hot days that refuse to release their heat. For now, though, this hiking challenge sounds like something the Swedes would try, and I’ll throw in searching for a beautiful pine cone.

Our bodies were made to move. After a day or night of work the last thing most of us want to do is head out for a walk. Plus the older you are, the easier it is to fall into the habit of hibernating. There are no kid’s basketball games to see, no swimming lessons to attend, and no book club due to covid. Listlessness is easy. Complacency looks alluring, but playing cribbage while drinking herbal tea or a wee dram of whiskey is better than relentless, mindless shows on tv.

I think we’ll feel better if we do commit to braving the cold and embracing it.

The real fireplace at the cabin.

When I lived in very cold Wisconsin, I watched the frost crawl up my bedroom wall in horror. The temperature hovered at -25 degrees. That cold welcomed us in our first year of Wisconsin living, but we adapted to the frozen months and accepted them.

My husband and I both took up running, since we were too poor to join a gym, and we’d run in almost any weather. I did take a nice four-miler in a blizzard, and my husband would run in every cold possible. Nothing daunted him, though -10 stared my in the face, and I backed down. The main point is changing our perspective and our position. Join in and skate outdoors, make snow angels, shovel a neighbor’s driveway. Find a leaf or feather to bring indoors to your winter collection.

The people I met when I lived in Wisconsin were friendly and hardy. One soul-chilling Saturday evening when the thermometer hovered at another night of -25, I asked my roommates what we were going to do since walking over a mile to the bars wasn’t going to happen. They looked at me as if I had sprung antlers out of the sides of my head! They were going to walk downtown fortified by some strong liquor and heavy coats; staying in would never be an option, so I dressed cute (no heels, because it was too cold for that at least) like Madonna, guzzled some scorching liquor that drew heat into my chest and head out for a long walk in the gloom of yet another dreary night with no starlight.

Just being out in that awful penetrating cold with my funny friends made me realize attitude is everything. We laughed our way downtown and made our way into our bar, since most students had a certain bar they hung out in for most of the night. We chucked our parkas at the door and sure enough the place was packed with all our friends. Nobody in Wisconsin is afraid of the cold, and they celebrate almost anything to bring light and laughter to a long season of frozen days.

I’m not advocating swilling down shots of booze as a way to lighten your mood. Those days are behind me, and I didn’t guzzle, even when my roomies did. I usually ordered a dry martini and nursed the drink for an hour or so, hoping some guy would buy the next one. Hey, I didn’t have much spending money!

The point is we can choose to like winter or hate every single day of this season, but what good is that? My friend laments the cold here, which isn’t honestly that cold, and she talks about moving to Fiji. I just discovered she wears a battery-operated coat that heats her coat up nicely, so in my eyes she is set. I could have used that heater in my coat when I’d leave the school library at midnight, but there’s something about bravery that lifts the spirits.

Snow flying in Kentucky.

Staring down the dark and cold take courage of a certain sort. If we balanced our weeks to include hikes on a trail or around our city, if we huddle under our softest blanket, if we sip hot tea and read the words of a book that delights us, then we’ll be happy. Make your home, your space, a place of warmth, even if it is from a space heater. Place a pile of magazines or books next to your sofa or bed and luxuriate in words.

I know this is crazy long, but this is one last tidbit I wanted to share with you. In Germany one day I stayed in my hotel room, because I wasn’t feeling so great. I placed a Do Not Disturb hanger on my doorknob, and the cleaners still came in. They cleaned around me in my bed, and they opened up a window even though the day was brisk. Germans like to open up the windows in their houses and apartments once a month, no matter what, to freshen up their homes. I understand that. Even winter air is fresh and clean with a scent no other season possesses. Open your window. Just a crack or so. Grow used to fresh air, and don’t be afraid of the cold. Enjoy it.

I hope you look up and memorize one constellation that isn’t the Big Dipper or Orion. Winter brings very dark nights just ripe for spotting planets and stars. I’ll be looking up. I hope you do, too.

I’m wishing you all the happiness your heart can hold.

Until next time
Deanna Eppers

silent nights…

by Deanna, posted in Finding Happiness Where You Are..., Uncategorized

A house is never silent. Not truly. They creak and settle their bones, the plumbing makes odd noises at strange times, and sometimes my fireplace carries the sound of the winds outdoors. It’s a hollow, lonely moan, and my cat raises his head to see if I’m alarmed. I’ll admit at times I love the quiet, and I feel blessed to barely catch the low rumbling of the trains that pass late only on certain nights. When crickets and tree frogs fill the night with music, I don’t feel slightly scared or alone. Those summer nights are a friend to me, and I lit my candles, drank tea and wrote or read long past midnight. Even a quiet windy night doesn’t usually unnerve me, except last night it did.

Last night felt different. This December night offered no snow flying peacefully through the dark. It told a story of tornado watches, and I had to turn off the fire as the room grew too warm. Alone in the house, I opened the back door rather tentatively and felt a rush of warmth, and my face felt kissed by the wet. The whole back porch had been soaked by the first round of storms, and I didn’t like the idea of falling asleep to a storm full of wind; so I stayed up long into the strange night and waited.

I lit two candles just in case the house plunged into darkness and listened. The winds rushed and moaned in the fireplace, occasionally rattling for good measure, while outside the leafless trees blew and shook, and the creek sounded close. We are perched on a cliff above the creek, but last night I couldn’t see how high it had risen, except for the sound. The water ran past the house, and I’ve never heard it do this. A neighbor on the other side of the creek stayed up long past their bedtime, too. Waiting. Watching as best we could.

Even now the wind is high, and I can finally see the water below. It looks like a wide river pouring itself over the rocks and falls, and daylight brings a reassurance that night fails to offer at times. I know about the terrible storms that hit south of here, and I wonder when this part of the world will lapse into winter’s stillness. Where are the snows with the puckering breezes that tug at our coats as we bravely shovel our sidewalks in unison with our neighbors?

Last night made me think of spring, but my Christmas tree is trimmed, finally, and a magnolia garland graces one of the mantles, so a fire looks perfect and feels good most evenings; and I think it’s time for snowmen, singing Christmas carols and indulging in the culinary delights my friends hand me. I’ve never thought of winter as my season, but I’m beginning to realize the beauty of the solitude of a cold, winter’s afternoon hike. Walking at night while gazing at the strings of lights draped across yards and houses seems magical, and I wonder when silent snows will finally fall here.

Isn’t this the time of the year when we truly recall our childhood? Christmases filled with grandparents, cousins and aunt and uncles who liked to kiss me hello, while all I wanted was to open the candy jar and escape their questions about school and my height. The house had a nativity scene under the tree, and cookies were made every afternoon; but the snows of long ago are etched in my mind forever. Christmas snows two feet deep that made us rush out into the world and create forts, houses and villages.

In the days preceding Christmas the aunties told us to get out of the house and outside, so we did. The whisper of smoke meant a fire had been kindled in the fireplace that promised warmth for later. We had serious sledding to enjoy, and the house felt crowded at times, so of course we were encouraged to head outside. Why is it that twenty people would stay in one house with just a single bathroom and three bedrooms? That house at Christmas was never silent. Someone was always getting up, and all of us sleeping on the floor often heard it or felt it.

Is that why my silent house feels luxurious to me? This one small pleasure of having a whole night spread out before me isn’t empty. It’s full of promise, and the joy is in knowing I can while away the evening doing whatever I choose. I’ll read, nibble on a mint brownie Jeannine made and gaze at my Christmas tree. So many days are full of cares and busyness that this night feels special and almost sacred. The threat of bad storms troubled me more than usual last night, and the lightning didn’t feel cozy like it did in August.

Today I’m back to normal, and my Kentucky-loving husband is almost home, which means football games on the television. I’m ready for music and laughter, and I’m in the middle of placing a village underneath one special tree upstairs. I haven’t used the village for years, and my mother is the one who gifted me with the lit up houses and buildings. I decided it’s time to enjoy all the Christmas my mother bestowed on me, knowingly or not. I listen to the songs we sang together, and I bake the same cookies we did long ago in her kitchen.

The time for silence is gone, and now night is stealing the day. I have to light the trees mom gave me, along with the huge nativity scene from my mother-in-law. I’m ready for the sound of people again, but I’m also ready for the stillness of a world cloaked in white. No storms, no high winds and no worries. Just a peaceful sky full of stars after a wonderful snow. Since we moved a bit further south, we don’t enjoy the deep snows of the north, but I like the way our city shuts down if two inches falls. The world is silent for a few precious hours as the snow falls, and the sounds of the neighbors going about the business of clearing their driveways hasn’t yet begun.

My wish is for a winter wonderland, but if I don’t receive that gift this year, then I hope to sit beside the fire, gazing at the lights on the tree and listen to this house. The storms are gone, the wind is dying, and I’m back to hearing just my house settle down for the night. Tonight will bring a measure of peace, and since the cold has decided to return, the back door is firmly shut. I only have to turn on the fire and decide on dinner. We’re almost at the darkest and longest night of the year, and I like the thought of the sun slowly adding minutes to our daylight. I’ll light a candle and wait as I listen for the sound of the garage door opening.

I’ve had enough silence for now, and I’m ready for meaningful noise. Happy conversations and hopefully a cozy Christmas movie.

I hope you have moments of beautiful silence in your days and nights. And I’m wishing you all the happiness your heart can hold.

Until next time,

Deanna