In this New York Times feature the brilliant Simon Critchley writes about what it means to be happy. Critchley doesn't take a stance for or against religion/faith, but instead breaks it down in true philosopher fashion. That works out well, because he is a famous philosopher. Neat how that works, huh?
As you know, I'm fascinated by the subject of religion. God bless (or don't, if you're not a person of faith) frequent commenter, Stacey, who has taken it upon herself to answer/guide/listen to me whine week after week via the... gasp... good old fashioned phone... as we go through the Bible together.
Perhaps my friend Stacey, like many believers out there in blogland have suggested, might say that "I am being called by God". The cynics out there have told me, "You're simply looking for a way to justify madness."
Perhaps both are true, leaving me in my predictable "not too cozy, but not uncomfortable enough to move my arse" position of Maiden in the Middle.
There's some excellent observations in Critchley's post - I'd love to have you read it yourself and get back to me on it - but the one that made me almost fall out my chair in laughter (which I'm quite certain the writer didn't intend) was his quote from Rousseau who, in his version of happiness, would talk about laying down flat in a row boat off the coast of Switzerland. He quotes:
"On the way to the island, he would pull in the oars and just let the boat drift where it wished, for hours at a time. Rousseau would lie down in the boat and plunge into a deep reverie. How does one describe the experience of reverie: one is awake, but half asleep, thinking, but not in an instrumental, calculative or ordered way, simply letting the thoughts happen, as they will." The writer goes on to say that, like God, this sort of experience is timeless. There is neither pleasure or pain, happiness or sadness. It just "is". I wanted to scream (in fact I did) "Well I guess there is no hope for mothers! When the hell are we going to get to lie down in our rowboats without worrying about life vests, kids drowning, who's wearing sunscreen, who got bitten by a tick on their nuts and who the HELL IS ROCKING THE gdarn canoe I'm going to KILL THEM!!!!!!!!" Motherscribe knows just a bit about this very subject. She could use a bit of your love if you have any to give. Believers and non-believers alike are welcome to leave a comment for her. For now, it's late. My family is snoozing, I'm going to be predictably cranky when tomorrow morning comes far too soon. Equally predictably, I have one day to buy a tent, supplies and miscellaneous camping gear for a trip we are leaving for on Monday. Thank God for my sane husband who: 1. Won't talk to me before my morning cup of Yuban. (Nor will he kiss me afterwards.) 2. Is spending the whole day with me preparing for our fabulous 3 days away. 3. Doesn't have faith in God, but doesn't mind a bit that I'm finding mine. That means more to me than having a partner who goes through the motions but couldn't give a poop. Good night. May you all be happy like God! Or at the very least, happy. And if you can't be (hey, it's totally normal and part of being human) than at least may you have a few laughs.
It's kind of odd that while the kids and I had the most Americana, quiet, earthy day ever (Cherry picking here) the King of Pop and Farrah pass on.
I don't know why I'm so sad about people I never knew, but I am. I suppose this is even more reason to love the ones we're with... To look at the sweetness of life, try to avoid the pits and all those other lame cherry analogies that I'm too tired to think about right now.
But I'm not too tired to run upstairs and kiss my sun worn babes good night.
Or stick an ice cub down Rex's back. (He hates that. You should see the Michael Jackson move he incurs from it.)
* Photo courtesy of Daria. (Because nothing says "hanging out at farm" like a Hannah Montana gold glam tank.
Summer has begun, and I've been such a mix of emotion, from "I can't believe Stink is already done with kindergarten" to "I can't believe little Pip is starting kindergarten" to "I am so grateful my mom is feeling better again" to "I'm so grateful for Rex and my work and my home" to "OH MY GOD ALL SUMMER WITH THE KIDS!"
But the most overriding feeling I've had has been of gratitude. Life is changing so fast, I'm so lucky to have the one that I do, and I'm going to soak up the good times as long as I can with everything I have in me.
Until I post again, I hope you do the same.
* Photo taken on our first day of vacation at the beach last week. My mom came with us. Sand, homemade sandwiches, water in a jug from 1985. Decent. Seeing my mom do this crab crawl back up the stairs? Priceless. (Really, she's fine. And it was funny. Ask her yourself.)
...and all people with more class than myself, I am now adding a new post to replace the penis post below.
Of course I am not permanently deleting the penis post because, shocking as this may sound, some people who read me might actually have less class than me, so why would I want to deny them a blow up schlong bigger than a Snoopy at Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade? (Let's just hope it doesn't break free and land in the Snoopy. Though that would give new meaning to the word "doggy style".)
Did that last joke go too far? Moving on.
I have nothing to report because I feel so behind the eight ball that all I want to do is curl up with a box of Duncan Donuts, smoke a cigarette, and magically make my Ebay piles, columns, house cleaning (damn those gnats) and new shirt of Rex's that I somehow managed to bleach with a wet towel from swimming go poof! Away with you bad voo doo domestic failure of a mama! Everything today will be shiny and new!
But the thing is, despite my 181 pounds, I don't eat many doughnuts.
Nor do I smoke.
But I do drink the occasional glass of red wine.
And, perhaps in some subconcious reference to the penis post, I have frozen bananas in my freezer.
And since today I locked my keys in my car at 2:30, despite my best efforts to get Pip and Stink to their final swim lessons on time, I am indulging.
I am also unplugging this weekend. I have once again gone techno computer all things electrical crazy .
I think I'm going to read a... gasp... book.
Love you all. And will check out your posts very soon! That is, if I don't somehow manage to spill Yuban all over my computer. That would not be good, but maybe the stench would scare the gnats away.