come on, get happy

tawny hills, originally uploaded by à la mosey.

No, this isn't the encyclopedic post that I had been working on for three days straight.
I ditched it.
To be honest, if a post takes that long to be born there's something amiss. In this case, self-indulgent wah-wah-wahing on recovering from allergies, getting my headspace turned around, mood-adjustments, and well... getting happy. (And if you didn't get the cultural reference of the title, then we didn't grow up in the same TV generation.)

I decided rather than writing about it (and boring myself as well as those of you reading it), I'd just get to it. Choose to be happy. Get the house together. Make lists and get shit done. Exercise consistently (consistently being the operative word). Have more fun with Sweetpea. Find a babysitter and actually have a date with English hubby (I'm working on it). I'm working on all of it and hope that this coming week marks a turning point.

English hubby and I have been watching The Tudors on Netflix. The first of Henry the 8th's wives, Catherine, cast aside when she didn't produce a male heir and a victim of Henry's wandering eye, said something that struck a chord while she was ill and approaching death. I can't remember the exact quote, but it was something to do with facing hardship versus happiness in life- that there is more spiritual growth in hardship. I don't think this is necessarily true for everyone, but obviously was for her.

It resonates because it's what I always feel when I come out of periods of illness or melancholy - that I have a renewed sense of gratitude for my life and the people and things surrounding me. Which I perhaps might not have if life was a walk in the park all the time.

And further to the get happy theme I said I wasn't going to talk too much about but look at me talking about it anyway, on a recent bike-riding outing with English hubby and Sweetpea, which would have been enough for us to say "that was a good day", we stopped at the side of the road on the way home to play on the lower hills of our mountain, overlooking the coast. The grasses have all gone that golden color, the way they do every summer, and Sweetpea discovered that she could slide down on her bottom quite a way almost like sledding. It was one of the highlights of our recent weeks, which we could close our eyes and remember even if we hadn't caught it on film. Balmy air, three content people, winds in the grasses, blue blue sea. You know those times?

In Ruth Reichl's memoir "Comfort Me With Apples", she talked about visiting the glorious MFK Fisher at her little home in Sonoma. At one point, Mary Frances sighed "I love my tawny hills", about those same golden grasses, which to me from a distance look like the soft pelt of a lion. She obviously felt something similar. But that statement made me realize that it's been a while since I've proclaimed a love or passion for what surrounds me. For owning my feelings not only about what I love but pursuing, or even identifying, my passions and making them a part of my daily living.

I'm going to be working on that too.

tawny hills, originally uploaded by à la mosey.