The Color of a Faded Pair of Dungarees

Anyone who ever met my mother remembered her eyes - they were an unbelievably pale blue. To call them cornflower blue would be ascribing them with a depth of color that they did not possess. They were a blue that if painted on a wall might be a bit insipid or wimpy but in the setting of a fine-featured face, the color was unexpected and striking. Until the day she died at 80, strangers complimented her on their beauty.

As a child, I was always a bit jealous of the 5 sets of blue eyes in my family because after all, no tiny girlchild is ever partial to the color brown - the eye color I shared with my father and one brother. Brown...the color of wood and the "plain" songbirds and well, lets face it, poop. It is never the first Crayon worn to a nub by young artists. When I complained about my genetic curse, my mother would always exclaim and repeat the story of how glad she was when I was born and she saw that I had eyes that were "a real color" and had not inherited her old faded blue.

Oddly, you see, my mother hated her baby blues. As a tiny child, her adored maternal grandfather, Papa, had once commented that she had eyes just like his. "They're the color of an old washed out, faded pair of dungarees," he said. Who knows why she decided he meant that as a criticism. Maybe he really did. Or maybe she just didn't like denim. Whatever it was, she seized on that one comment as a "truth" and let it cancel out the thousands of compliments she got in the seven decades to come. To her, those beautiful eyes were forevermore colorless.

Like all mothers, mine left me a lot of legacies besides the genetic. Some were intential lessons and some not. Some are positives and some are not. In this case, whenever someone criticizes me or my actions, I remember my mother and her blue eyes: one opinion does not a truth make. An opinion is just that, an opinion and I can choose what meaning to apply to it. It is an unintentional legacy, but important all the same.

Happiness Tip #308

Taking it a yard is hard but an inch, a cinch.

On the Car Radio

I noticed that I wasn't feeling any happier listening to the pop rock I tuned into on the car radio. The music all seemed either angry, whiny, yearny, romantic, over-sexed, sleepy, or outright depressing. And so I somewhat reluctantly turned to talk radio and discovered I LOVED it.

First of all, I felt "wicked smaht" (for you Southerners, that's New England speak for 'purrty smart'). I suddenly had interesting tidbits to talk about with friends & strangers-- no small feat for an introvert. Secondly, I noticed that it was great not to be manipulated by music in any negative way. (I'm all for being manipulated toward feeling upbeat, energized, or inspired but if you're listening to the radio, you have little control over that).

So, I clung to my local National Public Radio station (WBUR 90.9 FM --go team!) like an overboard passenger grasps a life ring.

And then the unthinkable happened. My car radio broke. I was desperate. Not only was I cut off from my happy-conducive distraction, listening to engaging stories on NPR was one of the only (safe) things that kept me awake on my long drives. Now what?

My child was all set. He had his portable DVD player and headset to distract and please him. At first, I decided to use the quiet drive time to work on my spiritual development. Being centered= being content. I tried doing an eyes wide open, 61 point, breath meditation, but it relaxed me too much and left me even more tired. Then, I decided to try instead "to pull a Jackie" (see blog post, "Thank you, Jackie," on http://www.the3minutemystic.blogspot.com ): I sang out loud for 50 nonstop minutes.

It was great. It energized me AND distracted me. When I didn't know the words and had to make stuff up it also made me laugh: not much rhymes with "remember."

My car radio is fixed now, but guess what? I kept it off by choice this time. Turns out that singing badly all by my lonesome is my ticket to endorphins, smiles and good times. If you should hear me through the car windows, I may sing off key, but I'm happy!
La, la, LA-A-A-A-Ahhh!