Delicate Flower

There is a program that I’ve committed to that is supposed to make me happier and more grounded. The program, through high-vibrational, very clean food, no booze, and a broad list of mood-lifting habits, will help me turf this shadowy vision of the nearing apocalypse and give me shinier purpose; I won’t dread waking up in the morning any more, I hope. The most difficult shift I have had to make, so far, is to put on happy music first thing in the morning. You wouldn’t think that such an action would require such an Herculean effort on my part. No, I didn’t either.

To be clear, I’m not talking about just any old happy music. I’m talking about the embarrassing stuff from the 70’s and 80’s. Yes, there’s Abba, Gloria Estevan, The Pointer Sisters, and perhaps I’ll stop here. You get the idea…never gonna give you up, never gonna let you fall…never gonna hmm hmm hmmm and de-hmmm hmmm. Yeah, that song too. The thing is, my morning journey to go and start the tunes resembles the laboured meandering of a child that’s been directed to clean the fish tank, or tackle a thoroughly charred lasagna that has been sitting, politely ignored, out on top of the stove since everyone else is at a loss over what to do with it–I don’t particularly want to shift my mood at this time of day. This is when I feel fully present. I feel deep. It is at this time, and with this level of vibration (yes, we’re going there) that words come; words and sentences drop into my head and tumble out through my fingers as if they were waiting for me to wake up and get to the keyboard. I’m taking a risk, playing Conga, when there is a possibility that I could be delving into the whispers and winks of art that has not yet been made, the context of a death of another, or the simple sensuousness of footfalls on a forest trail. I could be, but up to now, it has attracted nothing BUT more solitude. 


Conversely, on the first day of my new ritual, this happened:

I walked into a nearby store and ran into a friend that I had not seen for several months. Out of nowhere, she asked me about a snow sculpture of a cow that I had done, probably fifteen years ago. I don’t know what triggered her to think of it; our discussion was about travel, but there it was. She asked me to send her a photo of my snowy Holstein. Later that day, I sifted through my photo library and found it. I hadn’t looked at it, or thought of it for quite some time. I sent it off to her through the ether, and she sent me the nicest note back; an ego boost that I was desperately in need of. 

So what. “Anything else happen, you flakey dork?” you might ask. Well, yesterday I ended up in a salsa class that I wasn’t expecting to have as much fun in as I did. Everything I had learned in previous dance classes came back, and for one hour, I did not think of the world as an experiment–my life as a disaster. Instead, I followed my leading man through the sexy, lively beats of the Cuban Salsa, then signed up for the whole series of classes. So there. Eat that!



Did these two events happen as a result of my new, happy vibration? Did they? Well, we'll never know for sure, but I'd be over-the-moon if they did. I am hoping that, through this program, things might become a little easier for the effort because, I have had quite enough of the bullshit, thank you very much.


I am taking my mother grocery shopping this afternoon. My mother is not my go-to person for inspiration or support, but I am doing my best to be kind and make sure that she is happy. We should all be happy, right? Right? So, I will play my Cuban Salsa music, and maybe some Cyndi Lauper hits, and see how thing go. Perhaps today, I will attract puppies, or my soulmate in the produce aisle. Could happen. 

God, that would be nice.