Well, That Might Explain It....

Start with this one.

Not long after I pressed the 'send' button last, I succumbed to whatever crud it was that'd been stalking me. Which might explain why I was so 'something' at the time. (Sorry....)

I'm still up to my sinuses in it and will spare you any details, but I do want to say that I hope whatever this is hasn't found you, your loved ones, your co-workers, or that person who sat next to you on the train and asked to borrow your pen....

Because if it has, then my only suggestion would be to stop EVERYTHING, return to your nest, unplug your land line or turn off your smartphone, brew some hot tea with honey and lemon, grab the closest 'Flavia de Luce' book, and have at it. OK?

In case you're wondering, Flavia is Sherlock Holmes if Holmes was (were?) an 11-year-old girl living in the 1950's on a once-grand estate in the fictional English village of Bishop's Lacey. She's obsessed with chemistry and poisons and death and sleuthing. She has her own laboratory! And a trusty bicycle/steed named 'Gladys.' I was first introduced to her via a library discard that I rescued for 25-cents because I simply liked the title, and it just so happened to be the first in this fabulous series. I've since gone on to read others but I'm careful not to burn through them, they're that perfect. (PLEASE, Mr. Bradley, DO NOT STOP WRITING.)

Once you've found your book (doesn't have to be Flavia, but you'll thank me if it is) unplug, brew, read, repeat until all is well once more. Because you deserve this and because I firmly believe in Time Outs for one's mental and physical health.

Shutting up now and returning you to your regularly-scheduled program and me to my regularly-scheduled Flavia and chicken soup.

Later, my friend.
(((heart)))
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Happy Thoughts and Happy Thotz

My 2nd copy. I'm hard on this book....

For ages now I've sent out a daily email to a few friends and family members, an email inspired by a book I consider to be a lifesaver.

It all began a long time ago when someone gave me a page-a-day desk calendar for Christmas based on Barbara Ann Kipfer's 14,000 Things to be Happy About. Each page of the calendar featured a selection of five pleasant things meant to inspire my happiness.

And they did.

I kept the calendar on my desk at the office where I worked at the time, and some days most days every dang day those happy thoughts were my lifeline.

First thing every morning I shared the day's calendar page with three people -- my James, a mutual friend of ours, and a fellow co-worker -- by sending them the list of happy suggestions typed up in an email which I began referring to as the 'Happy Thotz.' (Yeah, I thought the misspelling was clever at the time....)

Some days the Calendar would inspire me to change up the list or add my own variations to it. Sometimes it would cause one or more of us to come up with our own things to be happy about and share them with the others. Sometimes it would spark a dialogue or take us on a tangent. And more than once it caused all hell to break loose.

But it always inspired something.

And because of that I looked forward to pushing the 'send' button and then anticipating a response. And I'm not lying when I say that the daily interaction with those particular people was monumental; it got me through one of the most stressful jobs I've ever had. And I owe it all to Ms. Kipfer and her inspirational book.
 
I no longer work at that office. I work at home for myself. But Barbara Kipfer's book is right next to my desk and I still send out the daily Thotz email. It's since evolved to include a bunch of other stuff in addition to the author's suggestions of things for which to be happy. I'm careful to give her credit, of course, and over the years I like to think I've helped add to her teeming list of fans. But her pleasant suggestions have since become just a small part of the email I send.

And the tradition continues because I'd be lost if it didn't. I write the Thotz to keep in touch with those I care about. I write them to hopefully entertain someone and brighten their day. I write them to learn stuff about myself (BOY, do I learn stuff about myself!). I write them because I just have to. They're like my blog posts, only on the fly. More me than I feel comfortable being here. In that respect, I guess they're still a lifeline....

Today that daily email goes out to a handful of friends and family. I'm told some even go on to share it with others. And -- the whole point of this post (I'm so wordy!) -- this afternoon it may even have gone out to YOU, here at the Not-So-Daily Maily.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

It did because I'm able to write blog posts in my email program and send them here from there, and this blog's address just so happens to be right next to the list of individuals I routinely message. And today I was careless and accidentally included the Maily as one of my recipients....

Oops.

But I think I caught it in time. Still, if you subscribe to my blog and received a Not-So-Daily Maily post from me in your email today that looks nothing like THIS post, I apologize for sending it to you in error.

If you received it, I kind of hope you read it. And if you read it, I really hope you found it worth your while. But, if nothing else, may my mistake be Ms. Kipfer's gain: Check out her creative and whimsical website HERE, follow her inspirational tweets on Twitter HERE.

May her suggestions make you smile and inspire your happiness.
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Hello Stress....

Wearing this stuff would almost beat drinking it....

Yesterday I woke up already wigged out.

Then I looked at all the Fest-related stuff that I couldn't seem to wrap my head around.

Then I panicked and went for a walk -- saw a swallowtail butterfly, found some treasure, picked a flower, appreciated the clouds, determined that it was easily the best summer day of the season.

Then I pulled prints and organized postcards and ordered more product and walked around in circles, wringing my hands and verbally beating myself up.

Then I tried downloading a library book to my Kindle. (Stressed? Grab nearest book. Hide in it until better.)

Then I e-chatted with a librarian who dumbed the process down for me and walked me through it because I make things harder than they need to be, apparently.

Then I streamed a great book to myself -- Eggs by Jerry Spinelli (a fave author who writes for children and young adults).

Then I sunk into the hammock with it until the neighborhood came home from work and turned my quiet time into Crazy Town.

Then I poured myself a glass of homemade white lilac wine.

Then I grimaced mightily before growing accustomed to it. It's like drinking cologne -- tastes more horrid with each passing year but dang if your breath doesn't smell AMAZING afterward. (I suspect that when it kills you, any post-mortem people will thank you for it....).

Then I made popcorn for supper and watched an episode of Hercule Poirot.

And then I went to bed and willed the flowery goodness to knock any thoughts of Fest out of my head.

It didn't.

The End.
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Take a Look; It's On an iPad!

As I write this it's not even noon (so sayeth my computer; I know enough not to make eye contact with any other clockfaces around here) and already my day has been defined.

By rainbows.

My walk this morning fulfilled my inner spectrum requirements: spray of violets blooming curbside; electric-blue darning needle flitting across my path; green EVERYwhere honoring this first day of summer; white cabbage moth alight on some blooming butter-and-eggs; orange goldfinch trilling overhead; stands of wild raspberries....

The trip was a pleasure for my senses, but it was nice to return home and out of the heat and humidity. Once here again, I poured myself a glass of water and fired up the desktop computer and -- surprise! -- more rainbows.

They're everywhere today, apparently! And perhaps they're inspired by THIS. Dear, dear Levar Burton has apparently taken his beloved Reading Rainbow into the digital age and created an app for the new generation! -- kids like my grandbugs who can intuitively work an iPhone before they even learn to talk.

I was a young mom back when the series premiered on PBS in the early 80s. My Girlz and I considered it an instant hit! We soaked up every episode, making note of our favorite books and checking them out from our local library later so that we could hold them in our hands and page through them at our leisure. Titles like Gregory the Terrible Eater and A Chair For My Mother and Imogene's Antlers. Pete Seeger sharing his storysong 'Abiyoyo'. James Earl Jones bringing the rain to Kapiti Plain. Our love for all things 'Arthur' and the art of Marc Brown began there. And we discovered authors and illustrators and stories and titles that became old friends.

Even after my Girlz grew up and moved away, some mornings could still find me setting the alarm for an early broadcast rerun, or dropping everything to catch a later series' episode. There's just something about Levar and books and just being read to that's pure magick. And over the years I've collected our old faves from the series so that the grandbugs can enjoy them someday, too.

And now just writing about this has put the song in my head: "Butterfly in the skyyyyyyy, I can go twice as highhhhh..........!" I might just have to put the pencils down today and read a book. :)

Did you watch Reading Rainbow like we did? What are your favorite episodes? Was it the one where Levar visits a printing plant to see how books are made? Or the one where he tours Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts? How about the Star Trek episode? Or the one with the goats (you know which one I'm talking about!)?

Please share!

And (insert wave and best Levar impression) I'll see you next time. :)
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One Child's Tribute

 Stunned....

I just learned this morning that the amazing writer Ray Bradbury passed away. Ray Bradbury! My heart is sick....

One of my earliest memories is of being read to by my young mother. She'd checked a book out from the Webster County Library (amazing place full of shadows and the smell of paper and with ladders for reaching your books down from tall shelves). The book was full of short stories, and the one she read to me made the hair stand up on my neck. I connected with those words in a way that my young self couldn't describe.

I can still recall being curled up on the green sectional sofa, gazing out the living room window at Mr. Gordon's morning-glory-covered porch across the street, my bare legs in their summer shorts feeling itchy from the rough upholstery, my ears listening to words that transported me. I never forgot the story and rediscovered it again as an adult, hidden perfectly in the chapters of Dandelion Wine. Reading it once more instantly transported me back to my childhood.

Time travel. So appropriate.... And how lucky a kid was I, anyway?, having a mother who read Ray Bradbury to me!?

So many writers have shaped my life, but Mr. Bradbury holds a special place of honor. I think it's because he alone articulated what I can recall feeling in my childhood heart. Things I saw and experienced but had no words for.

It's been a million years since I was a kid. My bookshelves are now teeming with collections of his stories, things I reread often. And when I do, I am instantly connected to the young self that I once was (and still am inside), the deep thinker that felt the passage of Time and the sadness and sweet beauty of every autumn, the child that feared death and wondered about the future....

Such a kindred spirit!

Goodbye, Mr. Bradbury.... Your words will live on and move generations forever. They are carved on my heart and I will never forget you.
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