Month: February 2019

Today was one of the those days when I wasn’t sure if lunch was going to happen. But it was also one of those days when I had been up the night before with a cold and got up feeling terribly weak. So after doing two interviews for my day job, I treated myself to soup and a sandwich at one of my favorite spots (Pickled Peach) in Davidson. 

I went outside looking for a table. There were only two vacant. One was for four people, and being the polite soul that I am, I couldn’t take a four-seater for little old me. There was a two-seater around the corner, but a canned drink left on the table made me think it was reserved. That said, I went back inside and sat at the bar by the window.

A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my arm, and it was this nice older gentleman I recognized from the Y. (I’m an exercise addict, so the Y is like my vacation home, complete with a pool and sauna but sans a big mortgage.) Anyway, he asked if he could join me if I wasn’t having a quiet lunch. I motioned him to sit down. 

His name is Ron. He’s 70, has an earring and is crazy fit. He complimented me on my writing and said I reminded him of his late sister. “When I read your writing, I think of her.” Folks, I’ve had some nice compliments in my day, but this tops the list. What an honor to be the instigator of happy memories for someone. I gave myself an invisible pat on the back. 

Ron is retired, but his wife, 10 years younger, is not. “She still works, and I take care of everything else,” he said. In addition to taking care of their home, he works out daily and walks his dog on local trails at least twice a day. “It’s called forest bathing,” he said. “Oh, I know,” I replied, adding that I had skipped my class at the Y this morning to run on the sylvan college campus in our town.

Today is the last day we’re supposed to have sun this week, so I took advantage of it. As a bonus, I saw tulips making their way through the ground and a bluebird (my favorite, can you tell?) flying above them. It was a total Snow White moment, except I don’t clean like she does and I’m blonde (fake blonde, but blonde nonetheless). Other than that, you would have thought seven dwarfs were running behind me. 

Ron and I kept talking about how we like being outside and how he spends most of his time being grateful. (Talk about a wink, there.) I said, I tried to do that to, even on bad days. Then he said, “Bad days compared to what?” Boom! Ron snapped me out of my rut and into reality, which isn’t bad in the least. He left a few minutes after that to go to the dermatologist for a mole patrol. He started going bald in his 20s and was living in Florida at the time, do the math. 

As he left, I thought back to the can I saw sitting on the table for two. Because of that can, I ended up having a delightful lunch with someone I hardly knew. (We’re tight now because of the forest bathing thing, but we didn’t know that before lunch.) I sat there thinking of what a wonderful Wink of Goodness lunch with Ron was. Chatting with him was much better than scrolling any site on my phone or making yet another to-do list. It was a nourishing as my soup and sandwich. 

Before I woke up this morning, Jefferson, one of my awesome cats, climbed on top of me and nestled into my chest. Obviously, this makes waking up, which for me is already a miracle that rivals turning water into wine, even more difficult. Somehow I mustered the energy to get out of bed — bad call.

The day started innocent enough, but I’ve been wrestling with a problem (and here’s where I’m going to be mysterious to protect the idiots involved in this saga), and this morning the problem discovered my boiling point. Suddenly I was filled with anger. The kind of anger where anything sets you off, like coffee filters sticking together and being out of bananas. By the time my children were ready for school, I was crying my eyes out in perfect meltdown mode.

My sweet son gave me hugs, as well as his stuffed cat appropriately named Fat Cat. My daughter hugged me and then looked me straight in the eye and said, “Let’s get to school.” Believe I understand and appreciate the role reversal going on here (first wink).

I wore sunglasses to school because the sun was finally out and also because I didn’t want the teachers in carpool to see what at mess I was. I managed to go for a run and eventually made it home. That’s when things went south.

I started crying again. This time balling, and I couldn’t stop. I called my dad for our morning check-in (I have aging parents, so the morning check-in call is now a thing in my life), and I continued balling. Suddenly I was the college freshman calling home because she bombed her Development of Broadcasting exam all over again. (But to be fair, it was a weed out class, and the teacher was a complete self-obsessed bag of air who wore these weird moccasin boots that he could not pull off.) Regardless, there I was crying to my dad, and there he was saying he was coming right over to help me. (second wink)

In the meantime, I called one of my best friends to tell her about my problem and to seek advice. This is a big deal for me because I’ve had trust issues since fourth grade, but that’s a blog post for another time. Anyway, she was awesome, more than awesome, and I felt better. (third wink)

A few minutes later my parents arrived, and we had one of those good conversations that make you forget about all the times they’ve driven you up various kinds of walls. It was just good. Between that and talking to my friend, I was stable enough to go on with the rest of my day.

Later in the afternoon, when I was actually calm enough to get some work done, my doorbell rang, which is weird because I’ve been laying off Amazon and none of the neighborhood kids were out of school yet. I looked in the driveway and saw my friend’s car. I opened the door to pink (my favorite color) carnations and a big hug. It was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, and I will never forget it. (super fourth wink)

So tonight I’m getting ready for bed, and I’m really trying to muster all the good vibes I can for a better tomorrow. (If Jefferson jumps on my chest in the morning, I might take it as a sign and turn the alarm clock off, we’ll see. He obviously has some sort of portal into the future that I don’t have access to.)

Regardless, instead of thinking about all the anguish and anxiety that led to today’s meltdown, I’m going to focus on the goodness that came from it. My parents got to feel like parents today, not the aging mom and dad with medical problems that they’ve felt like for the past couple of years. I reached out to a friend, and they listened and supported me with love and flowers. That’s goodness of the highest order. That’s the kind of goodness that will carry me into tomorrow and beyond.

I’ve had an affection for hammocks ever since my parents bought one at Pawley’s Island when I was a little girl. For those who don’t know hammock history, this is like going to Jerusalem for holy water for your baby’s baptism. Pawley’s Island is where the real deal hammocks are made by hand by people who have names. You can watch them make hammocks. Novel, I know.

Anyway, my parents bought one for the gazebo at their lake house, and I’ve been swinging in it ever since. No, the one pictured is not THE hammock. This is the spare that I use at my home, but please note that it also is a Pawley’s Island Hammock because although I’ll buy the no-name brand for some items (think cough syrup), I’m completely top drawer when it comes to hammocks.

Any time I can lounge in a hammock with a book is a wink of goodness, and today was such a day. For almost a week, our area has been plagued by rain. Not just water, but lots of it combined with cold temperatures. For someone like me who operates on solar power, this is a complete nightmare.

So this morning when we were sitting in church, and I noticed a beam of light shining on my husband’s face via a stained glass window, I looked to the window and saw the sun. I immediately began plotting my hammock time. Some people would have thought that God was selecting my husband for an important task if they had seen that same beam of light. Not me. I was counting down the minutes until I could go home, change into my shorts and set up the hammock in the yard.

After feeding the kids lunch and straightening up the house, I went to the shed to fetch the hammock. I hadn’t seen it in months, so you can imagine how excited the hammock and I were to reunite. I set it up, grabbed a pillow, my book and my sunglasses and collapsed on my old friend. I fluctuated between napping and reading, napping and reading. What two things are better to do? Really.

Our cats, Jefferson and Hamilton, would peek through the bottom of the hammock to see what mommy was so happy about it. I picked Hamilton up and tried to coax him into cuddling with me on the hammock (complete nirvana in my book), but he preferred to sit beside me in an attempt to thwart any stress or discomfort that tried to enter into my personal space.

As I was lying in my state of grace, I let the sun drench my body. I couldn’t soak enough of it in. For a few minutes, a giant cloud eclipsed the sun, and it became chilly. I just continued lying there waiting for the sun to come back because I knew that it would, and I knew how wonderful it would feel to be drenched by it again.

I have no idea what tomorrow’s forecast is going to be. I could look it up, but I don’t want to spoil what I’ve got going on right now. Right now the sun is shining, my hammock is waiting for me and all is right with the world.

You’re probably wondering why I created this site and where the name Winks of Goodness came from. It all goes back to a beautiful little girl named Easton.

Easton moved with her family to the Lake Norman area in September 2016. I met her when her mom, Liz, began working out at the Y. As soon as I saw Easton, I fell in love with her. White blonde hair and beautiful eyes, she was a gorgeous child, but her personality sealed the deal. Every morning, she would bounce into the lobby so happy to be there. Sometimes when I was lucky, she would sit with me while I worked on my laptop before class. Like most little people, she couldn’t quite get the “L” right in my name, so she called me “Ori.” I adored it.

One morning as I was sitting in the same place where she liked to sit with me at the Y, I received a text that Easton had unexpectedly passed away from a brain tumor. She hadn’t been herself for a couple of days, but we all thought she just wasn’t feeling well. Turns out she had super rare ATRT brain tumor that crushed her brain stem. It was May 5, 2017. She was 2 1/2 years old.

You don’t know how you’ll react when tragedy strikes, especially a brutal tragedy like this. When I read the text, I let out a loud gasp that attracted others to make sure I was okay. I then cried my eyes out, over and over. From then on, it was all about supporting her family and being grateful for every second I had with my own kids.

Somehow Liz managed to keep living life. I know it’s not easy, but she does it, and she does with such grace and empathy for others. I, along with a lot of others (many from our awesome exercise class), are walking this journey with her. It’s a journey where we can’t hold Easton or watch her grow up, but regardless of that, it’s a journey where she’s always with us. And that’s where the winks come in.

Little things happen all the time; little good things, and every time one of them happens, we says it’s a wink from Easton. Sometimes it’s a sponsor coming through for an event to raise money in her name for kids with cancer or kids who can’t afford to go camp. Sometimes it’s numbers that might correspond to her birthday. Whatever it is, we know that it’s Easton winking her beautiful eyes at us, letting us know that she’s okay and that it’s okay for us to be okay, too.

One day after an Easton wink, I thought of the name Winks of Goodness because every single thing about Easton was good. I bought the site and promised myself that I would do something with it, something good. So here we are, looking for all of the goodness in the world. Whether it be large or small, there is good in every day because every day is a gift. Little Easton taught me that.

This morning I was waiting in line to drop off The Tots at school. I always love watching students walk into school, their backpacks stuff with finished assignments and freshly pack lunches. This morning I saw a friend of mine’s little girl walking in wearing a colorful outfit with a matching bow. This little girl is absolutely gorgeous, and she almost always has a smile on her face. You would never know that she has special needs.

I think she has epilepsy, but I’m not certain of the correct term, but she has a little bit of a different walk, her walk. This morning she was holding another little girl’s hand who was a couple of years older than her. The older girl was making sure she walked into school safely. I teared up as I saw this because I know this other little girl wasn’t her sister. She doesn’t have a sister. This other little girl was a friend making sure that her friend got to class this morning. It was such a beautiful thing.

Later on I saw that the little girl had suffered seizures the day before and had to visit the ER. I just sat there thinking of how brave she was. She came to school ready to go after what I’m sure was quite an ordeal at the hospital. (Is any ER not an ordeal?)

But here she was, and here was her friend. I want to hold onto this image and think about it when I wonder if people still care about each other in this world anymore. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but sometimes, like this morning, proof is right in front of you. I’m just thankful I was able to see it.

This morning a friend messaged that one of my old colleagues lost his son over the weekend. The last time I saw my colleague was 16 years ago, so to me his son was still 4 years old. Turns out his son was 20 and living in Colorado. He died in a snowboarding accident.

As we all do in this social network world we live in, I checked my colleague Facebook status to learn more about what happened. Instead of details, I found the most beautifully written tribute to his son. He started his post by saying that February 3 made him smile because it was the last time he talked with his son.

None of us can imagine the pain a parent feels losing a child at any age unless they’ve been through it. One of my best friends has been through it and though I have walked with her through her journey, I have no idea the pain involved. That’s why my colleague’s post spoke to me. Instead of writing what people usually do when someone passes away, he immediately remembered the good. Right off the bat. That’s a wink of goodness in the midst of turmoil.

The older I become, the more I relish these winks and avidly seek them. Sometimes they’re large, and sometimes they’re so tiny we need a microscope to point them out. The important thing is that they’re there. Every day, there is a wink from somewhere guiding our way and pushing us to go on when we don’t think that we can.

My heart breaks for my former co-worker and his wife and younger son. There nothing anyone can say to ease their pain or shock, but what he said about his son moves us in the right direction. “February 3 makes me smile.” We have to hold onto to those moments because those are the ones that matter.

The other day I saw a meme that read, “I’m sorry for whatever I said to you during winter.” I laughed because I have a long track record of dreary days eclipsing my mainly sunny disposition. There’s something about the light of the sun that makes everything okay.

Luckily for folks who live in the South, sunny days during the winter are commonplace. That’s what makes people move here, and that’s why I never left. Anytime I had big city dreams of New York or Chicago, the word winter came to mind, and I continued basking in the February sun.

The trick is that these sunny days won’t last. In a week or two, a cold spell will come, and we’ll all grab our coats that we hoped had finished their shift for the year. A snowfall will try to erase any memory of our 70-degree days with its icicles and school closings. But not matter how cold and dark it gets, I will cling to the images of spring-like days just as a bride-to-be would hold the perfect dress at a clearance sale.

Memories of sun rays breaking through trees, trying to get green leaves to make an entrance are what keep me going through the doldrums of winter. Confused cherry blossoms who finally say, “What the heck” as they spread their pink blossoms before Valentine’s Day remind me that the coldness won’t stay. It’s only visiting for a while.

Perhaps that’s where winter does the most good. Maybe it’s sole purpose is to remind us of how much we love basking in the sunlight, so when spring finally does arrive we appreciate it as much as we should.