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            One of my favorite quotes is, “You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” It’s from Eleanor Roosevelt, and anytime I’m intimidated by an assignment, event or challenge, I look to it for strength. I even use it as the signature on my e-mail. So last week when Graydon’s teacher assistant e-mailed that they needed parents to volunteer for carpool duty so that teachers could get vaccinated, I turned to this quote. 

            A little background here, carpool at The Tots’ school is a well-oiled machine that involves Fosse-like choreography. For years, I opted for the walk-up option because A. I love to chat with other parents. B. Waiting in line eats up time. And C. I was terrified of the carpool line. 

            Back to the present. The e-mail request sat in my box, and I intended to answer it, but soon, daughter, mom and work responsibilities camouflaged it, and I forgot about it. (Nevermind that Covid fatigue has hijacked most of my cognitive skills.)

Regardless, I received another e-mail asking for help, and in a moment of bravery and duty, I said “yes.” After all these teachers have done for my kids and everyone else’s kids during the past year and all the years before that, the least I could do was throw myself into the carpool dance for an hour so that they could be protected from a ruthless virus.

            When the day finally arrived, I went to the front desk to get my Covid clearance. Keep in mind that it’s been almost a year since I’d stepped foot in my children’s school, so the weight of that threw me off my game, which was on shaky ground because of the task before me. 

            After playing a montage in my head about how school used to be, I found my contact at the end of the hall. She was already communicating on her walkie-talkie. “This was it,” I thought. No turning back. I was about to go into the trenches— for realz.

She quickly went over the rules (all of them boiling down to not letting children walk in traffic) and instructed me to pick a station. For a few minutes, it was just me out there under the awning, enjoying a much-needed 70-degree day.

Then the invasion began. 

            I heard a teacher ask, “Can I tell her to let them go?” and then they just started coming. An army of minivans and SUVs displaying carpool numbers and names filled the lanes. As I looked toward the road by the school, the line of cars kept growing. It looked like that scene in Braveheart when the English army swiftly rides on horses into battle. These parents were coming for us, and they weren’t leaving until they had their kids buckled in and secure. 

            Keep in mind that they weren’t the only ones advancing toward us. There were the kids. Everyone from talkative kindergarteners to moody tweens, all armed with heavy backpacks, water bottles and the occasional piece of artwork. They knew the steps to this dance as I stood there with two left feet. 

            Regardless, I persevered by escorting a first-grader to her dad’s pick up. “This is not so bad,” I thought, as I put her in the front seat. The gracious dad smiled at me and told me she had to ride in the back. Carpool lesson number one: It’s frowned upon to put a child who needs to be in a car seat (by law) in a regular seat in front of a windshield. Check. 

            Somehow I safely delivered a couple more kids to their parents when a teacher asked me if I wanted to man a station or motion parents where to pull up. After hearing me sputter out a couple of sentences summing up how clueless I was, she thought it best for me to man a station — under her supervision. Thank God she threw me a life preserver. If she hadn’t, kindergarteners might have ridden home in the flatbeds of pick-ups, their artwork landing in ditches. 

            Despite my ineptness, the line didn’t let up. I’d shout out a kid’s name only to realize that they were standing right beside me. About 30 minutes in, my mind began zoning out until a mom in a minivan asked if I could walk her daughter to the car. The child was standing five feet from me. I apologized profusely, and luckily, this sweet mom understood where I was coming from. “Carpool is brutal,” she said in a tone usually reserved for talking to someone who’s about to go in for their first colonoscopy. 

            Finally, the traffic thinned, and the teachers began clearing out. They went back to their rooms to wrap up their day and tackle whatever personal responsibilities lay ahead in the afternoon. I stood there thinking that they we should all be heading to a bar after the trauma we had just survived — this from someone who hardly ever drinks alcohol. 

            As I picked up The Tots from their classrooms, I thought about all of the things teachers do in addition to teaching. The list is endless, involving so many skills, talents and tools, each task requiring a dose of patience, understanding and in the case of carpool, endurance and military strategy. 

            While we’ve all faced challenges during the past year, teachers are one of the groups that’s been stretched the most. I often think about how I would react if the entire format of my job changed over a weekend with little to no notice. I’d be horrified. Yet, that’s exactly what happened to our teachers last March. One minute they were writing lesson plans on the board for the next day. Then the next day showed up in completely different packaging. Pivot doesn’t even begin to cover the magic educators had to perform in a couple of days. 

            That said, when I hear people complain about teachers, it makes me as angry as it would to hear someone say something disparaging about Dolly Parton. These folks are doing an amazing job of educating our children in an unprecedented and scary situation. This past year has been a curve ball like no other, and if you didn’t sharpen your empathy skills during this mess, you need a kindness tune-up. 

            Consider the proverb I recently learned — “Don’t judge someone until you have walked two moons in their moccasins.” The potency of this gem is beyond relevant today. That’s why it stuck with me (that and the fact that it’s about shoes). 

            Working carpool line gave me an hour in the moccasins of the teachers and staff members at our school, and all I can say is thank you. Thank you for loving my kids, and thank you for proving Eleanor Roosevelt right once again. You really must do the thing you think you cannot do. 

P.S. Weekly Winks will return next week. 

P.S.S. Send a Wink of Goodness to a teacher and/or school staff member. They could surely use it. 

Happy Friday! I’m in a good mood, and I’m going with it! This week delivered more Winks than I can count, so let’s just get to it.

Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness!   

Saturday— We had a fabulous dinner with our neighbors. The food was scrumptious, and the company was even better. There is nothing better than laughing with friends! 

Sunday — I went on a run in a tank top — in January! Just one more reason why I love my native state so much!

Monday — I got slime out of my daughter’s favorite shirt. Anyone who has been through the ordeal of a tween on the brink of losing a favorite garment knows that this act is akin to performing a heart transplant. Thanks to vinegar and a toothbrush, I attained Wonder Woman status — at least for an hour. 

Tuesday— Started the day with a great birthday workout for a friend. Bonus, instead of making us do 55 burpees, as per our usual birthday ritual, our trainer/friend made us do 55 jacks instead. Having to wear masks working out has its perks. 

Wednesday — I don’t know if I can even describe what an awesome day today was, but here goes. I was picking up a photo at Walgreens, when my phone began blowing up with messages — UNC dropped decisions. The first student I worked with this summer as I launched my essay business, and who is also a young lady I think of as my own, texted to see if she could open hers with me. (Background, she’s the daughter of my soul sister, and my soul sister was heading to a much-needed getaway at the beach with the rest of their family.) 

            Needless to say, she came over, we got her family on Facetime and clicked the button. As soon as we saw the word “congratulations,” everyone went crazy! It was just the best feeling in the world because this girl has worked more than hard for this recognition and opportunity. I can’t even tell you how proud I am of her, as well as my other students who got accepted. If you read my entry earlier this week (Either Way, You’ll Show ‘Em), you know the personal meaning this has for me. All I can say is that helping others pursue their dreams is the best way to pursue your own. 

Thursday — The clouds and wind in the morning sky were eerie and beautiful at the same time.  

Friday— My sweet Sunny spent the morning living up her to her name (see photo). 

Happy weekend, friends! Get out there and enjoy the sunshine!

Last summer, my soul sister encouraged me to start a business helping high school seniors with their essays for college admissions. Though I was terrified, the idea ignited something in me, and by June, Show Don’t Tell Essays was born. Suddenly, I found myself listening to 17- and 18-year olds share their dreams, hopes, fears, memories and more as we sweltered on my patio. It’s some of the most rewarding work I’ve ever done. 

            I’m thinking about my students a lot this week (and in the weeks to come) because many of them are about to find out if they got into their dream school. Everyone has their own idea of a dream school based on course of study, geography, sports, arts, family history, etc. Being in North Carolina, many of my students want to be Tar Heels. Typing that sentence makes my heart beat a little faster because I’ve been there. 

            I wrote about the scenic route I took to become a writer in my Closed Doors entry (November 13, 2019). In a nutshell, ever since fourth grade, I dreamed of going to Chapel Hill to study journalism. The Heels’ win over Georgetown in the 1982 national championship had a little to do with it, but my ambition was mostly fueled by my desire to tell stories. When a neighbor told me that UNC was the place to go for journalism, I clung to that idea like a pond leech on a leg. From fourth grade on, so many of my decisions were based on that goal. 

            By the time I entered my senior year, I had everything going for me in my college application, everything except a wonderful SAT score. That was always the wild card for me, and that’s the wild card that sent a thin envelope to my mailbox instead of a thick packet. I had just returned from my Governor’s School reunion, where so many of my friends shared that they had already been granted admission — three of my friends were up for The Morehead, two won it. Then there was me, staring at a rejection letter. 

            It wasn’t pretty, and there’s still a slit in my bedroom door where I kicked it in a fury, but it wasn’t the end. At 17, most of the rejection I had experienced involved boys who didn’t return my crushes. This was different. This was a new path that I hadn’t let myself think about for fear of introducing it to fate. But there I was, huddled in a ball on my canopy bed, crying with my mother. 

            My sad stupor didn’t vanish quickly, but it eventually faded as I began constructing another road to get where I wanted to go. Some folks travel in a linear pattern through life, A to B and onto Z without missing a letter. My path looks more like something you’d doodle during a boring meeting. Sometimes you have to be denied what you want to realize how much you really want it or if you even want it at all. Either way, it’s a hard lesson, but one I’m beyond grateful for because through all of the heartbreak, anger and disappointment, I kept my dream in view and achieved it in my own messy way.

            So for all of those students who get into Carolina or whatever their dream school is in the coming weeks, congratulations! I hope it’s everything you want it to be. If it’s not, figure out a way to make it work for you or work your way to another school. But for those who don’t get the news they’ve longed for, know that it’s not the end. It’s simply a different beginning to your story, and it just might lead you to a better place than you imagined.  

            Good luck, seniors! I’m so proud of you!  

• 

            I feel so much better this week even though a sinus infection continues to throb in my head. Of course, the highlight of the week was the inauguration. Seeing the Capitol beaming during the ceremony just two weeks after it was attacked made my heart happy, and it made me proud of our country’s resiliency. 

            Seeing a woman being sworn in as Vice President was an even more monumental moment for me and one that I’m so grateful my daughter got to see early in her life. I want her and all the other girls out there, big and small, to know that women are fierce and that we can do hard things, big things, complicated things, all sorts of things. Just watch. 

            I know not everyone is as excited as I am. Needless to say, our political climate is toxic and messy these days. It’s so disheartening because healthy debate and compromise are integral to a successful democracy, as they serve as powerful teaching tools. Looking at an issue from someone else’s point of view not only helps you understand it better, but it also opens up so many more ways to work together and find solutions. 

            Take today for example. This morning, I had my first Covid test because some of my sinus issues mirror symptoms of the virus. My test was administered in the parking lot of a Japanese steakhouse. As I sat there waiting for the results, I remembered the times I’d gone to the restaurant for birthday celebrations and how we laughed when the teppanyaki chef caught a shrimp in his hat. The Tots even went there for a field trip when they studied Japan in school. What a different place it was today and what a different world we’re living in now. 

            When the nurse came to my car with my negative result, the sun was shining in a Carolina blue sky. All I could do was be grateful and think of so many others who haven’t received the same news. It’s important to try on someone else’s shoes before you settle into your own. 

            That’s a big part of the work we have to do. It’s work we have to do together to bridge the division in this country. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s beyond necessary, and it’s not as hard as you think. Talk and listen, remember and dream, think and solve, love and heal. See what happens. 

            Doing these things will make us better, smarter and solid. That’s the America I want for my kids. That’s the one we have to deliver to them. 

            So without going further out on a tangent, here is this week’s Weekly Winks. Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday— I worked out with my friends in the snow. No, it didn’t snow for long, but we milked it for all it was worth. 

Sunday— I watched The Tots play tennis. It’s so much fun seeing them rally back and forth.  

Monday— To honor Martin Luther King, Jr., The Tots and I made lunches for Roof Above. Hearing their thoughts about social justice makes me feel so much better about the future. 

Tuesday— Our church held a beautiful prayer service online for a peaceful transfer of power. 

Wednesday— The inauguration was all that and a bag of chips, and I am so grateful that there wasn’t any violence. I loved Amanda Gorman’s poem, as well as her brilliant presentation. I loved J Lo, Lady Gaga and Garth Brooks, and I loved that Laura Bush wore flats. It was a wonderful day for women and for our country.

Thursday— John and I watched at least four episodes of Schitt’s Creek in a row. I can’t get enough of this show. 

Friday— My Covid and flu tests came back negative. Even though I’m still dealing with a dreadful sinus infection/sinusitis, at least I don’t have Covid. 

Happy weekend, friends! Go talk with people who don’t think like you do and start building a bridge. Go!

            It’s been awhile, and the only excuse I have for not posting my Weekly Winks is that I’m running on fumes. My pandemic fatigue has hit new heights, and I’m tired of apologizing for it. It’s real. It’s me. It’s you. It’s what’s happening. These are not ordinary times. These are the times that form who we are as individuals and who we are as a people. It’s exhausting becoming something new. What are you becoming?

            I’ve become a cocktail of depression followed by a chaser of anxiety. Some days are better than others, but every day I’m fighting to see light. Though it’s not as pronounced as I would like for it to be, there are glimmers. And folks, right now, that’s all we have to work with. 

            Yes, I haven’t shared my Winks in a long time, but I did see them, and on many days a tiny text from a friend, the red flash of a cardinal, the orange brush of a sunrise or an unrequested hug from my children kept me moving forward — the only direction there is.  

As we continue trudging through soaring Covid numbers, unfathomable headlines and an overwhelming sense of bleakness, we have to keep moving forward, and Winks can help us do that. So here we go.  

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week in the hopes of inspiring you to do the same thing. I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday— I went on a long walk with John. These days, walks count as dates, and I’m grateful that we were able to just be together and talk. 

Sunday— Not to be cliché, but I took a long bath surrounded by candles. I’ve never done that, and now I see what all the fuss is about, as I’ve done it two more times this week. 

Monday— I was the only one in my functional training class, and my trainer happens to be a close friend. It was so fun catching up and just being together. People are cool. 

Tuesday— Early in the morning, I stopped for gas. The frigid weather and dismal sky weren’t helping my mood, but when I looked across the street, I saw icicle lights glittering from a restaurant. And a few minutes later, an SUV drove by all clad in Christmas bulbs. These simple lights turned my day around. 

Wednesday— The sun came out, enough said. 

Thursday— Before the crack of dawn on the way to the Y, I heard John Lennon’s Imagine on the radio. (This should be required listening during 2021.) On the way home, I heard Ben E. King’s Stand by Me, and it brought back fond memories of cast parties in my parents’ basement. My theatre friends and I would stand in a circle arm and arm singing the lyrics when this song was played. I miss how simple things can be. 

Friday— Graydon did yoga with me, and we had the best time. When we finished he said he felt “amazing and tired” at the same time. Looks like he did it right. 

Go grab as much goodness as you can in this strange world and share it with everyone you see. Happy weekend!

            This morning I hung my American flag on our stoop. I bought this flag a couple of years ago at Harris Teeter. It was a VIC special, and I had wanted one for a long time. When COVID-19 hit, we finally had time to do all those little things around the house that we hadn’t paid attention to. One of those things was drilling a hole for our flag holder. 

            For most of COVID, I’ve put out our flag every morning. I loved looking at it wave in the breeze while I did sit-ups on our sidewalk, its colors popping against a Carolina blue sky. Sometimes the pink branches of our crepe myrtle crept in to create the perfect Americana portrait. It was a highlight of my day. 

            Well, a few weeks ago we had to cut down the crepe myrtle, and lately, the cold rain has prevented me from putting out our flag on a regular basis. It just stood rolled up in our dining room, waiting for its moment to shine. Just like us, this flag has endured quite a year. 

            Yesterday was a terrible day for our country. I was already struggling with some personal issues before our Capitol, our citadel for democracy, was engulfed in violence and a blatant disregard for the rule of law. 

            Until my neighbor texted me asking if I was watching the news, I had no idea what was going on. Regardless, I had to take The Tots to tennis, one of the normal things we get to do these days. Driving to the park, I listened to the news in disbelief, as I tried to explain to my children what was going on. It’s hard to explain something that you don’t understand, let alone have a reference point for, so somewhere between our house and the courts, I gave up trying. 

            As the evening progressed, more images trickled in from the day, and the pit in my stomach grew. Like most everyone, I have memories of the Capitol. My parents took me there on vacation when I was little, and I’ll never forget how Congressman Bill Hefner let me sit in his chair and pretend that I was answering his phone. What a thrill for a nine year old. I’ll never forget it. And I’ll also never forget that I had his permission to sit in that chair, a chair won through the democratic process. 

            One of my defense mechanisms is sleep. When something traumatic happens, I absorb all I can of it and then I fall asleep. Last night was no different. I fell into a deep slumber that lasted until my alarm went off. As the beep blared into my ear, snippets of news reports accompanied it, reminding me of what had happened. 

            More awake a few minutes later, I listened closely to reports from Washington, and the one that stood out the most was that Congress went back into session to do its job last night. Working until the wee hours of the morning, our elected officials proved that Americans won’t let negativity extinguish our democracy, and that, my friends, is a wonderful Wink. Whether you’re a democrat, a republican or an independent, we are all human, and most of the folks reading this blog are American. 

            Despite its flaws, I love this country, and I choose to believe in a better future for it and for my children. Believing that, I reached for my flag this morning. When I placed it in the flag holder, I stared at it as it caught a breeze and began waving. It simply did what it always does, so I’m going to do what I always try to do — look for Winks. 

            Today and all the days after it, I beg you to squeeze every positive thing you can out of your life. If you get a great parking spot, that’s a win. If your COVID test is negative, that’s an even bigger win. If someone opens the door for you, open the door for the next person. Buy someone a coffee. Send someone a card. Put your American flag out. Be the best version of yourself.

            The only way to work through the dire challenges facing our country is to work together with people who think like you do — and people who don’t. I’m scared. I’m mad. I’m shocked. And I’m heartbroken. But most of all I’m hopeful because before I fell into a deep sleep last night, my son came into my bedroom. Sitting beside me, he touched my arm and told me that there are still lots of good people in this world. That Wink flipped my positive switch on, and I refuse to let anyone turn it off. 

            So go out there and find goodness, and when you find it, absorb it and then share it with everyone you encounter. We are so much better than what we saw yesterday; we have to be. 

            First off, Happy New Year! I hope you celebrated safely and that you feel some sort of relief that we’re in a new year. Even though things didn’t change much when the clocked ticked from 12:00 to 12:01, I’m clinging to the ounces of hope I have left. 

            If you’ll remember, I’m not a big fan of New Year’s resolutions (even though I secretly make some in my head). Instead, I pick a word to guide me through the year. Had I known the dumpster fire 2020 was going to be, I might have selected “patience,” “togetherness” or “Netflix” instead of “forward,” but know one knew the disaster we were walking into. 

            Anyway, now we have a new year with new beginnings, new calendars (yes, I still use one despite the fact that our daily plans change by the hour in pandemic times) and new challenges. Regardless, I’m greeting 2021 with a smile (fingers crossed behind my back) and a new word — intention.

            These days we have all the time in the world and no time at all. I find myself daydreaming more often than not, and when I’m not fantasizing about driving a golf cart around Bald Head Island, I’m either cooking up business plans in my head or plotting how to organize our bathroom shelves. The problem with this hub of creativity is that these ideas rarely make it beyond my cerebral cortex. Once in a while, they might make it as far as paper, but if they do, they generally die there. 

            That said, I’m taking active steps to bring my ideas to fruition. Enter my word of the year — intention (or as my husband calls it, “make it so”).

             I have no idea when the world will open up again, but I can’t keep putting things off until that happens. Sure, I’m not going on a cruise or to a crowded basketball game anytime soon, but there are things I really want to do, need to do and can do — if I push myself. 

            Don’t worry, I’m not going to be one of those annoying self-helpers on the Internet that lays out their plans and goals for the year in a color-coded chart, leaving you feeling that the couch probably is the best option for you after all. (I recently read a book written by a woman like that, and by the end of it, I wanted to use the book as kindling. Instead, I sold it to the used bookstore so someone else could get mad about it.)

             It’s not that at all. It’s just that next month I will be one year and six months from turning 50. I’m not dreading it because age is what you make it, but I am cognizant of the passing of time and after 2020, the taking for granted of time. 

            There are some people who will come out of this pandemic as millionaires because they thought of a need and met it. There are others who will lose everything, and many of those people never fathomed that losing everything could happen to them. I don’t want to be in either party, I just want to live out my potential in a healthy fashion. 

            The way I see it, intention is the best word to help me spend my time wisely. If I need a day to veg out and watch Sweet Magnolias (LOVE. THIS. SHOW.), then I’m going to do it, but if I have what I think is a good idea, I’m going to try to get it off of paper and into life. That goes for everything from putting hardy plants in my front stoop planters to taking my essay business to the next level. It’s up to me to make these things happen.

            Last year is gone, and we can learn so much from its darkness. This year I intend to find the light, and I hope you’ll join me.

Make it so.

Monday was the two-year anniversary of Winks of Goodness. Instead of posting on the actual day, I’m posting a couple of days later just to keep the unpredictability of 2020 going.

            Like everyone else I was so looking forward to 2020. It was the beginning of a new decade, it was cool to say and we all jumped at the 20/20 vision clichés. For me, being four months out from my mother’s death, a new year was precisely what was needed. I made resolutions and lists. I got a new haircut. I even rearranged my home office. I was ready to embrace the changes in my life and move forward. (Remember how “forward” was my word for the year?)

            Well, 2020 certainly delivered change, but in no way, shape or form how I imagined it would. Sure, it began normal enough with our family jumping up and down in the living room as the ball dropped in New York City. It was the first time The Tots stayed up until midnight on New Year’s Eve, and we were certain this year would be better than 2019. And for a couple months, we were good. We enjoyed a quick jaunt to the mountains, I got off to a good start with my new gig and The Tots finished their first basketball season.

Then the lights went out. 

            Within days we were thrown into a new normal that was beyond anything I could have made up. My kids weren’t physically going to school anymore. My husband, who has never been allowed to work from home, was suddenly commandeering our dining room table with his laptop. And I was exercising on our sidewalk by myself instead of sweating with my tribe at the Y. A new stage was set, and I had no idea how to predict what was coming next — neither did anyone else. 

            But things kept coming. Whether misfortune struck my family and friends or our nation and world, it was there at every turn. Just as jewel thieves have to maneuver through a spider web of lasers to get their prize, I carefully stepped through 2020 each day hoping to claim patches of peace. And the best Wink of all is that I found it in the clear spaces that weren’t defined by death, diagnosis or disaster. 

            Serenity came to me while reading on my back stoop, listening to a favorite song or taking an extra walk. While those sound like stress tips you’d read about in a magazine (they are), I also found moments of calm by sitting with my coffee a few minutes longer in the morning, feeling the sun on my face or gazing at the moon through the trees. These spaces of stillness would have been ignored during a regular year, but 2020 was anything but that. 

            This bitch of a year taught me so many things, but relishing the tiny, ordinary moments in between the life-changing ones is my biggest takeaway. The more I did it, the more it soothed me and the more it became habit. Basking in these simple moments recharged me so that I could handle the next phone call, text or e-mail bearing bad news. 

             Though 2020 tried its best, it didn’t cloud all of the clear spaces. They’re still there to bring us comfort and joy, and there are plenty more waiting in the year ahead. So with the strength you have left, take in all that’s around you and stand up to welcome 2021. We’re going to be okay.  

            Happy anniversary to Winks and Happy New Year to you!

            A couple of weeks ago, our family was asked to light one of the advent candles at church. (Don’t freak out because our church does not meet in person right now, and there were only a handful of us in a giant sanctuary — masked and socially distanced.) Anyway, I immediately replied “yes” that our family would be honored to do this, even though I knew we would put some sort of Griswold spin on it — accidentally. 

            Well, last Sunday was the big day, and sure enough we were five minutes late for our call, and John missed his cue to read the prayer of forgiveness, for which we all forgave him. Both glitches were hardly noticeable, and somehow our family escaped mispronouncing a word while reading in front of the folks sitting in the sanctuary, watching on YouTube and listening on WDAV — no pressure. 

            When we were asked to do this, our minister didn’t send us the whole game plan for the service. He simply sent us our parts. So later in the service when I saw that we were singing Hymn 852, When the Lord Redeems the Very Least, my heart began swelling. I wasn’t familiar with the hymn, but I was so familiar with its tune, I’ll Fly Away. 

            I’ve always loved this song because it reminds me of the church I grew up in, and it’s also similar to Will the Circle Be Unbroken, one the songs that we selected for mom’s memorial service. I chose this song because mom wrote about it in a book I gave her to fill out, Mom, Share Your Life With Me. I think I gave her this book after I graduated from college. Regardless, she answered all 365 questions it contained, and I cherish every single page. (If you haven’t given one of these to your parents, do it now. Really! How else are you going to find out about a special valentine your mom received in elementary school?)

            Back to church. While the organist played the familiar notes to I’ll Fly Away, tears fell from my eyes as I stared at the Christmon Tree thinking about mom. She loved Christmas, and she adored Christmon ornaments. She made some for our church’s tree, and she cross-stitched a ton of them for her own Christmon tree. 

            Listening to this music and looking at a part of Christmas that my mother held so dear made me feel close to her, warm even. I could have listened to that hymn forever. It was the wink that I needed to continue powering through a holiday season like no other. 

            People say that the second year of losing someone is harder than the first, and I think that that’s true. Every day, I see things that remind me of mom, and the thought of her not coming back tugs at my heart constantly. But last Sunday for a few moments, I felt peace, and that’s really all I need for Christmas.

So thanks, mom, you always give the best presents and this year was no different.

The other day I was making my normal spinach salad for lunch when I discovered that I forgot to boil eggs for it. (Let’s be honest, a meal planner I am not, so some days I have boiled eggs in the fridge and some days I don’t.) Regardless, I was craving them, and I didn’t have time to boil new ones. 

            As I frantically searched our fridge for a boiled egg miracle, I started getting mad because this was just one more thing in 2020 that was going wrong. After looking for eggs with the tenacity of a narc, (drumroll please) I found one. The amount of joy I felt upon my discovery was ridiculous, and it made me realize how the pandemic has affected my expectations. 

            I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’m swimming through mud on a daily basis. I try to rally a positive attitude every morning, but within a few hours (sometimes minutes) things begin to unravel. Whether it’s a friend’s diagnosis, a parent’s new ailment, a house repair, a new state mandate, a lost shoe or a celebrity death (the passing of Eddie Van Halen shattered my heart), something pops up to eclipse any light that was trying to come through. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t expect things to work when I plug them in, and I assume that any plans I make will be cancelled. 

            Though this is not the best place to be, maybe it’s where I need to be to get to where I’m supposed to be. Confused yet? Hear me out. The past year and a half for me has been rife with loss. I lost my mom within six weeks of her cancer diagnosis, and six months later the world shut down due to COVID-19. It’s easy to get upset and feel sorry for myself, and I’ve done that — a lot. But what I’m realizing is how this virus has changed how I deal with things. 

            Yes, I got inappropriately frustrated looking for a boiled egg, but when I found it, I didn’t just shrug my shoulders and say, “cool.” I was elated. This egg meant more to me than a bracelet from Tiffany’s. I took it as a sign that hope was not lost. It might be hard as hell to find in 2020, but it still exists. Our world is so broken right now, making it easy to notice every little thing that goes wrong, but it works both ways. Because so many things are bad right now, the smallest good thing becomes magnified. 

            Prior to COVID-19, I would have been happy to find a boiled egg for my salad, but the level of gratitude I experienced wouldn’t have been there. These days I feel gratitude when I can do anything remotely normal — dropping my kids off for two days of school a week, doing something outside with a small church group (masked, of course), running into a friend at the grocery store (six feet away, of course), walking my dog, driving down the street listening to Christmas music, the list goes on. 

            An acquaintance recently told me that we have to look for pockets of joy right now, but I think we have to look for them whether there’s a pandemic or not. Even though I write a blog about this very thing, I wasn’t nearly as good at finding Winks (or pockets) as I am now. After ten months of strangeness, surrealism and grief, I’m starting to get the hang of it.

            Finding the extraordinary in the ordinary is a talent, a gift, a superpower even. If you can appreciate the tiny things that are good in your life, think of the power and happiness that can generate. It’s a completely different way to fight the coronavirus, and it’s something we can practice when we’re beyond this pandemic. 

            It’s hard to imagine what life will look like when this is over, but the ability to notice and appreciate the smallest things will sweeten whatever world we’re left with. So yes, I will continue swimming through mud, looking for pockets of joy wherever I can find them. That’s where I need to be, and I’m grateful I’m getting there.