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July 06, 2013


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In May 2011, the sassosphere featured another poem by Naomi Shihab Nye that inspired treesta in a big way. Here's the link to that poem and ensuing sass stream:



Flannista is posting a poem about happiness? Did she suddenly become a zombie?

The Sassistas! spent a couple of hours at the Corcoran Gallery in downtown DC yesterday at a very large exhibit of war photography. I'll probably post about it when I can. Many of the images haunted me in the middle of the night. I think I'm posting this poem to remind myself that the world can be a happy place, too, though I wasn't born with rose-colored eyeballs.


It's National Fried Chicken Day. Guess that's a reason to be happy.



I really like this poet.

"Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to."

This poem and these two lines makes me think of the time I am now spending in the woods, photographing birds (and anything else that catches me eye). You can't 'force' photographing birds. You can't 'sneak' up on them. It's pure arrogance to think so. We humans, at least modern, Western humans, (at least this modern, Western human!) are so clumsy in the woods. Birds hear me coming a mile away. When I try to be quiet, I act like a hunter. Birds scatter while I'm still a hundred feet or more away. To get any kind of a picture of a bird, I have to relax, to respect the space I'm in, to ask permission, so to speak, of the birds. Then I have to simply wait, and see what birds will grace me with a visit. Like happiness in Shibab Nye's poem, they land singing on the roof of the next house, the next tree, the next fence post. And they disappear when they want to. Sometimes, like the flitting little yellow breasted chats that make their nests in the brushy reeds and high grass along the pond down by the Patuxent River, they visit for only a few seconds before diving back into the brush. Sometimes they surprise me, like the normally secretive Green Heron, who last week silently landed on a small branch just in front of me, and seemingly posed for his picture for a good fifteen minutes.

And like the happiness in this poem, there's nothing I do to deserve the glimpses of beauty these birds provide. In no way am I responsible. All I can do is "shrug, and raise my hands".


Beautiful poem. Thank you. Noway and I are going to a wedding tonight for the daughter of our dear friends. At many weddings, you touch this kind of happiness. I did at my son's.

If any of my arteries are clogged, it is surely from the southern fried chicken consumed in my youth. I can't remember the last time I ate any and now, being a vegetarian, it is likely to remain a distant crispy, greasy, yummy memory.


Yesterday afternoon after taking in the war photography exhibit, Matiss and I walked into a bar near the White House that allowed cigar smoking [the law stipulates that if 10% of your sales is from selling tobacco products, you can smoke in the joint]. We sat at the bar and had a couple of beers each while watching the Murray/Polish-guy Wimbledon semi-final on the bar TV.

At one point I said to Matiss, "I know how much I hate spontaneity and always need to be in control and have every detail scheduled. But I love just walking into this bar and sitting here drinking beer and watching tennis."

I guess I was happy.


. . . which was ironic because we both woke up yesterday really, really grumpy and irritable.


Interesting that sometimes we don't even know what makes us happy. As Flann mentions, yesterday we both woke up grumpy and irritable. Why? Who knows, the day wasn't much different from the day before.

But after our "art day", we were both happy. We need to have more art days, because we always feel mentally stimulated and energized afterwards, and at least, content. Such a simple thing.


I like this post, too.

I partly agree that happiness floats. There is so much happiness surrounding us that is there for our taking if we look hard enough - sort of like that saying about "if you look for the good, you will find it in abundance." I also find happiness in simple things like when my feline friend, Timothy, snuggles close to me during the night; when my dad tells me that he got Barilla pasta buy one get one free and even had a $1.00 coupon to add to the deal; when I don't overcook my salmon; when my youngest son texts me to tell me he is proud of me; knowing God loves me unconditionally. I could go on and on. I have a mental basket that I store all these bits of happiness - all within easy reach to access when sadness overwhelms me.


I just finished practicing piano for two hours.

Now some Garage Band tutorials. Re-learning music seems so FAR away. I have to think that if I do a little bit every day (and there's a piano nearby), I can be good again. That would make me happy.

And yes, where would we be without art, Matiss, or coupons, Missmysista? I'm going to be seeing Mom and Dad tomorrow. I have a hunch a pasta salad awaits. Hope they turn on the air conditioning. That would make me happy.


Just occurred to me . . . doesn't sh!t float, too?


Only if you don't use your flusher.

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