Announcement

Under (Re)construction

May 19, 2017


I’m in the midst of a redesign and update of Catching Happiness, so it might be a little quieter than usual here for the next week or two, depending on how smoothly the transition takes place, and you know how that goes! I’m excited about the changes, and hope you’ll love the new features, which will include a whole new look, a monthly newsletter, and a special sign up bonus for anyone who joins my brand new mailing list.

I’ll be back to sharing simple pleasures and everyday adventures with you soon!

January O'Neil

No Day Is Promised

May 17, 2017

Photo courtesy Aaron Burden

Introduction by Ted Kooser: Here's a celebration of one day in the week, the kids with the father, a brownie for breakfast, everything right with the world. January O’Neil lives in Massachusetts, and this poem first appeared in RATTLE. Her most recent book is Misery Islands (Cavankerry Press, 2014).

Sunday

You are the start of the week
or the end of it, and according
to The Beatles you creep in
like a nun. You're the second
full day the kids have been
away with their father, the second
full day of an empty house.
Sunday, I've missed you. I've been
sitting in the backyard with a glass
of Pinot waiting for your arrival.
Did you know the first Sweet 100s
are turning red in the garden,
but the lettuce has grown
too bitter to eat. I am looking
up at the bluest sky I have ever seen,
cerulean blue, a heaven sky
no one would believe I was under.
You are my witness. No day
is promised. You are absolution.
You are my unwritten to-do list,
my dishes in the sink, my brownie
breakfast, my braless day.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2013 by January O'Neil, “Sunday,” from Rattle, (No. 41, Fall 2013). Poem reprinted by permission of January O'Neil and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2017 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Happiness

Happiness Is Wanting What You Have

May 12, 2017


Since it’s already 90+ degrees here, I’ve been thinking wistfully of the cooler, drier air we had on our road trip, how invigorating I found it and how nice it was not to be constantly sticky.

I’ve been admiring Debbie’s beautiful flowers, varieties that generally don’t grow well here in central Florida.

And I’m jealous of another friend’s success growing lavender—it doesn’t thrive here in Florida’s humidity.

Enough.

In all this wishing things were different, I’m forgetting the many simple pleasures that are right under my nose. For instance:
  • A backyard my husband is turning into an oasis, not only for us, but also for butterflies and birds:


  • This little face:



  • And this face, too:


  • Beautiful bird life:



I will always wish for a climate less humid, but I am so grateful I have air conditioning to make life livable. (My Florida-native husband grew up in a home without it!)

I’d love to grow peonies, but I’ll make do with the perennials that grow well in our back yard, and the orchids that thrive on the moist air.

It’s time to practice the adage,  “Happiness is not having what you want. It’s wanting what you have.”

Wanting what I have means paying attention rather than taking for granted. It means appreciating what simple pleasures exist in my own back yard, right under my nose, rather than grumpily refusing to acknowledge them because I’d prefer something different. Wanting what I have. And I have so much.

What simple pleasures do you take for granted?

Attitudes

Happiness Advice From Martha Washington

May 10, 2017


“I am determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may find myself. For I have learned that the greater part of our misery or unhappiness is determined not by our circumstance but by our disposition.”
—Martha Washington

Michelle Menting

A Frame of Air

May 03, 2017

Photo courtesy Michael Gaida
Introduction by Ted Kooser: Once the carpenter put the sash-weights into the wall next to the window, they were never seen again. Eventually they fell off the ropes and with just one loud outcry fell deeper into the dark. But we propped the windows open with this and that, and forgot about the weights. Here's a poem about those props by Michelle Menting, who lives in Maine, and who was once our assistant at American Life in Poetry. Her forthcoming book is Leaves Surface Like Skin from Dancing Girl Press.

Objects Used to Prop Open a Window

Dog bone, stapler,
cribbage board, garlic press
   because this window is loose—lacks
suction, lacks grip.

Bungee cord, bootstrap,
dog leash, leather belt
   because this window had sash cords.
They frayed. They broke.

Feather duster, thatch of straw, empty
bottle of Elmer's glue
   because this window is loud—its hinges clack
open, clack shut.

Stuffed bear, baby blanket,
single crib newel
   because this window is split. It's dividing
in two.

Velvet moss, sagebrush,
willow branch, robin's wing
   because this window, it's pane-less. It's only
a frame of air.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2013 by Michelle Menting, “Objects Used to Prop Open a Window,” from Decomp Magazine, (February, 2015). Poem reprinted by permission of Michelle Menting and the publisher. Introduction copyright ©2017 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.