Smile, please.

Dear friends.

Long day yesterday.

Happy day yesterday.

Went to work early and got home late, but it was a good day. Good day at work, good day for my family. Oh, and Mr. Mom was feeling poorly, but now he’s feeling better.

And it all added up to a bedtime smile.

I tripped across this on Facebook right before I went to bed last night. It made me happy.

So even though I was pooped, I decided to share it with you in case it might make you happy.

Here’s hoping you have a good day, too.

With gratitude {and a smiley face},

Joan, who is willing to admit that maybe it was the glass of wine with dinner (her first one in a month) that contributed to the bedtime smile, but who looks a gift horse in the mouth?

Joan-Marie and the wonderful, beautiful, no bad, very good day.

Dear friends,

Leap Day was one kickin’ day around my parts.

It was sunny, it was 64, and holy schmoley it was the most perfect not-spring day. Like one of those days when you have to squint, even indoors, because everything in your orbit is incredibly brilliant.

And, hey . . . remember that dress, that cute little number I bought in Florida?  I figured I wouldn’t be able to wear it until April, but today’s weather was so gorgeous my kicky spring dress made its first appearance in February. Check it out:

I normally avoid all photos involving my figure, but my dress made me so happy today I just had to snap a photo of it on my way out the door this morning. I’m a lumpy, dumpy middle-aged woman, but that dress made me feel good, inside and outside. And at my age, you gotta celebrate those moments when you get them.

And if feeling good wasn’t enough, I got to have lunch with my birthday friend and several other new friends. We told stories and laughed so hard and so loud we got a couple of looks from nearby diners. That lunch made me feel, finally, wonderfully, at home — after 10 months in this new town. Honestly, I left the restaurant feeling like a kooky female version of Stuart Smalley who was just so darn happy to have some friends and fit in.

By the way, the birthday cake turned out pretty cute despite the big crack that made it a bit lopsided. I piled some fresh daisies on it, along with a glass dragonfly, and even in bad office lighting on an iPhone camera, it made me proud.

Then, I don’t really talk about work, but . . . I went back to the office after lunch and this thing totally turned out in my favor. It was one of those projects I’ve been workin’, you know for months, and today it all came together. Just like I had hoped (and planned). Always a plus.

And after that, I got a text from Mr. Mom about the mountain. The mountain I don’t talk about. I can’t really go into all the details yet, but today — for the first time in our long and dreadful situation — we caught a break. Things took a turn in our favor. A big ray of hope broke through the dark clouds after four years of legal BS, and I can’t help but be struck by the fact there’s some definite cool karma cooking for it to happen on Leap Day.

Then I went to the salon and enjoyed some wine, and some fruit, and some cheese and crackers, and some great conversation, and a spiffy cut and color job.

And, finally, I came home and ate the last slice of Soda Fountain Ice Cream Pie and watched Idol. And we all know how much I love Idol.

So can you see why it was a wonderful, beautiful, no bad, very good day? I think you can.

With gratitude {for days so totally awesome they require multiple adjectives and make me talk, like, a crazed Valley Girl},

Joan, who hopes your Leap Day was worth gushing over, too

Everybody got something they want to sing about.

Hey peeps,

(For 56 days straight, I have addressed you as “dear friends.” But every now and then you gotta break out of your rut.)

I found this on etsy and I wanted to show it to you.

And it’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.

You know — happy things. Like how a co-worker walked into my office this week and offered me a pair of Bose speakers she found in the supply closet. I almost turned them down. I said, “But I don’t have any music on my computer.”

This child with the spare speakers told me there’s a cool thing called free music on the internet. So she plugged in the speakers and pulled up Pandora and poof! I was grooving at work. I knew I was a little behind but, peeps, I had no idea.

The first song that popped up was called “For me, it’s you” by Train. Holy cow, that’s some good music not made by the Beatles or the Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin or any of the other 34 bands from my youth to whom I have been slavishly devoted.

(Quick left turn: In my job, I sometimes get to book entertainment. And the speakers-girl is my Gal Friday who handles all the details. We were looking for some musical entertainment this week for a gig we’re hosting and she had a long list of affordable options from a talent agency, including KC and the Sunshine Band and REO Speedwagon. And I said “What, Foghat was already booked?” And if that made you laugh, if every band whose name you still know is now on the casino circuit, then welcome to Joan’s age group, who did not know free music still existed on the internet after the Feds busted all the Napster co-eds.)

Anyway, that cool song by Train . . . it reminded me of you. I think it’s supposed to be a love song, but it made me think about how much I want to sing about you, and the way you show up here, and share your stories with me, and give me advice, and tell me when my words resonate with you, all of which makes me deliriously happy in the same way a really great song can.

So today, peeps, the happy for me is all you.

With gratitude {for free music and . . . you},

Joan, who Abracadabra-swears she is friends in real life with the former drummer of the Steve Miller Band and, therefore, figures she is not more than 3 degrees removed from every aged rocker she idolizes

Wouldn’t it be nice?

Dear friends,

Wouldn’t it be nice to spend a quiet Sunday at home?

The kind of Sunday that starts with a run (because you’re determined to stay on track)?

The kind that is spent mostly in the kitchen, cooking up a roast beef with mushroom gravy and a potato cake with tart apple and Jarlsberg cheese, both of which make you thank your lucky stars for leftovers?

The kind where you write sappy sentiments on Valentines cards and wrap gifts and then tell your teenagers to open them today, because who needs to wait until Tuesday?

The kind where your favorite guy says Wow when he sees the dinner table and Oh My God when he eats your lemon-coconut cake, then eats another piece immediately?

The kind where you and your peeps — after stuffing yourselves silly — gather ’round the television to watch the Grammys so that your children rave about some group you’ve never heard of and you rave about the Beach Boys and remind the youngsters that Brian Wilson is a musical genius you listened to on vinyl?

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray . . . it might come true.

With gratitude {for Sundays at home that remind me life is even better than a love song},

Joan, who went to bed Sunday night with a mile-wide smile on her face but was too exhausted to blog about her Valentine’s supper until another day

Joy to the me.

Dear friends,

Not me, but I aspire to feel this joyful every day.

Source: Pinterest

In case you haven’t figured this out about me by now, I’m a knuckle-down kind of gal.

I’ve been described as stoic, serious, determined, decisive, no-nonsense, persistent, and ambitious (among other less flattering adjectives).  No one has ever accused me of being fun. In fact, I’m probably known as a bit of a buzz-kill.  Best I can tell, I never get social invitations based on the bet I’ll get the par-tay started.

While in Tulsa last weekend, I had breakfast with an old friend whose good advice has been a staple in my life.  After we caught up on everything that happened in our worlds since I left town, she asked “So what are you doing to bring joy into your life?”

I nearly choked on my eggs.

“Joy?” I said, as if she had suggested I should be bringing nuclear fusion into my life.

Truth is, I still have no answer.

Okay, that’s not true. I cook and bake almost every weekend and that gives me a great deal of satisfaction. I enjoy it immensely but I’m not sure I would say I’m joyful while doing it.

Fact is, I can’t really tell you what makes me joyful. I think this might be a problem. And it probably explains why Mr. Mom suggested as nicely as he knew how not long ago that I need to “lighten up.”  Have more fun. Quit taking life so seriously.

Knowing me, after he said it, I probably thought to myself something like “Oh sure, I’ll get right on that. Yes, sirree, I’ll be sure to have more fun right after I finish solving all the problems at my office and getting our new lives arranged and helping Kate navigate the rest of her life via the college search process.”

If I am honest, I will say that I have spent my life behaving as if joy is a momentary destination rather than a daily state of mind.  I tend to spend long stretches of time planning for large joyous celebrations (such as vacations, outings, holidays) rather than looking for and enjoying tiny bursts of joy in my everyday life.

I started this blog because I realized late last year that I needed to cultivate gratitude in my life – to consciously and determinedly identify blessings and take time to savor them. It has worked in many respects. I’m successfully cultivating appreciation for life’s small blessings, while reducing frustration and discontent in the process.  But I am learning that one can be simultaneously grateful and pensive. Joy is not an automatic response to gratitude.

This I did not count on. It seems to me that gratitude is more of a cognitive response (a reasoned conclusion to an analytical process), while I consider joy to be an emotional reaction. Analysis, I’m good at. Spontaneous gaiety, not so much.

But maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe joy is a fundamental condition of the heart, as much as gratitude, as much as love, as much as hope.

So what’s a girl to do when she wants to bring joy into her life? Should I start by trying to have more fun?  (I realize joy is not the exact same thing as fun, but I can’t remember the last time I had fun and yet failed to feel joyous.) I welcome any and all suggestions for how a tightly wound worrywart can get her joy on.  That child in roller skates in the photo? That’s my new standard of joy. I may not get there every single day, but I’m betting if I work at it I can beat my recent average.

With gratitude {for friends and loved ones who ask me the hard questions},

Joan, who was terribly disappointed when her three oldest friends told her she was the Miranda Hobbes in their foursome, but couldn’t really offer a solid counter-argument

Because sometimes all you need is a new dress.

Dear Friends,

Lately I’ve been thinking deep thoughts about small things, where deep equals not quite as profound as Jack Handy but introspective nonetheless, and small equals hardly earthshaking in magnitude but certainly consequential in my Plebian life.

And while I think these deep thoughts about simple gifts, and modest pleasures, and sweet treats, and marital kindnesses are key to my little gratitude project, there’s a side of me that’s so much more, shall we say, consumeristic. (Is consumeristic a word or did I just make it up? Note to author-self: when searching for a word that means “prone to gratuitous consumption,” it’s so much easier to rely on your imagination than a thesaurus.)

Will you think less of me if I admit this little number made me mind-bogglingly happy recently?

Isn’t it adorable? And while my figure doesn’t even approximate the model’s, it still looks pretty great even on my middle-aged, lumpy self. Banana Republic wasn’t whistling Dixie when they claimed it was “fit to flatter.” (If it looks good on me, it’s “fit to work miracles.”)

Best of all, I got it on sale.  And shall we just be honest about how happy that makes most girls? Squeeeeeeeeeel!!!!

Cute spring dress + on sale = bye, bye winter doldrums.

With gratitude {for consumeristic math and modest indulgences},

Joan, who believes you can’t buy happiness but you sure can rent it for a while

Grumpybritches.

Dear Friends,

If there’s anything worse than Monday, it’s Monday after a long weekend. And if there’s anything worse than Monday after a long weekend, it’s Monday after a long weekend when Monday is really Tuesday.

Did you work yesterday? If you did, and if Monday was a holiday for you, then you know what I’m talking about. I can’t decide if the severe crankiness I encountered in everyone in my universe was a bad case of Holiday Lag (just like Jet Lag, only when you’re adjusting to the transition from time-off to back-to-the-grind), or if it was Holiday Lag compounded by a collective realization that “holy crap it’s 2012 and I’ve already blown all my resolutions and fallen tragically behind despite my pledge to catch up over the holiday.”

Aren’t new years supposed to bring new horizons? New opportunities? Fresh perspectives and rejuvenated psyches? I guess that sounds good on paper, but what I encountered in the workplace yesterday was harried souls with frazzled faces and worn nerves.

Don’t get me wrong – I wasn’t whistling on my way in the door. In fact, I overslept. And when I woke up late, I looked at my calendar only to discover I had scheduled an 8:30 am meeting with a Very Important Person and I had half the necessary time to shower.

(By the way, who does that? Who schedules an 8:30 am meeting with a VIP on the first day back after a holiday? I’ll tell you who does that! A woman who is severely distracted by holiday-itis and who is so eager to get out the door before a long weekend she is clearly not paying attention.)

Suffice to say, showering at warp speed in order to be on time for a meeting on Jan. 3 is not exactly how I planned to kick off 2012, my year of gratitude (where gratitude equals all good things achieved via better planning and clear thinking).

So in the door I rushed, only to discover just about everybody was having a far worse day than me.

I actually said these words to one person early in the morning: “Wow. I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day. You know my new year’s resolution is to focus on gratitude. In doing so, I’m hoping to avoid worrying over things I can’t control and improve my outlook and productivity.”

Yeah. I knew it was a mistake as soon as the words escaped my mouth.  The person didn’t say as much, but the person’s . . . um . . . body language and facial expression were pretty clear indicators.

But you know what those words did for me? They made me realize I didn’t want to be the crankypants sitting across from me. And that, my friends, is a powerful motivator.

With gratitude {for making my meeting with one minute to spare},

Joan, who’s wearing her anti-crankypanties

Because if you forget, the universe will remind you.

Dear Friends,

courtesy of mrs. french at Pinterest

With gratitude {for serendipitous reminders},

Joan the happy