(3) Reasons to Be Happy

I'm not so much for cooking, but I make a seriously kick-ass grilled cheese sandwich. This was number somewhere-around-nine-in-a-row. And it was good. And I was happy.

(2) Reasons to Be Happy

Okay, so, the struggling streak continues. This morning I was leaving my parents' house when I realized I'd left something inside. Jumped out, slammed the car door, and forgot to move my hand first. Two stitches (wimpy, I know), and blood and mascara all over my shirt. The woman wanted to put my finger in a splint; I just gave a long, meaningful look at my booted-up foot and said, "Lady...  no."
I admit, I broke down and cried like a baby. It hurt like hell, but mostly it just made me feel a little like the universe is still acting like a big ol' bully to me.
But there are still some really, really, really great reasons to be happy. Why I was home in the first place, for example.
So today's reason to be happy:

Lifelong friendships, made even friendlier by pumpkin-pie flavored booze.

Reasons to Be Happy

Ever have a spell where life feels just a little bit like it's picking on you?
I have to admit, I'm in one of those spells. Things have been a little rough lately in my world.
I got my heart a tiny bit broken.
I got my foot all jacked up, which came with its own sort of heartbreak: never, never would I have considered that there was a shoe in the world I could consider an enemy. Then I met the boot.

And while my sweet father thinks I'm overly sensitive to things like this, there's just been a lot of death in my face lately. In all our faces. First, forty animals -- forty beautiful, innocent, scared animals -- were killed by, and this is not a typo, their emotionally unstable owner. While I wish those policemen had had an alternative, they did not. I almost surprised myself by empathizing with them, but I do. These guys weren't on a hunting trip with their buddies. They were out in the middle of the night, in the rain, probably scared shitless, trying to protect and serve their communities in a way I'm sure they did not cover in the Police Academy. Some of them maybe weren't too terribly bothered by it. But some of them, I'm also sure, had to go home to their families, their children, and live with such trauma, such destruction, such senselessness, because a crazy asshole decided it wasn't enough to take his own life, he had to make sure that he unleashed danger and fear on both the animals he purported to love and the neighbors who, as far as I can tell, had never done him any harm. Shame on you, crazy asshole. I kind of hope you're in a cage somewhere.
And then there's the images of a cruel, horrible, merciless dictator in the moments before his death. Now, let me be clear that I don't empathize with him, I don't give him sympathy he spent a lifetime not earning, and I do believe the world and hopefully Libya are better today than yesterday. But I don't want to see ANY man, any human being, bloody and tortured and mocked and beaten as he's being led to his death. I don't want to see any man with a bullet hole in his head. It happens. I know. I also know there's reasons I am not ever called upon by secret agents to carry out covert operations. So far as you know.
So, there's crankiness in the world.
But. More importantly. In the midst of all that, and in case after reading this far you think I've mistakenly titled this post, there are reasons to be happy.
There. Are. A. Million. Billion. Trillion. Reasons. To. Be. Happy.
My beloved writing teacher and friend taught me that.
So I'm going to spend a little time focused there, and see if that doesn't change some of the dreariness around me.
I've got the perfect place to start on this perfect Friday for starting.
Friday's Reason to Be Happy #1:
As you may have picked up from the above rant, I'm not cut out for military life. But I'm grateful for those who are. And I'm in awe of the families that have to function in their absence.
Today, a little before 9pm, one of those servicemen comes home after seven long, long months away. His wife has raised their five-year-old son during that time with the help of her friends and her community, but mostly on her own. I'm not a mom, but I know moms, and even the best moms have got to want to hand their kid off to their spouse every once in awhile, no? She couldn't. She didn't. Instead, she did what moms do. She celebrated him and bragged about him and tolerated him and wrote funny stories instead of strangling him.
So today, I'm happy for my friend, and her child, and for knowing that there will be a hug to end all hugs somewhere in the world tonight.