Raising the Bar

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Shaping the New You

BY: Natalie June Reilly

Sweat is the cologne of accomplishment.

 

~Heywood Hale Broun

Hanging from my sixteen-year-old son's doorway is one of those manly chin-up bars that brings out a guy's desire to continuously prove himself and his strength to others. My younger son bought it -- with his own money -- for his big brother this past Christmas and the two of them have since had countless contests. Since birth these boys have looked for ways to outdo one another.


Now -- as the only female living in the house -- I tend to just wander by their manly chin-up challenges, usually with an attempt at coaxing them into using their Herculean strength to help me -- their mother -- carry the huge piles of warm laundry from the dryer to the couch to be folded. Usually, they're too caught up in their own competition to notice me. That was until the other night when my younger son, Alec, grabbed my arm as I ambled by Billy's bedroom, which was beginning to smell like a sweaty gym sock.


"Let's see you do one pull-up, Mom," Alec grinned.


"Are you insane?" I laughed, knowing that I couldn't do one pull-up to save my life, much less my children's lives.


"Just one, Mom. We're not going to let you go until you do," Alec replied.


Both he and his brother stood tall, caging me in, their arms folded across their chests. I let out a huge sigh, knowing that I had to try. I reached up for the bar; this was not going to be pretty. As I hung from the bar, my arms quivering, I felt my eyeballs roll to the back of my head as I tried to pull myself up.


"At least try, Mom," Billy coached.


"I am trying!" I cried, sweat now beading on my brow.


The boys both laughed at me while I hung like a wet noodle from the bar; they encouraged me to jump into it if I had to. After what felt like a bad day at boot camp, I finally was able to get my chin up over the bar.


"You're going to do one every night until you get stronger," Alec insisted, as I slunk away in shame to my bedroom.


"Yeah, right!" I huffed.


The funny thing is, Alec has enforced that I do at least one chin-up every night and I am finding that it's getting easier and easier for me to pull myself up. What's even funnier is that I secretly do chin-ups during the day when the boys are at school, in hopes of really impressing them one day.


Oh, I doubt I'll ever get to the level of my kids, but it just goes to show that we are all capable of doing things we never would have believed we could do. With just a little bit of sweat and encouragement, anything is possible!

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/Raising-the-Bar.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru 

The Butler Did It

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Family Matters

BY: Georgia A. Hubley

If you never did you should. These things are fun and fun is good.
~Dr. Seuss


To beat the winter doldrums, my husband decided to throw an impromptu dinner party for his marketing group. "I know it's only two day's notice, but they'll come if they know you're making your famous lasagna," he said. "All they'll have to bring is a white elephant gift."


"I'll prepare enough lasagna, salad and garlic bread to feed an army," I chuckled as I recalled the group's previous parties at our home.


My husband's close-knit marketing group consisted of five men and five women. They'd never miss one of my husband's parties. Counting spouses and dates, the guest list would total twenty. And what a thoughtful bunch -- they never arrived at the door empty-handed. They'd bring an appetizer or a dessert, a bottle of wine, and an outlandish white elephant gift, with everyone attempting to outdo each other's zany gift. It would definitely be another fun-filled evening, with shenanigans aplenty.


To amuse his employees, my husband donned butler attire for the party. And in butler mode with a white linen towel draped over his left forearm, he greeted the guests at the door. After everyone arrived, my husband poked his head into the kitchen, "Madam, it's 7:00 p.m. and all guests are accounted for."


"Dinner is ready," I said as I filled a big breadbasket. "Tell everyone to head for the buffet table. Hot garlic bread coming up!"


Toasts were made to good food, good conversation, and good marketing.


After dinner, we began the white elephant gift exchange. The elaborately wrapped gifts lined the family room floor. "Everyone take a number. Let the game begin!" my husband shouted.


The first gift chosen was a black oblong metal mailbox with caricatures of John, Paul, Ringo and George painted on each side. The second gift was a pair of red glitter-encrusted clown shoes. Since the object of the game is to choose, open, trade and steal, merriment, thievery and greed ensued. During the reclamation of the clown shoes, a bottle of red wine toppled from the buffet table and saturated the off-white carpet.


My husband, still in butler mode, shouted, "Madam, I'll take care of it!"


The party came to a halt. We watched as he poured white wine over the red wine spill.


After each drenching, he blotted up the wine with the butler towel he'd been wearing over his arm. Suddenly, the red wine spot disappeared! My husband bowed to a round of applause.


The joviality continued until midnight, and the party was a huge success.


To our dismay, the spot from the red wine spill had returned the next morning. After breakfast, my husband called a professional carpet cleaning service. The experts assured us we'd never see the spot again.


However, two weeks later, the red spot reappeared. Again, the stain was removed, and we were promised it was gone forever.


But it was not to be. A month later, the phantom red spot was back, larger than the original spill.


After the owner of the carpet cleaning company refused to clean the carpet for a third time, we mulled our options. We made the decision to have the carpet and padding removed, and the hardwood floor underneath refinished.


"Since we have to look at that ghastly red spot for two more days, I have an idea," my husband said as he turned off the television after the 11:00 p.m. news.


He took two giant black permanent markers from the desk in the corner of the room and waved them in the air. His antics never ceased to amaze me. I howled as I watched him outline the ugly spot using one of the black markers. It was actually beginning to look like a body had once been sprawled on the carpet!


"You're crazy!" I exclaimed. "It's late. I'm going to bed." I blew him a kiss and headed upstairs to our bedroom.


That's the last thing I remember until the alarm awakened me at 6:00 the next morning. I got out of bed, put on my robe, skipped down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. I was dumbstruck with horror and disbelief when I glanced into the family room. It looked like an actual crime scene! Not only was there an outline of a body on the carpet, but there was yellow caution tape, two orange traffic cones, and one folding barricade sign, topped with two yellow flashing lights encircling the make-believe crime scene.


A wave of anguish and despair washed over me. Granted, my husband loved a good practical joke (so did I), but hadn't he gone too far this time with such outrageous behavior? Surely, a highway was missing its equipment. I had questions, but he was saved by the doorbell....


My husband had taken the day off from work for the occasion. He greeted the three workmen at the front door and led them into the family room.


"It's all yours, gentlemen," he said as he quickly removed the tape, cones, and barricade sign.


When the workers spotted the outlined section of carpet, one visibly shaken worker asked, "What happened here?"


My husband smiled, and then replied, "The butler did it."


"We have to go to our van to get our tools. Be right back," said the man in charge.


But no workmen returned. Several minutes later, we heard tires screeching as the van sped down our street. An hour later, the office manager called to advise us the workers had been called to another job.


"Please go to work tomorrow," I pleaded, "and return the cones and barricade sign."


My husband nodded and laughed uproariously. "You have to admit this was one of my best pranks."


Fortunately, the following morning, a new crew reported to work at our home. In five days, the refinished wood floor was shiny and beautiful, and looked brand new.


Yes, my husband thrives on chaos, hilarity and mischief, and I know striving for a predictable lifestyle is out of the question. So, I take deep breaths and enjoy the ride.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/The-Butler-Did-It.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Half Full

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive

BY: Linda Newton

Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day.
~Author Unknown

My middle child, Jacob, was intelligent, resourceful and good-looking. Despite all he had going for him, he possessed the disturbing tendency to constantly see the cup of life as half empty. Every day when he came home from school Jake would list everything bad that happened that day! Despite my best efforts, I couldn't convince him to lose the negative attitude and choose to count his blessings.

On his ninth birthday, we saved enough money to take the family to Disneyland for two days. His dad and I didn't make much then, so it was a considerable sacrifice, but we felt Jacob's birthday was worth it. After doing Disneyland to death, we collapsed in our hotel room and I asked the birthday boy, "Did you have fun today, Jake?"

All my faultfinding son could say to me was, "Pirates of the Caribbean was closed!"

"Jacob Marshall," I chided, clearly unable to contain my exasperation, "we stood in line for an hour and a half to see The Haunted Mansion. We rode Space Mountain three times. We walked in the park for two solid days, and all you can say is, 'Pirates of the Caribbean was closed?'" Clearly, something had to be done about his negative attitude, and I was going to be the one to do it!

I approached my mission with the determination of a battalion commander. I read every article, bought every book. If the Internet had been available then, I would have Googled for weeks to find the ammunition I needed to defeat his negativity.

With the help of great resources, I developed my strategy. Several books I read identified my son's temperament as melancholy: He was sensitive, artistic, deep, analytical, and able to see the worst in every situation. That described Jake all right.

My research informed me that people with the melancholic temperament have an emotional need for order and sensitivity. That meant I needed to listen patiently to my son's daily pessimistic litany. My usual reaction was to try to talk Jake out of his negativity, but that wouldn't satisfy his need for sensitivity. I had to let him finish his lament and ask, "What good things happened today?" Then I needed to wait until he could tell me -- wait for as long as it took. This would help Jacob realize that good things really were happening to him, despite his woeful perspective.

The day came when I was ready to put my new tools to work. Jake came home from school, flopped down on his bed as usual and again began to tick off his list of the terrible things that had happened at school. I listened attentively, making eye contact and nodding with empathy, before I asked, "What good things happened today, Jake?"

His response was what I expected, "Nothing."

"Something good had to happen. You were there for six hours," I encouraged. Then I waited. I waited fifteen long minutes that first day, determined to stay there all night if that's what it took to shift his paradigm.

At last he admitted, "I did get to dust the erasers."

"By yourself?"

"No, with Brandon."

"Your best friend?"

"Yeah."

"You mean you got to leave class and dust erasers with your buddy? You're one lucky kid, if you ask me!"

"Yeah, I guess I am," Jake remarked with his head back and his shoulders squared.

This began a daily exercise for us. I lost count of how many times we repeated this ritual. Jacob came to understand the power of a positive perspective, but the path to get there seemed to escape him at times. Then I would encourage him to see things differently, and he would get back on the track of choosing to see the positive and losing the negative attitude. It was a struggle, but he was making headway.

The school year was winding down and Mother's Day rolled around. Jake's dad took him to the store for a Mother's Day card. Next to the cake he and his sisters had prepared was the card he had chosen by himself. Grinning from ear to ear he presented it. On the front it read:

"The pessimist sees the cup half empty.

The optimist sees the cup half full."

I opened the card and read inside:

"But Mom sees the cup as one more thing someone was too inconsiderate to put in the dishwasher! Happy Mother's Day."
Jake and I laughed until we cried, and in that moment, I was convinced my hard work was paying off.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/Half-Full.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

To See The World

Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Resolution

BY: Gail Small

Arriving at one goal is the starting point to another.
~John Dewey


It started in kindergarten. I made my resolution -- I am going to see the world!


I was always curious about the globe and the many volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia in our house. I would climb up to reach them and take them off the shelves to peek. I learned a new big word... continents.


"We live in a Melting Pot." I remember hearing that and that I lived in... North America.


I noticed maps of oceans, countries, boundaries, lakes, and people. I began drawing pictures of the many different people who had come from all over to live in the United States.


I wanted to go to all seven continents!


Through travel, education, and amazing opportunities that came my way, I began to see the world.


In South America, I walked through rainforests with mountains, animal life, and vegetation, and... it really rained! Sopping wet, I heard talk that rainforests are disappearing.


Africa has a lot of languages among the people who live in cities and villages. We need to provide opportunities to lessen poverty and help to feed the families in the disadvantaged communities.


In Europe, I found out that Big Ben is not a giant person. Going to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and riding on a gondola in Venice were exciting and fun.


"Passengers, someone has lost something," announced the pilot on my flight to Australia. As we all looked around, he continued, "Laura has lost... her birthday." So on my way to "The Land Down Under," I experienced traveling through different time zones and going from summer to winter. The pilot tipped the plane a little so passengers could have a glance at The Great Barrier Reef.


Asia was special when I became intrigued with the pandas. And then, in Thailand, it was the elephants. I went to "elephant camp" and watched the elephants learn team-building as they stacked logs into place. I went on a raft, and through the trees I could hear locals singing as they rode their elephants in the villages. Then, to see elephants play in the water and spray like a carwash was a chance to realize... that animals big and small need the help of people like you and me.


"Think green." I began hearing scientists predict that global warming is underway. My resolution began to evolve; I needed to not just hear the words, but to learn more about "going green."


I was speaking on a ship in South America when offered the opportunity to fly to Antarctica. It took me only one second to say... Yes!


My resolution to visit all seven continents became -- reality!


I didn't need my alarm clock to ring at 3 A.M. I was daydreaming about my resolution... to see the world. I didn't even know some of the passengers who loaned me clothes. I put on seven layers, two wool hats, two pairs of gloves, men's boots over my boots, and... felt like a stuffed sausage.


Antarctica is not an easy place to get to! I boarded a small (very small) plane with a veterinarian who was a scientist and wildlife expert. While in route, depending on the weather, the pilot wasn't sure if we could land. And... we did! The veterinarian explained she had prepared twenty times before her first landing in Antarctica.


I could barely walk and waddled... like a penguin. The land on Ardley Island looked to me like what space might look like. I could see red, orange and yellow growths amidst gray, brown, and green on the rocks.


I was with Chilean, Russian and German scientists who were all getting along. I kept thinking, why can't the world get along?


The wind blew as we explored. I put on a big life jacket and got into a little Zodiac. I never thought about the freezing waters below me and the real danger. The Zodiac glided along and the ice water splashed up. Brrrr.


I saw astounding scenery, wildlife, and penguins. As I was helped out of the Zodiac, I was told, "Penguins have the right of way." It was like a foreign land -- the land of penguins. I waddled just like them and they were just all so busy. Penguin moms were near the water and some were ready to return to their families. It was like seeing the line to get into the after-Thanksgiving sale at a department store.


Dads who had been sitting on the eggs hatched two babies each. Each had his own distinct sounds, the pitch or yelp that they talked with. I talked to them too. I couldn't help it! "Don't worry; your Mommy will be here soon." The mouths of the young just reunited were open and being fed. The others were waiting... with hope. Some were lying on their bellies and sliding down a slope while their elders watched for predators. My heart went out to them when I remembered the penguin movies I have seen and the stories of woe.


I returned in the Zodiac to the small airstrip. They say Antarctica is the coldest and windiest continent. I decided that layer number seven could come off as I became somewhat comfortable. Wrong! I unbuttoned my jacket and rounded the corner on the path to the airplane. That was when the Antarctic wind blew and I was too cold and windblown to refasten my coat. The strong wind force was against me, I was moving in the wrong direction! A naturalist helped me make it to the plane. Ahhhhhhh, ascending the stairs to warmth. I had fulfilled a dream; my life's resolution had come true.


It took visiting all seven continents to fulfill my resolution to visit the globe.


Now a new resolution waits for me. To help!


I used to hear, "You can't protect what you don't know." The one thing I've learned in all my travels is that the planet needs our help right now. We all need to find a way to help in "going green."


My childhood resolution has been achieved and I have discovered a new, more important resolution.


How we can all help to save our earth?!

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/To-See-The-World.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

The Power of Encouragement

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad

BY: D.R. Ransdell

Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot.
~Truman Capote


While my dad has been a tremendous influence on me throughout my life, it was a few simple words of encouragement that have stuck in my mind for thirty-five years and guided me at crucial moments along the way. I doubt that Dad would remember uttering these words, but for me, those words meant everything.


When I was in grade school, we held season tickets to a series of cultural performances in Springfield, Illinois during the winter season. We only had two tickets, so whichever parent had less work would take me to the event while the other stayed home and prepared to teach the next day.


Since my dad had no papers to grade that night, he was the one who accompanied me to the ballet. I've long since forgotten the name of the company, but it was a traditional ballet in which the men wore leotards and the women wore toe shoes. Dad and I had seats along the side of the balcony close to the stage. More importantly, we had a bird's eye view of the orchestra pit where twenty musicians peered into their music stands.


I had started taking violin lessons a couple of years earlier in the fifth grade. My parents painfully listened to me practice, no doubt wishing I had chosen any other instrument. They had already taken me to hear a few orchestras by that point, but what the musicians were doing in the pit below was different. They were accompanying dancers to the strains of Tchaikovsky or Chopin or Mozart. They weren't the center of attention, but they were the backbone of the performance. As their bow arms flew back and forth across their instruments, I was mesmerized.


When it was time for intermission this one memorable night, Dad and I roamed the halls of the high school where the performance was taking place.


"What do you think of the dancers?" he asked.


"The musicians were really cool," I responded. Not being old enough to focus on boys, I was unimpressed with male musculature. And having taken dance lessons long enough to have tried toe shoes myself, I thought the women were enduring torture. I was also opposed to those silly leotards.


During the second half of the performance, I spent more and more time focusing on the musicians. Their heads lifted in unison at crucial junctures of the music, and they craned their necks to watch the conductor, a wiry young man whose glasses seemed at the point of falling off his nose and whose tuxedo seemed to be made for someone much larger than himself. Then suddenly he laughed, and his right hand flew to cover his mouth. Several of the musicians turned around to look at the stage, and I did too. One of the female dancers had tripped, and one of the men was offering a hand to help her up. Embarrassed, she hurried back into a pirouette.


The mirth among the musicians was obvious. The dancer was unhurt, so their laughter wasn't malicious. They were merely relishing the beauty of live performance where anything can happen and small details distinguish each evening's effort. Because the musicians weren't the focus of attention, they could enjoy a special camaraderie as they silently communicated among one another. They were part of something special.


After the final applause, we lingered. My dad gave me the chance to clamber down to the orchestra pit where I could see the black folders of music and the dust on the lights of the music stands. I was too timid to talk to any of the musicians, but I watched as they wiped off their instruments and chatted, satisfied, I assumed, by a job well done.


"You could do that if you wanted to." I hadn't noticed that my dad had come to lean over the rails alongside me.


"What do you mean?"


"You could become a musician and travel along with a ballet company yourself. Do you think you'd like that?"


At the time I was still struggling to play an A scale with all three of its sharps.


"Sure. That would be fun."


"Well, you'll have to keep practicing."


I don't remember the rest of the conversation or the drive back home. What stood out in my mind was the simple phrase: "You could do that if you wanted to." My dad was actually telling me that I could grow up and be as proficient as the musicians we'd just heard and become a part of something just as wonderful. For a girl of thirteen, it was a heady thought.


At the time I had little confidence in myself, so my dad's words shook me. That night I thought of his comment over and over again. "You could do that if you wanted to." Hadn't he heard my awful violin practicing? I knew darned well he had. Didn't he know how hard it was to play an instrument well? Of course he did; he'd been a trumpet player throughout school. Yet he had faith in me even though I had none in myself.


This one comment did not cure my self-doubt, but my dad's belief in me has served as a guiding light ever since. When I was struggling as an undergraduate to learn German and Italian and Spanish at the same time, the comment morphed to, "You can do this if you want to." It stayed with me as I learned to cope with teaching fifth graders in Mexico and learning mariachi music by ear. It stayed on my shoulder while I wrote my dissertation. No matter what I chose to throw myself into, I knew the task wasn't beyond me. It was simply up to me.


As things turned out, I grew up to become a writing teacher, but music has always been a favorite part of my life. Today I play with a local orchestra so that I can enjoy the beauty of classical music, and I moonlight in a mariachi band, where camaraderie is as important as performance. I may not have become an itinerant musician, but I've always been grateful for those powerful words of encouragement that are still with me today.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/The-Power-of-Encouragement.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Dating and the Single Mom

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Divorce and Recovery

BY: Joanne Palmer

When I got divorced, I thought about child support, custody, and my ability to weather the split, but I never once thought about dating. I just assumed it would happen -- eventually.


A year passed. That's 365 days and what seems like twice as many nights without so much as dinner and a movie.


"I could fix you up with Killer," a friend volunteered. "It's just a nickname -- and he has a snowmobile." While contemplating how I'd ever introduce him to my mother, my son started waking up at 2:00 A.M. I stumbled over the haystack-size piles of unfolded laundry as I took the sixteen steps to his room, wondering how I would ever date or be intimate again when I might be interrupted by: "Mommy, I have a booger." Somehow, Killer didn't sound like the kind of guy that could handle it.


When I was single, I had a list of thirty-four qualities I was looking for in a man: tall, funny, successful, wants kids, and is a good dancer, were some of the things on my wish list. Now I had a new list with only one criterion: can help a small child use a tissue.


I reversed my policy on personals and answered one. It read: "Take a chance on a decent, responsible man, 43. Non-smoker with a good heart." It was two weeks before we could get together. In the meantime we exchanged twenty-five e-mails, each revealing another detail of our lives. As soon as he got out of his SUV, he started complaining about the price of snowshoes, the price of the cheese he'd packed for our picnic, the cost of gas... you get the idea.


A friend counseled, "Just go slow and remember, it isn't you. It's every bit as depressing as it appears." My next blind date, a 6:30 A.M. breakfast, proved her right. Before I even sat down, he started reading the newspaper and ate two soft boiled eggs without looking up, just like we'd been married for twenty years. It was, indeed, depressing -- even if my married friends insisted I was lucky and it was a luxury to be able to sleep alone at night.


It was time to go on the offensive. I'd run my own personal ad. I hesitantly entered the newspaper office and began, "Communicative male..."


The woman on the other side of the counter began to laugh. I looked up and she laughed even harder. She grabbed a tissue and started dabbing her eyes as she said, "That's an oxymoron. Lemme tell you about my fianc�." I left.


I tried a party. When you live in a small mountain town, people think it's fun to have outdoor parties in the winter. I bravely stood outside in a blizzard, endured a blowing wind and smoke from a bonfire. After one hour, in the initial stages of hypothermia, I left. On the way out, the hostess said, "Why leave now? Bow-Wow-Chow, the dog trainer I wanted to introduce you to, isn't here yet."


I highlighted my hair. I strapped on ankle weights and did leg lifts. Surely rock-hard cellulite would counter the fact that I was a hormonally challenged, forty-eight-year-old woman. It didn't work. The next date lasted just twenty minutes.


Desperate, I consulted a specialist in Feng Shui, the ancient Chinese art of paying someone to rearrange your furniture. She arrived in a black Saab turbo, her briefcase bulging with mirrors, bells, and wind chimes. She placed a ba-gua (pronounced as if you're gargling) chart on top of a floor plan of my house. "I see the problem," she said in her clipped British accent. "It's the loo... I mean the toilet. It's positioned right in your relationship sector." I did as I was instructed: kept the lid on the toilet down and bought red bath towels.


The bath towels must have been the key, because my next fix-up was perfect -- a New Age Nick Nolte look-alike. David burned incense incessantly and although he had no furniture he seemed to have an endless supply of CDs of monks chanting. Instead of working, he spent his day in meditation so I figured he could handle my consumption of EstroPause. But after a few dates, David announced he was redirecting his sex drive into his third chakra and left town.


Maybe it's time for Botox and a few more red towels.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2011/01/Dating-and-the-Single-Mom.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Magic

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive

By Saralee Perel

Happiness is an attitude. We either make ourselves miserable, or happy and strong. The amount of work is the same.
~Francesca Reigler

I'm tired of being a tragedy-oriented person. So I decided I was no longer going to always assume the worst. That said, a few weeks ago I was cutting pears for dessert. I heard the buzz of my husband Bob's chainsaw.

"He's cutting down a tree," I said to myself. "He's fine." I kept slicing.

"Fine, fine, fine, fine." I heard the tree fall. "I'm not checking on him." I took a little sliver out of my thumb. During this bloody episode, my "normal" self had a minute to slip in, accompanied by all of the sirens of the Goddess of Neurotica.

"A limb went through his heart," the sirens informed me.

I answered, "No. He's fine."

"He sawed into a killer bee hive and they've sucked out his eyes."

"No." I continued with the pears.

"He's DEAD!"

Okay. That did it. I looked out the front door but couldn't see Bob. And that was because he was lying on the ground... under the fallen tree... with a broken leg.

I ran to him and cradled his head in my arms as he tried to speak. He opened his tear-filled eyes, looked up at me while in agonizing pain and whispered, "Please don't write about this." I promised I wouldn't. When people are in shock, they forget everything so you can promise anything you want.

So now Bob's in a cast and can't do much. But that's okay, because I won't let him do anything that requires lifting heavy equipment, such as spoons. Judging from something he said last night, I think I'm really getting on his nerves.

He said, "You're really getting on my nerves," and hobbled off to the kitchen, where he got the can opener for the coffee. I grabbed it. "I'll do that."

He took it back. "I'm nearly helpless and you're making it worse."

I pried it from his hands. "It's good to share your feelings, Bob." I opened the can. "Getting rid of pent-up emotion is good for the colon, and aches and pains in general."

"Well, I do have one big pain... in the neck."

And so, we haven't been able to do things together like take long drives or go hiking. Last week, we went to an ice cream shop and shared a hot fudge sundae in the front seat of our car.




We giggled while having the delightfully forbidden ambrosia. Later, I e-mailed my pal Deb, and told her that we didn't do anything today because of Bob's broken leg. We just had ice cream. She replied, "I hope your ice cream was magic."

I told Bob about her message. He was on the couch, trying to scratch under the cast, but he couldn't. Then he was having a hard time, I could tell, asking me to do another favor for him that day. He wasn't even able to get his own Kleenex or play tug-of-war with our dog and her favorite stuffed hedgehog. And he was obviously so sick of this.

I sat by him and massaged his foot. "Hiking in the woods would have been a lot more magical than ice cream," he said.

But then, as I often do, I pretended to look down at this scene from above. I saw two cranky people cloistered inside, not enjoying the gorgeous autumn day. And then, a new scene slowly washed over. I saw a tender moment in time with me scratching Bob's leg as we sat quietly in our home. I saw the vibrant colors of the bittersweet, in full bud right outside our window. I saw a man with a broken leg that would surely improve with time. And I knew how lucky we were to be together, on this day that dreams are made of, when we joyously shared an ice cream.

If that's not magic, I don't know what is.

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