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WriteOut of Her Mind

by Kelly Waterhouse




Bottle it

When things in my life are going really well, as if a spell of joy has been cast on me, I imagine how it would be to bottle the feeling and capture it forever.

That way, when the dark clouds of life roll in, as they surely do, I could pull the cork out of the bottle and breathe it in again, inhaling the memory of that good time, the feeling of being in that blissful state.

And just like that, I would feel happy again. No matter what.

I would label the bottle, “Blessings. No. 3.” The number 3 for the Carpenter and the kids, and also my son’s rugby jersey number for all three winning games. 

The instructions would read: “When negativity sets in and you’re distracted from what really matters in your life, remove cork from bottle and take a whiff (Just one. Don’t be a hog).

“Replace cork. Store in a safe place. Use responsibly. Do not allow anyone to kill your buzz. Side-effects: This may improve your mood. Risk it. Repeat as needed.”

If I could, I would bottle last weekend and seal it up tight.

A hectic weekend of schedules and a family of four going in five different directions at any given time would normally overwhelm me, but instead the weekend offered us three full nights and two long days of happiness.

And while there were moments of excitement, what was most special about this time was how the ordinary seemed extraordinary. Everything fell into place without force. Together. Apart. Ebb and flow.

This happy potion would embody key elements of the weekend that was. It would smell like horses, hair spray, Lily of the Valley, fresh linens, cut grass, rain, sunscreen and stinky rugby jerseys.

It would sound like laughter, passionate conversations of shared conspiracy theories and the sweetness of secrets, applause, incredibly loud cheering and more than a few bouts of impromptu singing.

It would taste like scrambled eggs, buttered popcorn, salty French fries and a very large salad to balance out the food karma.

It would feel like friendship; the kind that is fresh and new, and the kind that is rooted so deeply in your story that you cannot help but feel grounded in the plot.

It would feel like the pride that comes from watching your children succeed independent of you and the genuine amazement of how cool they are. It would be the love you feel for the kids you have emotionally adopted into your clan too.

It would feel like the kind of relaxed that only comes when you allow yourself to escape from the bigger picture and exist in the snapshot of the moment.

It was just a weekend.

Dance recitals, rugby tournaments, part-time jobs and carpools to coordinate. Quick trips to the grocery store. So much laundry. Breakfast out. Dinner in. Text messages that matter. Play time. Work time. Down time. Sacred time. Life worth living.

Blessings No. 3 is a potion I want to have forever. It smells like gratitude. It feels like happiness. And it’s always there to remind me what matters most, no matter what.

Repeat as needed.

 

 

Vol 50 Issue 23

 
 

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