Author: Maria Johnson

Valentine’s Day. Bah Humbug.

so indulgent with my silliness

I don’t hate Valentine’s Day, but I’m pretty lukewarm about it.

I do, however, love love.

I grew up in the pre-PC days before teachers sent home class lists so no one would be excluded in the Valentine’s party and card exchange. I wasn’t the creepy kid with the greasy hair and the wrong kind of shoes, but I wasn’t the pretty little thing with the straight blonde hair and hordes of admirers, either.

I think that’s when I learned to be cynical and sarcastic. Right about the time the creepy kid got hundreds of valentines as a mean and hurtful prank. It was far worse than getting nothing at all.

By the time I was in high school, I was sufficiently annoyed by the whole process to never give it any mind. I usually had a little boyfriend or some poor dear pining after me (and I was surely pining after someone else) that sent a club-sponsored candygram to me in front of God and Country. It was more about being liked than being liked by the right person. How many of us are hurt by this ridiculous pressure today?

The single half-dead rose or cheap little stuffed animal that found its way into my hands, whether or not I liked the boy who mustered up the courage to send it, was a symbol of belonging to a status group I really didn’t want, but was pressured to belong to because the commercials and radio said I should.

Bah.

When Cupid’s aim finally found its true mark, I had already lost interest in Valentine’s Day altogether. Okay – mostly. Who needs a holiday to declare our unending love for one another? We celebrate that on the anniversary of when we actually did declare our love for one another before God and Country (okay, God and family and friends).

Valentine’s Day is barely on my radar these days. I hate to think my husband feels obligated to buy me chocolate (I love it, but don’t need it – and in fact, should stay away from it); send me flowers (I have a lovely garden that he provided); take me to dinner (he’s a fantastic cook); or give me diamonds (I’d rather go away for the weekend with him).

He shows me his love in myriad ways that are more expressive than being suckered into meaningless gifts.

Want to know the nicest thing he ever got me?

A 99-cent shaker of cinnamon and sugar because he noticed I ate cinnamon toast on cold mornings, and I was always making a mess trying to get the sugar/cinnamon ratio right. I know. This man has bought me houses, new cars, dream vacations, and diamonds, and the gift I loved most of all was a little bit of spice.

That’s right. He puts the spice in my life.

(Ha!)

I loved that gift because it came from a place of such sweet and affectionate love that I was absolutely undone in that moment.

He knew what I liked. He noticed what I did. He thought of me while on an errand and spontaneously did something that would bring me joy.

On this February 14th, and each subsequent day, without the bidding of a half-nekkid cherub, he continues to bring me joy.

girls girls girls

Hanging out with the girls is one of those things I don’t do often enough, and then when I do, I ask myself why I waited so long.

Had a delightful time with my friends, and look at the super special treat to have both my daughters, too. What a singular joy to go out with them as young women, and not the dynamic we’re so used to as Mom and the kiddos.

They are fun. And beautiful.

this applies to everything

So glad to have wise friends, and good friends, and silly friends, and friends that like to swim.

…encourage one another daily…

And now, back to some regularly scheduled writing.

groundhog day, huh?

I woke up to a number of faux-concerned Tweets about hearing Sonny and Cher’s I Got You, Babe. Thanks, Bill Murray, for this iconic film, but I could really care less about the little rodent…and his Southern counterpart, General Beauregard Lee. I just usually send the weather dog outside in the morning. If she comes back wet, it’s raining. If she won’t go out, it’s cold. I’m good with that.

But I do love the film. It’s funny, in that way that Bill Murray could issue a death sentence and it would sound funny. Maybe it’s the smirk. Delivery is everything in comedy, no?

Naturally there’s more to it than that. Murray’s character is a giant ball of ego. His arrogance is beyond off-putting; it clearly has made him a miserable person, disliked by his colleagues, and cause for his punishment to live groundhog day over and over again.

This punishment is really no punishment at all…it’s an opportunity for him to get the day right. He goes through a transformation, first, in anger and frustration at the crappy lot he has drawn in life, to relive this miserable day in a miserable town, then in an astonishing display of selfish hedonism, followed by a terrible period of despair when he attempts, over and over again, to kill himself.

Somewhere in that process he has an awakening when he glimpses the misery that lies outside of himself. He is moved by a homeless man that dies, in spite of his efforts to save him. It changes him in a profound way and he begins to live his day in the service of others.

I’m sure there are many well-written and thoughtful reviews of this film out there…a few, even, that would touch upon the religious themes inherent in the story. My contribution to the conversation is simple. It’s a story about intimacy. It’s about relationships.

Murray’s character, Phil, has no real interest in intimacy at the beginning, and while there are references to his desire for sexual encounters masking as intimacy, it is beyond that. It’s about making human connections. When the homeless man inspires compassion, we see a shift in the way he treats others, and it impacts the way he sees himself.

That’s one of my personal favorite themes, by the way, this struggle for authenticity and connection with others. I’ve sometimes thought that I live in my own Groundhog Day, entering the classroom day in and day out encountering the same condition, over and over again.

It’s depressing as hell. No wonder Phil takes a bath with a toaster — when conditions don’t change and I find myself doing the same things, saying the same things, getting the same outcomes, it can get me down.

And then there’s the moment of realization — that I am dealing with people. Human beings. It puts a new spin on claims to be pro-life. Easy to say when protecting a tiny, precious baby.  A little harder when facing what I could casually and cruelly call the unloveable in our society, passing through my classroom as a number, a statistic, just a letter in a gradebook. And yet, I’m afforded the opportunity to face them over and over again until I change, like Phil.

 

today is full of the unexpected

I just walked the dog and the night sky blew me away.

What is it about winter, even when it’s mild, that makes the night sky so sharp, so crisp? I could stare at the moon and the stars all night. I guess I’m not the only one…

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.  ~Vincent Van Gogh

There’s something so mysterious in the stars. Transcendent. Eternal.

When I was a kid I wanted to go into space. I’d eat up all the science fiction I could…and dream of galaxies far, far away. Sometimes I still pretend, but mostly, I forget that the stars are there. I get caught up in the business of boring grown-up chores and walking with my head down, careful of where I’m stepping.

I forget to live in the moment, and I don’t even mean to live in the moment in some carpe diem way… just, you know, to be present and look at what I’m looking at and see it.

Instead, I seem to be clenched, trying to move three steps ahead at a time, but getting nowhere.

It’s funny that the things that take my breath away…the amazing miracle of God’s creation, whether it’s in the translucent icy brilliance of a snow flake, or a perfectly formed shell on the beach, or the twinkly sparkle of a star…they catch my breath before I begin to breathe again. They stop me in my tracks, like God Himself puts his hand out and says, look.

Look. And see.

Of course, when I do, I see the order and harmony of His creation, and I can’t help but smile and wonder why I’m in such a hurry. Why I’m looking down instead of up. I breathe deeply and calmly and see that in that moment, however fleeting, I see the mystery that is God, revealed in the twinkling of a star, the flash of a meteor, perhaps in the glow of the moon.

 

Look at what I found!

I found a jar of Nutella in my cupboard.

Maybe you don’t think that’s extraordinary. I didn’t know it existed until this week, so to find it in my pantry is a little…delightful.

And the nice person who put it there knew it doesn’t go in the refrigerator 🙂