Category: Life

Instead of counting sheep when I have trouble getting to sleep at night, I play the game Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Mentally traveling through the various Kevin Connections is a great way to disconnect from anything else on my mind. As I think about the movies and the players, I visualize strings and hallways and stairways, up and down, across, over and through. It’s a peaceful and fun way to distract myself. Most often, I drift off in the middle of the game. At times, the game leads to the next morning’s earworm, so that’s an occasional bonus.

A Few Good Men is a good starting point. That one’s got everybody from Jack Nicholson to Cuba Gooding, Jr. in it. More recently, Crazy, Stupid, Love has Julianne Moore and Steve Carrell, plus Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone. And, there are oodles of other films to choose from, each with a cast of characters portrayed by actors with potential connections back to the Kevin Core. The possibilities are endless.

It’s likely that I enjoy the game, find comfort in it, because I love finding connections in general. This person knows that person, this event led to that event, etc. I’m kind of wired to think that way. It’s automatic. So, a game that involves that process, has a goal associated with it, is exactly the kind of game I enjoy.

Today’s cuppa celebrates the game and the fact that it’s Kevin Bacon’s birthday. Here’s hoping he has a happy day, and here’s to connections and the fun of finding them in random and unusual ways.

It’s an interesting thing, the experience of being New.

New to a process. New to a place. New to a group or a perspective. Whatever the circumstances, the experience of starting, coming into, beginning.

There’s excitement. There’s learning, evaluating, understanding. It can be fun. It can create feelings of accomplishment and satisfaction.

There’s also vulnerability. And hesitation. And doubt. And sometimes, fear. Will it work? Is it right? Can I do it?

And there can be sadness. If the move toward New is intentional, the future state a positive one, there may still be moments of nostalgia and regret; what once was will be no more. If the move toward New includes unplanned, unforeseen circumstances, the nostalgia and regret may also be accompanied by moments of grief and mourning.

All the emotions, all the feelings. Together, combined, here and there, everywhere, all part of the experience.

I spent a few minutes today considering my cuppa in terms of New. What matters most? The fact that I’ve had it for years, or the knowledge that it contains a fresh beverage? Is it half-empty because I’ve been drinking from it? Or is it half-full because it still contains some coffee?

The perspective is up to me. The answers are mine to decide.

Reading (and sometimes, writing) is not typically considered an exciting hobby. Certainly, when compared to skydiving, or scuba diving, or running marathons, or any variety of other activities, it might seem tame and passive.

There’s rarely a risk associated with opening a book. There’s no parachute to worry about as you jump from the plane. No concern that your carefully-crafted soufflé will collapse. No fear that the other team will kick the ball and win in the final minutes of the game.

So, why is reading (and sometimes, writing) such a popular hobby?

I can’t speak for all Readers and Writers. But I can lift a cuppa to celebrate the joy that comes to me when I read (and sometimes, write). And, I can share this quote from Anne Lamott, which captures my feelings on the matter.

“Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation. They deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul. When writers make us shake our heads with the exactness of their prose and their truths, and even make us laugh about ourselves or life, our buoyancy is restored. We are given a shot at dancing with, or at least clapping along with, the absurdity of life, instead of being squashed by it over and over again. It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.”

I woke up this morning with an earworm of the song Let It Go from the movie Frozen.

That song gets a lot of grief, probably because an entire generation of youngsters obsessively wanted (wants) it played and sang (sings) it all day, all night, in the car, at breakfast, before bed, anytime, anywhere. When I was a youngster, it was Tomorrow from the musical Annie. It’s a Thing, this childhood attachment to a song. Kids do it, parents tolerate it.

Anyway. Let It Go. I love that song. My children weren’t of the age to be interested in the movie when it became popular, so I avoided the nonstop version. I’ve been able to enjoy it on my own terms.

Perhaps because I see a bit of myself in the story, I sometimes get emotional when listening to it. For sure, it’s a winner choice when I’m driving down the highway, alone, and I want a boost of energy or just feel like belting out a tune. Crank up the volume, let Elsa lead the way, and sing at the top of my lungs. It’s like a shot of espresso at 65 mph.

Sometimes, my morning earworms are annoying. Today’s earworm is appreciated. Here’s to all of us who can use a little blast of winter courage on this hot summer day.

I used to be one of those people who liked to stay up past midnight and sleep until 10:00 a.m. the next morning.

Being somewhat socially awkward, my late nights typically involved a good book or a movie on TV; something other than nightclubs or parties. But, I was definitely a night owl. I used to think most clearly when it was dark outside, after everybody else had gone to bed, and preferred those quiet, shadowy hours after midnight to the dusty, dim light of morning.

I once asked my father, who was an early riser, why he liked to wake up at the crack of dawn. He said, “It’s something that happened as I got older. I can’t stay up late anymore. I don’t always want to wake up early, but it happens automatically, and I can’t just stay in bed. So, I get up and get things done.”

At the time, I assumed the evolution in his internal alarm clock was driven, in part, by his Type A personality. I also assumed it wouldn’t happen to me. After all, my grandmother was a night owl, and I take after her in many ways. Plus, I dreaded the sound of the alarm as it woke me up each morning.

But here I am, an early riser. Just like my dad, it’s happened gradually, as I’ve gotten older. I still set my alarm clock when it’s important to be on time for something, but I frequently find myself waking up before it goes off.

What’s surprising to me is that, during these recent months of social distancing, Schedules Are Optional living, I haven’t gone back to my night owl ways. Even if I stay up later, the latest I’ve slept is 8:30 a.m., and that has been only rarely. Most often, my eyes pop open around 5:30 a.m.

As soon as my cat senses that I’m awake, he begins pawing at my back, reminding me that he hasn’t eaten since the kibble I served him a short while ago (get up lady come on can’t you see that I’m hungry I’m skin and bones hungry so hungry get up get up get up). I may push him away while I’m quietly lying there, thinking thoughts, planning plans, but he returns, paw paw paw, until he’s made it clear that he’s on the verge of collapse.

And so I get out of bed, and I feed him and make the coffee and unload the dishwasher and take out the trash and do all the other early morning things, just like my father. The house is quiet, the light outside is distant and misty.

I suppose that, if I intentionally tried to reset my internal clock by staying up late for many nights in a row, I might find myself going back to my late sleeping habits. But I don’t know that I want to. I’ve learned to enjoy the early morning hours and the feeling that comes when the tasks are done and the rest of the day stretches out ahead of me.

Today’s cuppa is for the early risers. We may not have chosen to wake up before dawn, but we can learn to enjoy the circumstances.

It’s hard to imagine, in today’s world of immediate news, that a significant event, affecting the lives of countless people, could happen yet not be known for days, weeks, or even years.

Perhaps then, as we contemplate the question of which invention or development has had the most important impact on the world, we should recognize the value of 24/7 access to information.

In whatever way we prefer, using whatever means work best, people everywhere now have the ability to find the news…instead of waiting for the news to find them.

Add to that the fact that “news” is no longer only a reactive function involving a messenger and a recipient. It has become a living, breathing experience, influenced by those partaking in the moment, sharing as it happens, evaluating as it occurs.

No doubt, there is still value in the traditional information-sharing process. Immediacy can sometimes create confusion and inaccuracy, which may be minimized through a more measured, careful approach to knowledge.

But now, the noun – “news” – traditionally considered a report of what has happened – can also be a verb, a communal action that encourages involvement and recognizes the value of the participants.

It’s hard to remember the days when things were different; in fact, there’s an entire generation of people who’ve never known a world without this type of access. It’s become an expectation and an assumption. But it really wasn’t that long ago when news traveled slowly, and words of hope and change remained unknown for too long.

Despite the challenges that come with a never-ending supply of information, I’m grateful to live in a time when it is possible. Because words, experiences, and news can transform the world.