Aselin

Recently I received an e-mail with the attached advice. I've included my own additional advice/warnings which, while the first person's advice has potential, it lacks the edge that I find fulfilling in my own life. So here are 15 ways to enjoy life, guidance on how well you enjoy it complements of me.

1. Take a deep breath each morning and think of ten things you are grateful for, ten things you are happy about and ten things you are confident in. This meditation will help you start your day in a good mood. Of course, with the kids out of school the day has the potential to devolve into the equivalent of a WWF fight using peanut butter and pool water.

2. Try something new the next time you grocery shop. You might find that a fresh brand of crackers is perfect with the low-fat cream cheese you have at home. You might find an interesting brand of chili sauce is delightful on scrambled egg sandwiches. You might even discover a different flavor of juice. Open your eyes and see what is there for you. Or, you can discover that being a creature of shopping habit is safer since the family rebellion that ensues from “changing it up” makes the Boston Tea Party look like a Girl Scout meeting.

3. Walk around your block and take photographs of small details that you usually overlook. Do your best not to get turned into the cops by a neighbor you haven’t bothered to meet.

4. Read. My blog.

5. Sit on the couch (or porch or stoop or bench) and have a quiet conversation with someone you enjoy. No one does this anymore. It seems like a quaint throwback idea until you watch what actually goes on in front of your house and start feeling your blood pressure boil as people speed recklessly by and dogs pee on your lawn.

6. Create something. There is nothing like using your creativity to increase your happiness-quota for the day. Just knowing you have brought something - anything - into the world that didn't previously exist, brings a sense of satisfaction. The problem with creativity is it usually involves cleaning up. For me, this ruins all the fun of creativity. Paint, glue, glitter, dirt, clay, flour, sugar - it’s all a disaster in the making.

7. Do something nice for someone. It would be fine if you chose me of course.

8. Do something unexpectedly nice for someone. Again, need I say more?

9. Do something nice for someone you feel might not deserve it. While I certainly don’t have lots of experience in this area, I imagine this would generate a certain amount of suspicion. If you show up on my door telling me you just mowed my lawn, washed the dog or bought me a new car I’m wondering what will come next. Likely you will wait a few days and then casually mention that you need a kidney, and you really wish you knew someone who had two. For the record, you may have my appendix, but I’m not so sure about the kidney. It would have to be something REALLY nice. Better than a car.

10. Relax and realize that everyone should have nice things happen to them. You have just been a part of making sure something nice happened to one more individual. Well this just blows my last soliloquy to bits. And no, you may still not have a kidney.

11. Write (and send) a thank you note. Now, this one I am a firm believer in. I have stacks and stacks of blank cards all purchased with the intention of thanking anyone who does anything nice for me. There they sit...

12. Sing. Yeah, I’ve been asked not to. More than once.

13. Dance to music in commercials. For this to happen they’re going to have to up the musical quality in the commercials I’ve seen lately. It’s hard to get your groove on listening to the “Hot Pockets” boogie, or the “Pepto Bismol” mambo. Although Pepto has been kind enough to provide dance moves with their jingle so you may see me bust-a-move in the near future.

14. Look at yourself in the mirror and say, "I'm lovable, loving and loved." And, mean it. And gosh darn-it, people like me. Then you get to become embroiled in a legal battle to become a Senator from Minnesota. No thanks.

15. Thank God for everything He has blessed you with. It's quite a lot, after all. AAAAAAMEN!

Back in college I studied quantum physics. Since then I’ve had a weird hobby of following some of the latest ideas rooted in chaos theory. All the stuff that geeks love: uncertainty principle, string theory, additional dimensions and parallel universes. Certainly I don’t begin to understand it all, but what I do I find fascinating.

One of the fundamental ideas in quantum mechanics is that just by observing something you influence it. In the science world it’s the idea that the experimenter is a fundamental part of the experiment that changes the outcome. After today, I’m more convinced than ever that this idea has veracity.

This week I was in charge of putting on a program which featured a speaker on self-protection. Besides the discouraging statistics this expert espoused, he bantered with the attendees sharing ideas on ways we can better protect ourselves from everything from home invasion to identity theft. It was heartening when he shared things I had thought of and overwhelming when he shared things I had not considered.

Weirdly enough, after the evening I left grateful for the safeguards hubby and I have put into place.

Then comes check the finances day, two days later. Lo and behold, within 24 hours of the program, someone had stolen our credit card and charged a couple of e-gift certificates for themselves.

Everything was cancelled. Fraud averted. Sense of violation - acute.

This whole identity theft thing is a gyp. I mean, if you are going to steal my identity then you should really have to be me, not just get my money. You should have to pick up dog poop, mop my floor and drive my kids around. This idea alone would discourage the act better than any fraud department ever could.

It’s really a disappointing thing about our current society. So many have come to see their fellow man as commodities, things to buy, trade, steal - rather than people. This is the fundamental motivation behind not only crime but many sales tactics, telemarketing, televangelism, and the porn industry.

If you can’t take advantage of someone then somehow you will lose out. The sad thing is as this idea becomes more prevalent we all lose out. We can’t leave our doors unlocked, can’t give out our number and have to always watch out for other people - the minute you let your guard down you can be victimized, and likely will.

Throughout my life I’ve been ripped off a number of times. Sometimes it was completely my own stupidity. Other times, there was nothing I could have done. It’s just part of life. Either way, after each unfortunate encounter I vowed it would never happen again.

I certainly hope it doesn’t.

A few months after moving to our new home I heard a talk in church that gave me pause. It was a thought provoking moving talk advocating living by the Spirit. As I listened to the speaker I realized that I pretty much ‘winged’ my life by my own devices. Thus far, I’m not sure that method has been a stellar success. The points made by the speaker motivated me to want to try harder at using the power of the Holy Ghost as a prescient guide.

I spent the following day, Monday, trying my best to be sensitive to its promptings. I suppose I have more grandiose ideas about the life I live because it’s was quite hard to see large purpose and inspiration in my trips to the dry cleaner, supermarket and gas station. A number of times during the day I had a seemingly one way conversation with Deity declaring that I was listening, only to receive a static response.

Certainly I don’t yet have finely developed spiritual sensitivities.

That evening, hubby had a dinner meeting so I took advantage of the night off and fed the kids at Taco Bell. Driving home I felt a strong prompting, to turn into a neighborhood I had not yet explored. I mentally shrugged at the idea that I was kind of reaching, but it was a prompting so I was going with it. Since we had no time constraints for the evening I was curious to learn more about the area where I now lived.

Winding through the streets the dog, kids and I enjoyed the mini tour, and finally found ourselves intersecting with a familiar main street.

The sun was setting and the street lamps were beginning to light. Before I pulled onto the main street I noticed two women in the median, standing outside of their cars. Taking a moment to survey the situation I realized one of the women had hit a large blonde dog. Both were standing over the dog, emotional, flustered and blocking oncoming traffic that was swerving dangerously around them and the dog. I told the kids to stay in the car and approached the women.

With cars were diverting around them and the nature of the busy street, the waning light put them in a precarious position. Neither woman knew what to do, not wanting to leave the dog.

I’m a left-brainer by nature. Immediately I took over, telling the women to get in their cars and pull into a nearby parking lot. I then stopped the lanes of oncoming traffic, lifted the dog by it’s legs and carried its lifeless body over to the sidewalk. The dog had no collar, and animal control was closed for the night. At this point I wasn’t sure what to do, but had moved everyone to safety and felt OK leaving them to sort things out.

Suddenly a van pulled up onto the sidewalk a man jumped out, let out a heartbreaking gasp and knelt by his dog. The van door flung open and a boy of about eight years old came sobbing out. The women were in tears, the owners of the dog were in tears, I was in tears. I held the young boy as the man assessed his deceased pet. He lifted the animal in his arms and I ran ahead to the van to help prepare room. He gently laid the animal on the floor, and wordlessly he and his son got inside and drove away.

I turned to the ladies and offered a few words of comfort. We quietly disbanded. I returned to my van where my own aghast children had witnessed the whole scene.

I was so profoundly sorry for the family I couldn’t gain my composure for a few minutes. We all returned home, hugged our dog and said a prayer for the comfort of the mourning family and the woman who had hit the dog.

The sickening sadness was overwhelming.

Later that night I lay in my bed feeling frustrated I had followed my “prompting.” That whole scenario was a crappy experience. Laying on my side in bed I wept.

Much later that night I awoke, and had some quiet time to reflect. The whole experience dominated my thoughts. As strongly as the earlier prompting had been came the clear realization that He needed me to be with those people. By following my prompting I had not only gotten the women out of harms way, but kept the dog’s body in tact. Not many people would have been willing and able to carry the dead dog, and while coming upon their dog was horrible, had the dog remained in its place it would have been run over repeatedly, likely mangling its corpse. Moving the dog allowed his family to grieve more gently.

I was hoping for some profound spiritual experience. Instead I received direction to get in the emotional trenches. To serve, protect and comfort strangers. Exactly what the Lord repeatedly asks us to do. Too often we’re not listening to the promptings.

I wouldn’t recognize any of the people if I saw them again. But I’m deeply grateful I was able to help them. I prayed for them for days, and yes, the experience has made me more sensitive to promptings of the Spirit.

I started my first fire when I was about five. My mom still brags about her parenting techniques which “encouraged” my sister and I to be self sufficient. The fundamental format of her philosophy is illustrated by those people who teach their kids to swim by throwing them in a lake and walking away. True, more often than not, the flailing gets you to the dock, but it’s rather inefficient and I don’t know any olympic swimmers who started out that way.

Because of her style, my little sister and I developed some less than safe habits. Overly confident in my cooking abilities, I knew I could make myself some toast in our little front loading toaster oven. How hard could it be?

There I was, sitting on the counter in a pink nightgown, my little tummy grumbling. Having ripped open the bread bag and dragged out the butter as soon as the toast was finished I was poised to spread it with a boning knife. Slowly, like some sort of exotic Arabian dance, smoke started to ribbon out the sides of the toaster. Likely I had the setting on broil, but what five year old knows what broil is? What five year old is allowed to reach the sharp knives?

Curious, I didn’t know the smoke wasn’t a byproduct of grown-up cooking. Watching through the little window made opaque by the residue of former meals, I waited for the ‘ding.’ Suddenly, the inside of the toaster flashed and my piece of bread exploded in flames.

Immediately knowing I was in trouble I did what every responsible five year old does: I ran away. Knife and all. Hiding in the dining room with the boning knife as a culinary refugee I started to hyperventilate. After a moment, I peered around the door into the kitchen to see the toaster engulfed in flames. Of course, I hid even deeper.

The smoke alarms finally alerted the responsible people in the house. As my mother came running into the kitchen she handled the fire somehow. I was nowhere to be seen, and was planning on staying that way.

Shortly I learned that I was about as good of a hider as I was a cook, and my mother rooted me out. As her hysterical lecture droned on I held fast to my story: “I did not start the fire.”

Now, maybe the rest of you have always been more evolved than me, but I suspect there are a few of you who also have tried to cover your tracks. It’s pretty innate in me. More so than I would like to admit. When I screw up I don’t want to be found out, yet I’m incredibly bad about covering my tracks. I still live the adult version of the kid in a pink nightgown hiding behind a chair clutching a knife.

Recently I was asked to take dinner to a new mother and her family. I called, made arrangements for the drop off, planned a menu...I was happy to do it, but had a busy day. At one in the morning I bolted upright in bed as I realized that I had completely forgotten to take the dinner. The poor little family was probably huddled near their front door starving to death.

Sadly, my brain spent the first two panicked hours of my insomnia trying to come up with a story that would justify my ineptitude. The varied stories involved severe head trauma, rabies infection and loose bats, but they seemed rather implausible. It was the little girl in the pink nightgown all over again.

While sleep evaded me, reason did not. There was only one honorable way to put out this fire. I waited until it was an appropriate time to call, and explained that I was a complete moron. Of course they were gracious, but there was no assuaging my humiliation. Not until I delivered dinner later that night did the pit in my stomach relax.

Ideally I would like to cease committing emotional arson, but since that is unlikely I need to continue to practice ‘fessing up. Because the reality is, if you just put the knife down and come out from behind the chair before you’re asked, the punishments are generally much lighter.

I know a visit to a cemetery is just not enough; I'm not sure what would be enough. How does one show gratitude for sacrifice?


Especially on holidays that seem to have lost their importance in society, it is my goal to impart to my children an understanding that the life they live is a blessing bestowed upon them by the sacrifice of others. While Memorial Day honors those soldiers fallen in combat, we had to include a recognition of those soldiers who served at all.

Fields of bronze plaquards remember life after life that sacrificed a portion of their time on earth in defense of our nation. In defense of our family.

Our National Cemetery is unlike any other in the nation. There are no rolling hills of greenery. No lushness. No cool waters. It is a harsh place that humbles me each time I go.

Sand crunches beneath our feet as we pass through row after row of of the departed. Some fell in combat, cut down too soon. Some passed recently after full lives. Some are buried with their sweethearts. Some with their children who preceded them in death. My throat chokes at the numbers. I've never met a single one of them in this life, yet as I bend to replace an askew flag, to brush some sand off a headstone that receives no tending, I feel deeply connected to them.

In another section of the cemetery, out of a program comemmorating the day, strains of patriotic songs waft through the air. I don't want to be with the crowd. Neither do my children.


Gathering my little family together, we read "In Flanders Fields." Flags instead of poppies blow in the wind, yet the effect is just as sobering. We read a 1983 speech by President Reagan honoring the day, and his words help give purpose to the grief: "As a tribute to their sacrifice, let us renew our resolve to remain strong enough to deter aggression, wise enough to preserve and protect our freedom, and thoughtful enough to promote lasting peace throughout the world."


Planes fly overhead, and one peels off in missing man formation. I notice a single soldier has stood, with his head bowed, by a single grave for our whole visit. I tear as he mourns a loved one. The sadness I feel is surpassed by my gratitude. Another gift these fallen have given me.

May we never forget.

During the Revolutionary war, America fought for her identity. Sacrifices were made in behalf of an idea that would be bestowed on her ancestry. The idea that within a life well lived, anything was possible. That people have unalienable rights and that life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness belong to each of us. The American Dream.

Since it’s inception, America has demonstrated her greatness in her restraint. Soldiers from all her armed forces have spilt blood around the world in defense of the weak and in defiance against evil. After overthrowing the dictator, unseating the oppressor, defeating the tyrant America has left in the wake the invitation to extend the liberties she bestows upon her citizens upon those she has liberated. As famously quoted, all she has asked in return is for some land to bury her dead.

In the vacuums of power, she could have conquered, but she didn’t.

To ‘remember’ is one of God’s great commandments. We are commanded to ‘remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.’ As we remember on this holy Memorial Day, those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, let us recognize that the numbers of those who have died is great. The number of those willing to die is greater. To volunteer for such service, to ask your family to support you in this endeavor creates a debt which we all incur, but too often neglect. Yet, soldier after soldier makes no demand for our attention. Once, in an airport I thanked a uniformed soldier. In a sobering exchange he didn’t swell with congratulations. He merely replied, “Maam, it’s who I am.”

It is often in the things we don’t do that we most reveal who we are.

In recognizing this Memorial Day may our remembrances include reverence for the fallen, honor for their sacrifice. Too many Memorial celebrations are merely ‘days off’, and barbecues. In neglecting to include remembrance, let us not reveal we are disconnected and ungrateful. May our omissions be small and our commissions revere.

As I take my family to the National Cemetery, and try in some small way to show my respect I pray my actions demonstrate the gratitude in my heart. Please let it not be said of me this day “She could have, but she didn’t.”

Generally, I don’t care for doctor visits; I consider them a necessary evil. Doctors themselves are fine, as long as I don’t see them in their office. The whole experience goes against the way I naturally roll.

Rushing to be on time for an appointment only to sit forty five minutes in an uncomfortable germ infested waiting room where sick people have congregated for the last ten years, sniffing, coughing and reading the same outdated People magazine - because let’s face it, no one wants to read the Popular Science. We only want to look at the magazines we’re too cheap or too ashamed to subscribe to.

So there I am, with my People, trying to decide if celebrity #1 Chi-chi Spinoza looks better in the same outfit celebrity #2 Zola Bandita wore to a different function when this couple walks in holding hands. I think, “aww, how sweet, I remember back when my husband cared if I lived or died and came with me to appointments.”

As they signed in I couldn’t tell which one was the patient they were so connected. They selected seats to my left and began to talk about their upcoming weekend.

In baby talk.

“Should we go swimming at my pawent’s house?”
“Oh, I wub, yew in a swimming sooot.”
“Awww, baby waby yew are soo sweeeet.”
“Wubby bubby, what are yubby going to say to my daddy?”
“Dat I lubby you!”

I’m caught in one of those car crash kind of moments. I know propriety says to quit eavesdropping, but I just can’t turn away. I’m wincing and straining to hear better at the same time. As they conversation progresses, the couple moves closer and closer together until suddenly, they’re making out!

Pretending to be engrossed in the People magazine, my mind is reeling. This is no little smooch session. There are arms groping and she’s got her leg swung up on his chair. Shouldn’t someone stop them? Should I throw a Popular Science at them to break them apart. I’m staring at the one-way mirror check-in window wondering if it’s part of anyone’s job description to throw water on the waiting patients.

Sadly, no one appeared with a hose, so the display continued for good five minutes. Baby waby, Wubby bubby and me. There. Alone. In the waiting room. Talk about third wheel. I was praying for the door to open and somebody, anybody call my name. It was like the doctor lotto. Pick me, pick me, pick me..............

Thankfully, the outside door flung open. While the lovers didn’t even pause, I was thrilled to have someone else join us. Maybe I could forge some sort of bond with the entrant and we could silently roll our eyes at each other as the couple remained oblivious to our judgements. I was so excited for my new friend.

In walks Cowboy Bob, in full rodeo regalia. Tight wranglers, boots, hat. OK, not what I was expecting, but maybe he can fashion his belt into a whip and stop the inappropriately amorous display. Wait, he’s already carrying a whip.... no, it’s a leash.... it’s a dachshund on a leash. It’s a dachshund, on a leash..... in a hot pink dress.

Are you kidding me? I am not at the psychiatrist so WHAT THE HECK??? This is quickly turning into some sort of live Dr. Seuss skit.

Cowboy Bob’s wife follows him in, sits down and begins to talk to the dachshund. Yes, in baby talk. I put my face in my hands trying to stifle my chortle. It didn’t work, it only amplified my loud snort.

I know no one is going to believe this, so I pull out my cell phone and turn on the camera. I have no idea why I was trying to be discreet - this crowd would not have noticed normal ‘ol me in the corner, but I was pretending I was texting while aiming my camera at the dachshund and the wife. Snapping a blurry photo just as the doctor opened the door to call my name I leapt to my feet feeling a bit like I was being released from prison.



As we walk to the examination room the doctor asks “How’s your day?”

Truthfully I answered, “Dull, till I got here.”

I don’t want to catch the Swine flu. For that matter I don’t want to catch bird flu, monkey rash, horse pox or any other mutant strain from an animal-kingdom inspired ailment.

I am torn on the efficacy of how we’re dealing with the potential pandemic. Media outlets proffering pseudo restraint as they try to frame this outbreak as newsworthy. So far, we have about 165 confirmed international Swine flu deaths. Tragic. But we should also keep in perspective that worldwide estimates put plain old regular flu deaths between 250,000 and 500,000 annually, in the US numbers are about 35,000.

The challenge in sifting through all this information is trying to figure out what to do. I’m an ‘action item’ girl. So, do I pull my kids out of school? Do I make everyone wear a mask? Do we put our “fancy camping” practice into full time? Dig a bomb shelter? Hijack a crop duster and fill it with Lysol?

Apparently the best thing we can do is wash our hands and cough into our sleeves. Sad when it takes the threat of a major pandemic to get us to exercise our manners.

For you longtime readers, I’ve taken you down this road before. But good grief people, how hard is it to demonstrate basic hygiene and courtesy? It would be fascinating if this virus were spread by some interesting mechanism like - only people who lick shoes will contract it. Or, no rubbing the insides of your elbows underneath sink faucets. Sadly, we would still have media running the same interviews over and over again with ‘health officials’ telling us not to do these things.

We get on our high horse of hygiene as we cringe at third world living displayed on the travel channel. People living in huts made craftily out of mud and poop. Sleeping in beds made of leaves and animal bones. The fact is, even with all our fancy indoor plumbing and soap, we’re just as gross as the next guy. As this year’s pandemic is the Swine flu, which is really a mutant strain of the Avian flu, the reality is that next year’s outbreak will be a genetic morph of the Swine flu.

Let’s see, birds become pigs become... I know, next year it will be the Yak flu! Although I think I’ve already had that one.

I have a deep, almost sappy, reverence for all things patriotic. I tear at the Star Spangled Banner - every time. I choke up to the point that I haven’t been able to finish the Pledge of Allegiance at a cub scout den meeting. After a trip abroad as a teen I unabashedly kissed the ground upon my return.

We are tremendously blessed to live under this inspired republic. Yet somehow, as a nation we’ve devolved into a collective historical mediocrity. It’s completely acceptable to not know even basic facts about not only the origins of our political system, but also current affairs. As many people excuse their pathetically low history IQ against their Pop Culture IQ the footings of our political systems are coming unseated.

Remembering back to 9/11, I had an MRI scheduled for that day. It was a surreal experience to lay isolated inside the tube as the radiologist tech gave me a blow by blow of the towers falling. It was a day when the repercussions of evil was shoved in our faces. Driving around town days, even weeks after the horrors of that day, I would look at the faces of other drivers, complete strangers, and well up with emotion at how much I cared about them because they were fellow Americans and we were going through this together... one nation, under God, indivisible.

I truly could not have conceived we would be holding the public discussions of the past few days. Stunningly, we are considering being a nation that prosecutes people for their ideas. From the Homeland Security report naming ex-military soldiers as potential terrorists, to the administrations threats to try our family friend Jay Bybee for his legal service to the Bush administration during the early stages of the War on Terror, somehow we’re being dragged into a punitive retrospection the likes of which our nation has ever seen.

This week President Obama has completely retracted his position on retro-litigation. Nancy Pelosi stated she was never briefed on actual use of ‘enhanced’ interrogation techniques and the moveon.org crowd is out for blood. All this talk about government sanctioned torture would make one think we were barbarians.

So if I get this straight, and follow Pelosi and Obama’s lead, it’s now the thing to do to subscribe to revisionist history, and look back ONLY if you disagreed with the previous administration. Looking forward is for pansies.

While I’m confident they’re not listening, here’s what I would say if they were:

Please stop diluting the word torture. Torture is not a technique that many of our elite servicemen willingly undergo as part of their training, as in the case of water boarding. Torture is never recovering the remains of a loved one who was obliterated as the towers fell.

Illegal activity is not legally advising the President of the United States, at his request, on methods for extracting information from known terrorists. Illegal activity is BEING a terrorist.

Finally, the role of government, especially the federal government is to protect its people. Meeting with the Castros, Chavez and Ahmadinijab while simultaneously disrespecting our allies is a curious way to go about that task. For all the comparisons you’ve made to Abraham Lincoln Mr. Obama, you certainly seem less than concerned about preserving the Union. This week you’ve been all about appeasing your radical supporters. Uniter my butt.

As we face our tomorrows I will still have trouble finishing the Pledge and I will still tear up at the National Anthem. I just pray that those emotions will be because of, not “in memory of.”

Pain is a funny thing. I have a pretty good pain threshold. One who has survived multiple child births, an undiagnosed broken wrist, and a self inflicted tortured adolescence I feel somewhat of an expert on the subject of enduring pain.

In the English language pain is both a noun and a verb. I completely understand this. Pain runs a spectrum of definitions.

There’s mental pain, usually brought on by life’s burdens. Loneliness, isolation, conflict all bring degrees of pain.

And of course physical pain, which makes me say things I normally don’t when it’s brought on by the blunt force trauma of my clumsiness. Or pain that wears me down with it’s relentless sting.

Few will escape the soul weighting pain of loss. The palpable heaviness in the chest that makes it hard to breathe. It’s so strong you can feel it. It’s so powerful you can see it in the face of the bearer. And while it inevitably fades, the hole left in its wake is rarely filled.

One thing about pain, it’s universal. And on this Easter weekend I reflect on such universal experiences.

I’m humbled by the pain borne thousands of years ago by the carpenter from Galilee. This week marks the anniversary of his willing entrance into Gethsemane. Where His closest friends abandoned Him, inflicting loneliness and isolation, even the conflict of abandoned friendship.

Where he endured such physical pain He sweat drops of blood. No matter how much pain I’ve borne, it’s never reached such scale.

And as He hung on the cross in full submission to the pain, He felt the loss of the presence of His Father.

Reflecting on all of this pain, grief and suffering I am humbled. I believe we all suffer degrees of pain in our lives to give us the opportunity to draw closer to divinity. In the pain I’ve endured, it is the good choices, the patient actions, and the opportunity to see outside myself that makes me a little more like Him.

So far, I have found, through all my different kinds of pain, that there is always an Easter morning. It is this truth that makes endurance worthwhile.

I received an e-mail today that said “in 9 minutes something will make you happy.” I’m watching the clock, and I’m also trying to consider what it could be. It’s 1:01 p.m. so I’ll keep you updated.

Waiting for happiness is potentially a waste of time. My dog, Sanook, is staring out the window right now just waiting for something to happen. His list of options is pretty limited: bird fly-by, lizard scurry and if he’s really lucky the pool guy will show up. It’s not looking good for him.

Distracted by my constant glances Sanook becomes self-conscious, as dogs do, and wanders over to me. I scratch his back, he smiles, as dogs do. His fulfillment couldn’t be fuller.

It’s 1:10 and I realize, it’s a glorious day. The earnestness of Sanook's watch makes me smile. I’m completely happy.

Wow, those e-mails really do come true!!

In order to better facilitate your Happy Day, I wanted to share a few Churchillisms with you:

We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.

If you're going through hell, keep going.

Never, never, never give up.

There is no such thing as a good tax.

Some see private enterprise as a predatory target to be shot, others as a cow to be milked, but few are those who see it as a sturdy horse pulling the wagon.

We contend that for a nation to tax itself into prosperity is like a man standing in a bucket and trying to lift himself up by the handle.

An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile—hoping it will eat him last.

A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.

You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.

If you have ten thousand regulations, you destroy all respect for the law.

You can always count on Americans to do the right thing—after they’ve tried everything else.

History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.

I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter.

A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.

To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.

Socialism is a philosophy of failure, the creed of ignorance, and the gospel of envy.

The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.

The whole history of the world is summed up in the fact that, when nations are strong, they are not always just, and when they wish to be just, they are no longer strong.

Those who can win a war well can rarely make a good peace and those who could make a good peace would never have won the war.