sing like no one is listening ...

a bubble of happiness. i used to know how to create those ...

once i ate an entire box of strawberry shortcake cereal in one sitting and the sugar and red dye entering my bloodstream and creating a hypoglycemic nightmare in which i literally was bouncing off the walls (and the floor, and the bed, and anyone who got in my way). i was sent to my room to let the sugar and dye work it's way through my system while my cousin L begged me to eat the protein i was being bribed with in an attempt to bring me down from my over-the-top-ridiculous sugar high. but i didn't want to come down from the bouncing goodness. 

another time, the bubble was created by lying on the raft in the moonlight, holding hands with O, after a weekend fraught with drama. and we left all the drama causing people alone with their drama and found time to be with each other, in the moonlight, sharing our compassion for each other. 

click here for photo credit

bubbles of happiness don't happen on their own. they aren't random. they need to be sought out, created, and maintained. they might be spontaneous and unplanned ... but they still need crafting and care. 

i wanted to share one of my bubbles of happiness from my childhood ...

when i was 7 years old, my cousin B and i used to have weekly sleep-overs, mostly at my house. we would make up ridiculous games, like building a snow village for little plastic bunnies that our grandmother gave us for Easter. or naming the yellow foam rabbit from my magic kit "honey bunny." those sleep-overs are one of the highlights of my childhood. B was older and wiser and beautiful and smart. and fun. purely joyfully fun. i bet that when she reads this (and i will be sending it to you B, because i WANT you to read this) she will be taken aback by some of the words i used like "beautiful" - our childhoods were not built around people telling us that we were beautiful, or smart ...

as the years went by, the 4 year age difference between us became too much of a gap and we spent a period of time being cousins, but not friends. at 13, i was only 9 and that was too big of a gap. 

when B went to university, and i was in high school, i went to visit her. and it was so kind of her to take me in for a week and show me her life. over the years, we have traveled in and out of each other's circles, losing touch and finding each other again. always connected by our friendship and by our family ties. 

but this post isn't about B or how important she is to me. this post is about being little, loud, obnoxious girls on the danforth. invincible, noisy, and not caring what anyone else thought about us. 

i have no idea where we were going. it could have been ballet class, or the library, or just the store. but for some reason, we were being taken somewhere and we had to walk for awhile along the busy danforth. and B and i decided that it would be a GREAT idea to sing. loudly. a song we made up. at the top of our lungs. 

i remember walking along the street feeling pure and unbridled JOY with B. 

picture this, the busy danforth on a sunny day. people out walking, shopping, running errands, or just enjoying the day. and then 2 little girls skipping, arm in arm, scream-singing at the top of their lungs:

1, you're a nun!
2, a piece of poo!
3, a drop of pee!
4, shut the door!
5, stick your head in a beehive!
6, pick up sticks!
7, go to heaven
8, shut the gate!
9, drink some wine!
10, START AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and then we would repeat our made up song. and then after that, we would repeat it again. 

i don't know why that was so much fun. i don't know why scream-singing about pee, and poo, and beehives, was hilarious and joyful and exciting and made us so damn happy. but we were giggling and singing and skipping and yelling. i wish that i could recreate that feeling, bottle it, and give it away. because everyone needs to feel the elation of scream-singing on a busy street in the sunshine while skipping arm-in-arm with a cousin-friend, not giving a shit about what anyone else thinks because the joy of scream-singing a made up song puts you in a bubble of happiness that is even better than a blue duvet cocoon. 

i wonder if B would be willing to skip arm-in-arm scream-singing with me now? i think that perhaps i need to find a new way to create the bubble of happiness. maybe i can teach her children our song and find joy by enabling the joy of watching them scream-sing and embarrass their parents ... 

any other ideas? 


xoxo
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