Happy Hacks

(Thought I’d pose with my favorite pineapple for the stock image today. You’re welcome)

How’re your happy chemicals doing these days? Here’s a few hacks.

Serotonin: (Happy Hormone)

  • Listen to music
  • Meditate
  • Walk in nature
  • Journal
  • Sun Exposure

Dopamine: (Your Reward Chemical)

  • Self-Care
  • Completing tasks
  • Eating good food
  • Celebrating wins
  • Sleep

Oxytocin: (The Love Drug)

  • Hugging a loved one
  • Kissing
  • Deep connection
  • Playing with animals
  • Giving compliments

Endorphines: (The Stress and Pain Reliever)

  • Laughing
  • Exercise
  • Chocolate
  • Spicy food
  • Physical touch

Hanger

Never grocery shop when hangry. Bad things happen. This was last week:

Product: PF Chang frozen fried rice

Argument: No! It’s too expensive. You can make this yourself so easily!

Rationale: Ready in 4 min. Convenient. I’m buying it.

Product: Pork shoulder.

Argument: What the hell are you going to do with that?

Rationale: Make split pea soup. Clear a spot, I’m buying it.

Product: Lifesaver gummies

Argument: Seriously?

Rationale: In the scheme of things, it’s the least damaging candy. I’m getting it.

Product: Julienned pre-cut carrots.

Argument: You’re going to spend almost ten dollars when you can cut them yourself?

Rationale: Look how cute they are, cut like this. Getting ‘em.

Product: Pub snack mix.

Argument: You will never eat these. You know you won’t.

Rationale: But they taste so good with gin-and-tonics at the bar. Yep.

Product: Cinnamon-raisin bread.

Argument: You’re off bread.

Rationale: That was yesterday. Move it.

Product: Cauliflower pizza

Argument: That’s vomitous.

Rationale: But Oprah made it.

Product: Blue-cheese stuffed olives.

Argument: That’s a big jar.

Rationale: It’s cost efficient.

Son, leaving to go back to city, raiding the kitchen: “Mom, can I really take anything back with me?”

Me: “Take it all.”

The Proposal

A former colleague contacted me recently to say hi, and came out with this question:

“What happened to that surfing book you were gonna write?”

Whoa. I hadn’t thought about that book for years. Let me explain.

When you write a nonfiction book and you want to get it published, you must submit a book proposal to either an agent or a publishing house. Book proposals are incredibly time-consuming to write and research, and take months and months to organize and format. Publishing now isn’t about the writing, but about the marketing. If you can’t prove that you can market it, don’t waste your time submitting. Just self-publish.

I have submitted three book proposals in my lifetime. The first was in the late 90’s, and was a book proposal that dealt with the humorous side of infertility. I was heartbroken because I couldn’t seem to get pregnant, so I figured if I couldn’t be a mommy, I would finally be an author. My proposal was rough and rudimentary, but I still have the note from the publisher:

Your proposal is well done. We’d like to see more. Please submit the next ten chapters.

This was fantastic news, but by then I had even better news: I had finally gotten pregnant. With twins.

And there went my life, and I stepped away from my writing for a long time. I obviously had no more infertility stories to tell since, well, I wasn’t infertile anymore.

Ten years later or so came the surfing book idea. By this time I was writing fairly regularly for The Philadelphia Inquirer, and I (and they) thought that traveling around New Jersey to all of the best surf breaks in each surf town would be a great idea for a book. Interview the local surfers, listen to their stories, etc. Local surfers are some pretty colorful individuals. If it went well, I thought I could expand the idea nationally, and visit the best surf breaks in the United States. I still love the idea.

What came of it? I will tell you what I told my friend. I really, really wanted to do it. I swear. I didn’t give it up out of laziness, or indifference. Nope.

I couldn’t get a publishing house to pay for my expenses. The only way I could do it was if I retired from teaching. If I was going to leave my babies, I needed to be reimbursed.

Nope.

So I shelved the idea, and got back to writing columns and teaching.

Present day: This third book proposal continues to morph, but this is the one. I now have the time, the platform and the visibility.

I hope I’ve cleared that up. Twenty-five years ago, my column byline was “Mary Oves is writing a book about surfing.” It was accurate at the time, just never came to fruition.

Maybe one day I’ll do it.

Jumbled

I’m back into word finds.

As my semester ends, my brain is suddenly free to wander where it will. And while I keep it busy with books and writing and some part-time work, my hand is still drifting to my phone more times than makes me comfortable. I need something mindless, easy, and comfortable.

Word finds. I have always loved word finds. And while crossword puzzles entertain me, they are too cerebral, and only one step away from the writing and thinking process, something I try to avoid too much of in the summer. Crosswords are all about definitions, etymology, derivation, tense.

Nope. Not this time.

I didn’t walk into the bookstore with much hope. Word finds are incredibly antiquated, aren’t they? Am I the only human being on earth who doesn’t play games on her phone? Who likes to use a sharpened pencil?

But I moved forward undaunted, until I drifted through the magazine section, turned the corner, when suddenly…

Whoa, momma. Mother lode! So there are others out there like me! Puzzle books galore, dozens of them- large print, small print, crosswords, word finds, jumbles, sudoku, combination books. I found a book with the perfect font size and themed puzzles, paid my $3.99, and walked out happy.

So now when I want to give my brain a break, I’ll do a puzzle for a few minutes. Instead of walking into the kitchen for some pretzels during a commercial, I’ll find a few words instead. When I sit outside to enjoy the sun, I’ll enjoy a puzzle. I will rip one out and put it into my work folder, and when a have a minute of quiet at work, I’ll open the folder and surreptitiously find a word or two.

It calms my mind, and it is so satisfying. Choosing a themed puzzle. Settling into my comfy chair, or onto the patio. Grabbing a pencil, sharpening it in the pencil sharpener. Finding all of the left-to-right horizontal words first. Leaving the puzzle for a few minutes or a few hours, knowing I can pick up right where I left off, with no fuss or bother.

So if you’re still looking for a Mother’s Day present, get one for mom for Mother’s Day, wrapped around a bottle of wine, or chocolates, or a candle. Because we’re all a bunch of old dorks at heart.

You’ll be her hero.

Uncle

I just concluded my 34th year in education, and at the conclusion of every teaching semester, I wonder:

Was that my last one?

The last time I walk across campus, lost in thought? The last time I make copies and tuck them neatly into my messenger bag? The last time I sip hot coffee in front of my classroom computer? The last time I confer with that quiet student who hovers at the end of class, just wanting to talk to me? The last time I accept late work from a panicked student, even though the work deadline has already come and gone?

Is this the year?

In 2017, I retired and swore I was done. I was burnt out. Nothing left to offer. Unwilling to learn any more new technology. Tired of grading papers on Sunday nights. Feeling like I lacked the spark needed to deliver pedagogy in provocative ways.

But I felt pulled back to the classroom, part-time. And because of instructor shortages due to the pandemic, I was pulled back in full-time in 2020. Waaaaaaaay back in. And then again in 2022. But as I feel the heaviness of academia closing in on me, I realize I don’t want any more heaviness in my life. Lightness only, please.

I am ready to declare Academic Chapter 11.

I wish I could claim that phrase, but it’s from an article in Inside Higher Ed journal. An anonymous professor wrote an article entitled “Academe, Hear Me. I Am Crying Uncle.” And I feel I, too, am crying “Uncle.”

Enough already.

As the anonymous writer states, academic Chapter 11 comes upon a teacher slowly. Maybe it starts with a roll of the eyes. Maybe appears in the form of indifference, exhaustion, emptiness. No matter how it presents itself, one thing is true:

It cannot be reversed. Once it takes hold, it is permanent. No vacation, promotion, degree, or salary can change what it is:

A dearth.

This writer declares what all teachers try to provide: an ethos of care, in the hopes of building a thriving and just academe. But as evidenced from what is being coined “The Great Exodus” of teachers from education, it can be asserted that something tragic is happening:

At this pivotal time, when our country’s children need experienced, compassionate educators more than ever, we are leaving.

This is most tragic.

For this tenured professor, it got to be too much. With a sick child at home, his work piled up and piled up, on top of a system already teetering on the brink of collapse. He was forced to do the unthinkable, something teachers try to NEVER do.

Take it easy on himself.

He began delegating tasks to colleagues. Asking for help, saying no to publishing, putting aside manuscripts, even giving back grant money, as he was unable to complete the work on time. He says:

I simply have no way to catch up at this point. Extensions don’t help. Not only do I lack the capacity to think with the clarity and dexterity necessary to manage a complex workload and the emotional tenacity to work endless hours, even if I did, I would never catch up. The gap between the length of my to-do list and my own resources- time, energy and willpower- has stretched into an impassable chasm.

Educators in these last two years have been told to not make a fuss- to please just pivot, learn to do new things and carry on. Wake up at 4 a.m. to answer emails, skip family vacations, workouts, and pleasure. And under no circumstances, we have been asked, are we to do anything to upset parents or the state educational system.

“We’re all in this together,” after all. Right?

I wish I could clearly elucidate the terror, despair and depression that seeps out of this brave professor’s essay. I feel every word. He is despondent that his academic Chapter 11 will make it even tougher on his colleagues, who are also suffering, and to whom he is indebted. But sooner or later, everyone has to make the choice to say it.

Uncle.

Momsers

(Note: It bears mentioning that in yesterday’s post I egregiously left out one of the most terrifying moms I’ve ever encountered in literature: Tilda Swinton brilliantly playing Eva Khatchadourian in “We Need to Talk About Kevin.” And while the movie did not disappoint, with the brilliant but disturbed Ezra Miller as Kevin, the book is much more disturbing. Swinton’s portrayal of the mother of a cold-blooded school shooter is enough to freeze the blood in your veins).

Motherhood is too complicated of a subject to tackle in one little blog post, but here are my top ten picks for most fascinating literary and movie moms. Notice there is not a Carol Brady in sight. I wouldn’t insult your intelligence that way.

Clover from the novel Watership Down. My favorite book as a young adult, this book was about way more than just rabbits. Complicated stuff. Clover is the first doe to bear a litter in the new warren, and one of the hutch rabbits that Hazel decides to set free from the barn. She adjusts to the wild life better than any of the others, and she mates with Speedwell. I remember being so happy for her when she became a mom.

Fly in the movie “Babe.” The surrogate mom we would all want if we ever found out our own had become a plate of bacon.

Charlotte in Charlotte’s Web. Any child who has read and loved this book will remember how wonderful of a mother Charlotte was not only to Wilbur, but to her babies. After she died (and we all cried), Wilbur kept three babies to raise.

Meryl Streep as Jane Adler in “It’s Complicated.” Jane was always cooking delicious food for her children, and even as adults they always somehow ended up home, which is where we love our children, right? Home, eating our food? Her relationship with her children in this movie is as gooey and sweet as the chocolate croissants for which she is famous.

Jane Fonda as Hillary Altman in “This Is Where I Leave You.” Not too relatable, as she got big fake boobs and became a lesbian in her twilight years, but who cares? As Hillary, the only thing she wanted was for her children to sit shiva for their deceased father. The movie deals with the seven days the family gathers at home once again. All of our children home together- what more could a mom want?

Darlene Cates as Bonnie Grape in “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.” I loved Cates’ performance in this movie. So brave and powerful, and sent such a powerful message: none of us ever want to be an embarrassment to our children. But sometimes, we are.

Meryl again, as Joanna Kramer, in “Kramer Vs. Kramer.” Joanna abandoned her young son, and then returned for him in a court battle. We want to hate her, right? But which of us can’t relate to her plight? That of feeling invisible in marriage, to the point of almost disappearing? But still loving our child ferociously?

Meryl yet again, as Sophie, in “Sophie’s Choice.” The choice Sophie made was one that she could never beat. I won’t tell you the choice if you have somehow made it to this point in your life without reading this book or watching the movie. For God’s sake, don’t google it. Watch it.

Shirley Maclaine in “Terms of Endearment” and “Postcards from the Edge.” Shirley is perfection, as both deeply flawed mothers in these two movies, who simply want to love their children. The opening scene in “Terms” is one we can all relate to: going into our infants’ rooms late at night because they’re not crying, and we think they’re dead. A dark moment made hysterical by Maclaine.

And finally: Queen Gertrude from Hamlet. Sure, after her husband’s death she remarried her brother-in-law, which at that time was incest. Sure, she chose hot sex over her grieving son. But in the end, she was what we all are:

A mom who loved her kid above all else.

Momsters

It occurred to me as I was creating my “Scariest Moms” list for this post, that some of the movies that have scarred me the most in my life feature dysfunctional motherhood. I don’t even like watching the funny “Bad Moms” franchise movies.

I don’t find “Bad Mom” stuff funny. Not even joking around.

So if your mom ever forgot your birthday, wouldn’t buy you those ripped jeans in high school, or never let you borrow her car, feel lucky that she wasn’t one of the following moms. These are not in any particular order.

Violet in “August: Osage County.” At the end of this film, daughter Ivy calls her mother Violet “a monster.” Indeed. Although she is drug-addicted and riddled with painful cancer, we still can’t excuse Violet’s behavior. If you’re a Meryl Streep fan, brace yourself for a different look at her acting chops.

Mama Dixon in “Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri.” Sandy Martin has a frightening take as Sam Rockwell’s mom. Scary as shit and just as tough, Mama Dixon don’t play.

Margaret White in “Carrie.” Pigs’ blood and telekinesis don’t raise the horror of this movie to the terrifying level that Carrie’s mother does. Yikes.

Erica Sayers in “Black Swan.” She just wants her daughter to be successful, right? Wrong. Erica is the reason this movie descends to the depths of insanity.

Mary Lee Johnston in “Precious.” The book fucked me up, and the movie finished me off. I’m still traumatized. It’s an important story that Sapphire had to tell, but I’ve never been the same. I suggest you not read the book or watch the movie. Mary Lee’s depravities are so visceral that they have made their way into rap lyrics. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Joan Crawford in “Mommie Dearest.” You knew it was coming, and I know what’s going through your head: “NO MORE WIRE HANGERS!” Faye Dunaway was terrifying in this movie as Crawford, and whether Christina Crawford actually went through all of this is beside the point. Child abuse is the point.

Annie Graham in “Hereditary.” My sons know how I feel about this movie- that all of the covens and beheadings don’t scare me as much as the broken relationship between Annie and her son Peter. I can’t even watch this movie without someone with me.

The mother in the book A Child Called It. I was in a bookstore years and years ago, and saw this book cover and decided to sit down and read the whole thing rather than buy it. It took me 45 minutes, and I’ve never recovered. Pelzer’s narrative of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his mother always made me hypersensitive to quiet, thin, wan, bruised kids in the hallways. Terrifying.

Go hug or call your mom. NOW. Or send her a prayer in heaven. Thanks, Mom. Tomorrow: my favorite film and literary moms

Pre-Game Thoughts

Mothers in literature and film is my theme for the week. To begin:

“The truth is that motherhood is a hero’s journey. For most of us it’s not a journey outward, to the most fantastic and farthest-flung places, but inward, downward, to the deepest parts of your strength, to the innermost buried core of everything you are made of but didn’t know was there… You have to realize that while you were blissed out on your mother’s lap, one of those epic battles, the kind that envelops heroes as they fight their way out of a ring of fire, was raging just above your head. No one wants to believe that in the moments you felt the most peaceful, the woman cradling you so softly was shielding you from a sword that she herself was holding.” (New York Magazine)