The song Seasons of Love, from the Broadway musical Rent, always makes me cry. It’s a good kind of cry – the kind where your heart is both torn apart and made stronger in the same moment. It has also always struck me as a perfect song for celebrating birthdays. The lyrics are, in part:
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes How do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets In midnights, in cups of coffee In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes How do you measure, a year in the life?
How about love?
Today is my birthday, and last night I watched about a dozen different versions of the song on YouTube – the original Broadway cast on the Rosie O’Donnell show, the cast of the movie on the Ellen show, and on and on. I knew I wanted to post a version of the song on my birthday. I chose the performance above, which gathers together past and (then) present members of the cast on the event of the last Broadway performance of the show, because it seemed to perfectly combine the joy and poignancy of the song.
The past year of my life has been filled with cups of tea and coffee, laughter, tears, hugs, kisses, a pandemic, hummingbirds, sunsets and sunrises, walks, work, music, dreams, misunderstandings and reconciliations. But the golden thread that is woven throughout is Love. Yes, with a capital L.
Love is everything.
Thank you for being a part of the past 525,600 minutes of my life. Here’s to several million more.
I wrote a post back in March on my reasons for quitting Facebook. Today I will give you some practical tips in case you ever feel like quitting, in the form of a Q & A. I won’t be boring and tell you why you should ditch that Zuckerberg guy. I just want to provide you, all in one place, with the information I had to dig around to get. Just in case.
“I want to quit, but I don’t want to lose all of my pictures and posts, and things (birthday greetings!) people have posted on my page over the years. Is there any way to quit AND keep these memories?”
Funny you should ask that – there is! You can download your entire Facebook presence – all of your photos, posts, etc. Here’s how to do it:
In the upper right hand corner of the Facebook screen is a “down arrow” icon. When you hover over it, it says “Account”. In the drop-down menu, click on “Settings and Privacy” then pick “Settings.”
On the left hand side of the page, under the heading of “Settings,” you will find “Your Facebook Information.” Click on this. Then find “Download Your Information” and click on that.
The page that comes up next is self explanatory. You can choose what you want to download: posts; photos and videos; comments you’ve posted on your own posts and on other people’s posts or in groups you belong to; all of your likes and reactions; a list of your Facebook friends; all of your Messenger messages; and on and on. You can download all of your information since you first joined Facebook, or select a date range. You can download in either HTML or JSON format.
“I love that Facebook helps me remember everyone’s birthdays – I’ll miss wishing my friends a happy birthday!”
When I decided to quit Facebook, I bought myself an old fashioned address book, the kind with generic calendar pages in the back. Then I did two things: I contacted friends on Facebook and asked them to exchange contact information with me, including snail mail address, and I went to the “Events” tab on the left side of the page when on the home page and clicked on “Birthdays.” This will show you the birthdays of every Facebook friend you have (the ones who share that information with Facebook, that is). I copied all of those down into my calendar. Of course I’m sure you can store all of this information on one of your electronic devices, but I loved the symbolic act of using a more “analog” method of storing my friend information.
If you think your friend is happy when you post a cute picture and “Happy Birthday” on their Facebook page, imagine how happy they will be when they get an actual birthday card from you in the mail!
“I keep in touch with all my friends and family through Facebook Messenger – I don’t want to lose that convenience!”
I felt the same way. Messenger just seemed like such an easy way for people to get in touch with me. It was for this reason that I deactivated my Facebook account and did not actually delete it for several months. If you just deactivate, Facebook still thinks of you as a user (Freudian slip?) and lets you continue to use the associated Messenger account.
What I found out after many months was that there were really only about 8 people who sought me out on Facebook Messenger, and I was related to 5 of them. I also found that of the many people I exchanged contact information with, only a small handful had contacted me outside of the Facebook world. That made it easier for me to move to deletion. Now my primary method of quick communication is texting (or email, especially with friends who live in a different country, since I don’t have international calling on my cell plan), and I really don’t miss Messenger.
If you do any research, you will find that you can technically have a Messenger account without belonging to Facebook at all. The problem is that you will have to build up your contact list from scratch, and in order to add someone as a contact they have to have their telephone number associated with their own Messenger account. Seems like a lot of trouble when it’s just as easy to email or text them.
“What’s the difference between deactivating and deleting?”
To the people you’ve left behind in Facebook Land, deactivating and deleting your account looks the same. Quite simply, your presence ceases to exist. They can’t search for you, all of your comments on posts disappear, etc. They can, however, still send you a Messenger message, as noted above, if you deactivate vs. delete.
If you have merely deactivated, all of these things will return, unscathed, upon your return. How do you return? Simply log in again.
If you have deleted your account, after 30 days there is no returning to your old account. It is literally deleted.
Where do I find the “deactivate” and “delete” options in Facebook?
Go to Account > Settings and Privacy > Settings > Your Facebook Information > Deactivation and Deletion
You will be given the choice to click on “Deactivate Account” or “Permanently Delete Account.” It’s pretty much self explanatory after that. They try to get you to stay by forcing you to choose a reason for leaving and then telling you that you really don’t have to leave, you can just stop getting notifications, etc. You really have to be quite firm with them. 🙂
“If I decide to delete, is it instantaneous?”
Deleting is not instantaneous. Facebook gives you 30 days to change your mind before completely deleting your account. Within those 30 days, if you change your mind, all you have to do is log back in and the process is stopped.
“I’m afraid I’ll regret deleting a few months down the line”
Just because you’ve deleted your account doesn’t mean they never let you back in. If you really miss Facebook and want back, you can always create a new account and start collecting friends again.
“I have a few non-friend accounts (like my favorite author) that I will really miss if I delete my Facebook”
I get it – I have a woman whose fashion page I loved. The good news is that Facebook business accounts (like, say, Beyonce’s non-personal account) can be viewed simply by googling that person’s name and Facebook. A pop-up will tell you you really should log in or join Facebook to see the rest of the account, but you can actually see everything you need to see: their posts, any comments on those posts, videos, etc.
“Gosh – thanks a lot for all of the helpful tips, Michelle. One last thing – I think my friends might feel hurt or rejected if I leave the Facebook party. Any tips there?“
Yes. Simply look them right in the eye and gently say, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
The magazine in the photo above, the August 1980 issue of Seventeen magazine, is currently winging its way to me – an early birthday present to myself that will most likely arrive late. If I could have found them, I would have also treated myself to the August ’77, ’78, and ’79 issues. Does this seem odd to you? Maybe it is, but I am so nostalgic for the early fashion guidance Seventeen gave me. I remember looking at issues of the magazine in our local library when I was no older than 12, thinking “I can’t wait to be seventeen years old!” It seemed so far in the future at the time.
When I was fourteen, I started buying my own issues of the magazine, and in early July I would start to eagerly anticipate the release of the August issue. The theme of the August issue was, of course, back to school, and the issue itself was 2-3 times thicker than a normal issue. Of course the bulk of that was extra advertisements, but I didn’t care – I loved the ads as much as the articles. I still remember the joy I felt when the August issue was finally at our local pharmacy.
There is currently a trend among adherents to a fashion sensibility called “slow fashion” to create and dress within the limits of a “capsule wardrobe.” The idea is to own fewer, higher quality, sustainably-sourced items of clothing. What you do buy, however, must work with everything else in your wardrobe, giving you many outfit options within the capsule. As trendy as the capsule wardrobe is, it is certainly nothing new. When I discussed the concept with my mother, she informed me that she created her own “capsule wardrobe” back in 1946 as a high school student who wanted to look as good as she could within a nearly non-existent budget. She tells me with humor and a certain amount of pride that a classmate told her that she was going to vote for her as “best dressed.” “If only she knew how few clothes I owned!” That’s the power of a capsule wardrobe – everything is chosen with care, and so every outfit looks not so much thrown together as curated.
Seventeen’s back-to-school issue always had a feature fashion spread that celebrated the concept of the capsule wardrobe (although they didn’t refer to it as such). I remember one issue had an oversized, fold-out calendar showing how you could have a unique outfit for each day of September using only 10 basic pieces of clothing. I was enthralled. We weren’t as poor as my mother had been, but money was not plentiful, and the idea that I could look so pulled-together without a major outlay of money was very appealing.
I found the following photos from the August 1979 issue online:
Yes, that’s a young Phoebe Cates, of “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” and “Gremlins” fame (and who has also been married to Kevin Kline for many years). And yes, I do realize that there are many more than ten items of clothing featured here. But it’s the inspiration more than the reality of the spread that worked for me, and still works for me (and after all, isn’t that what all fashion spreads are all about – inspiration rather than literal dictate). Forty-one years later (yikes!) this particular fashion spread still inspires me.
Why do clothes have the ability to make me/us happy? My answer, speaking only for myself, could probably stretch across several blog posts. I do know that my nostalgia for Seventeen magazines from 1977-1980 have nothing to do with my memories of my life at the time. It has more to do with my dreams from that time – dreams of who I wanted to be, of what I wanted the future to hold for me.
I still have dreams – I still feel like my life is a work-in-progress. These days I rely mostly on my Pinterest boards to help me envision what type of present and future I’d like to create for myself – from poetry to inspirational quotes to yes, fashion – past and present.
And so, just like the teenage Michelle from forty years ago, I can’t wait for my August issue of Seventeen to arrive.
Hi, friends. It’s been rather wet here lately, and the mushrooms are popping up all over. The ones shown here are just the ones seen on my morning walks in the neighborhood. I look forward to seeing what types of fungi I can see in our neighborhood park – perhaps I’ll go for a walk Saturday morning before the rest of the humans are out.
The mornings have been cooler these last few days. The air has that “back to school” feeling, and indeed we will be moving Sam into his apartment a week from Saturday. I’m excited for him – although his last two dorm rooms have essentially been apartments, this is his first “real” apartment with its attendant responsibilities (getting renter’s insurance, setting up a time for the internet to be connected, etc). I’m helping him, but also letting him negotiate the phone calls and appointments himself. I’ll miss him when he goes, but I also know that it’s healthier for both of us for him to be off on his own, making his own way in the world again.
I have a birthday coming up next week – 57! I’ve never been one to be coy about my age, and since my cancer diagnosis at age 50 I am positively thrilled when I can say with each birthday, “I made it to 51 (52,53, etc)! Each birthday is a triumph, and I am so grateful to be able to experience the age that I am.
I’m writing this on my lunch hour and must go back to work in a moment, but I wanted to share my photos and a little catch-up with you. Take care, dear ones.
Ever since the coronavirus lockdowns started, I have not only been having very vivid dreams but I’ve also been having blessedly uninterrupted 7-8 hour stretches of sleep each night. As most 50-something-plus women (and men) will tell you, this is fairly unusual at our age. It seems that from about 2-3 years before menopause onward it has been very common for my friends and I to wake up at 3-ish o’clock in the morning and not be able to go back to sleep. So when I started to sleep soundly through the entire night, I counted it as one of the silver linings of this dismal time.
For some reason last night was an exception. Having gone to sleep at my usual 10:00, I woke up at 2am for no particular reason and could not get back to sleep. I listened to an audiobook I have on loan from the library for about an hour and then felt sufficiently sleepy to get back to sleep. I usually wake before my 6:30 alarm, but not this morning. I turned the alarm off, slept until 7 and then forced myself out of bed for my morning walk with Chris.
I dragged myself through the morning, and by 11:30 I was feeling very sleepy indeed. That’s when I remembered reading about coffee naps!
What is a coffee nap, you ask? First, a little background (and here’s an excellent article for further reading). Our bodies produce a chemical called adenosine, which makes us sleepy. When we fall asleep, adenosine levels drop. That’s why a nap can be very refreshing. Now comes the coffee part. Caffeine actually competes with the adenosine receptors in your brain. The level of adenosine in your bloodstream stays the same, but less of it gets to your brain – hence why caffeine helps keep you awake.
In a coffee nap, the caffeine and the nap have a synergistic affect on your level of sleepiness. Studies have shown that the combination of caffeine + nap has a more favorable impact than either taken alone.
So, how does it work? Since caffeine takes 20 minutes to act on the body what you have to do is drink a cup of coffee fairly quickly (I added enough milk to my coffee so that I could chug instead of sip it) and then take a nap between 15-20 minutes long. Any longer than 20 minutes and you enter a deeper phase of sleep that will be harder to come out of and leave you groggy. The nap lowers the level of adenosine in your bloodstream, and then the caffeine competes with whatever adenosine is left. It’s such an elegant solution, it just might rise to the level of things-that-make-me-happy. I felt completely transformed by my coffee nap from sleepy head to buzzing with energy. I just knew I had to spread the good news of coffee naps far and wide.
If you google the words “Covid Fatigue” there are two different types of search returns. One talks about the symptom of fatigue as it relates to actually contracting the COVID-19 virus. The other type of search return involves the mental/emotional/spiritual fatigue that results from months of isolation, uncertainty, and anxiety – addressed in this article from UC Davis.
I am so fatigued, friends. Friday is usually my “Things That Make Me Happy” post, and while I do think that forcing myself to reflect on things that make me happy is a valuable exercise and that it can in itself be a mood lifter, I have to admit that I just wasn’t feeling it this week. I feel like I’ve hit heartbreak hill two miles into the marathon.
I’m working from home still, and very grateful for the safety that provides me, but I miss being out in the world as just me – the solitary ride (albeit only 6 minutes long) to and from work, the banter with colleagues, my lovely, tiny cubicle.
I miss the different environments I experienced in the old world order – popping into various shops on my way home from work, going to my sunset-viewing park, sitting in the coffee shop or at the bar of our date-night restaurant, taking my time in the fiction stacks of the library.
And, it must be said – I love my family so dearly, but there is such a thing as too much togetherness. Remember that old ad, “Calgon, take me away”? And it’s not just me – I know they feel the same way about the situation.
I completely understand the feelings that lead to people deciding, “F*&k it, I’m going to go out and have fun – let the chips fall where they may.” I get it, because most of the time these days I feel so hemmed in I just want to scream. Literally. But I’ve got damned Jiminy Cricket sitting on my shoulder reminding me that giving up ensures the virus wins. And that means people die. And that’s not acceptable.
Of course I recognize that I’m ridiculously privileged – I’m sure the person who checks me through at the grocery store would love to experience the “isolation” of working from their dining room table. I know that the person who just lost a family member to covid would give anything to be annoyed by them just one more time. And that person who has been restricted for the last 3 weeks to a hospital bed wouldn’t turn up their nose at the opportunity to walk around their neighborhood for the millionth time.
I know that I will get my second wind, and when necessary I will get my third, and fourth, wind. And so this post feels a bit whine-y and poor-me-ish. So why write it? Because I know that many of you are feeling the same way, and I want to let you know that you’re not alone. And also I want to share with you, without getting too nitty-gritty, that finding that weekly thing-that-makes-me-happy is sometimes a struggle. Sometimes it’s a way to remind myself that there are things that make me happy.
So, I’m sending out virtual hugs to you all today. Be kind to yourselves and those around you. This is hard for everyone.
The photos I’m posting today are nearly identical to photos I posted about a month ago, and for good reason – it’s a scene that plays out over and over again during the summer months. The elements are:
an old quilt that I love (the blue and yellow color scheme is so cheerful, isn’t it?)
a book (this time I had a perennial favorite, Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach, and a fun new book, Sourdough by Robin Sloan)
On this particular day I also brought along my bullet journal, my gratitude journal, and some fun washi tape (I love love love washi tape)
an icy drink (I’m really into iced coffee this summer, but ginger ale in a wine glass or poured into a tall glass that has been filled to the brim with ice first is also a favorite)
dappled sun filtered through the leaves of my favorite tree
a pillow, in case I want to take a nap
I’m a homebody. When coworkers tell me about their weekends of going here, there, and everywhere, it sounds nice, but honestly it also sounds exhausting. I think I’m a classic introvert – my batteries are recharged by staying close to home, surrounding myself with simple comforts, and engaging in quiet pursuits.
“Ask a woman about her hair, and she just might tell you the story of her life.” – Elizabeth Benedict
As you can probably tell from the photo above, I haven’t been to my hair stylist since March 10. Before the advent of the coronavirus I had no intention, at least in the forseeable future, of going back to my natural hair color. In the pre-covid days I would actually get sort of embarrassed in the last days leading up to my stylist appointment. I couldn’t wait to cover up the unsightly stripe of steel gray that was invading my light brown coif like weeds in a pristine lawn. But over the last four months the idea of ditching the $100-every-seven-weeks habit of the past several years has grown on me.
Women have such a complicated relationship with their hair – too curly, too straight, too thin, too thick, frizzy, limp, wrong color. It seems rare to meet a woman who is completely happy with her hair. I know my own relationship with my hair has had its ups and downs.
From birth to about 12 years old I never thought about my hair at all. Then puberty came and my hair became curly, so of course I had to do everything I could over the next several decades to try to (mostly unsuccessfully) blow dry the curls into submission. At the ripe old age of about 46 I finally decided to embrace the curls. My hair color at this time was a natural light brown, and I would sometimes have my stylist add a few highlights to it. I was really rocking the curly hair there for a while, right up until I found out that I would lose it all to chemotherapy.
In order to ease the transition to baldness, I got a pixie cut. That lasted about three weeks, at which point my hair began to fall out in large clumps and I asked Chris to give me a buzz cut. Being bald didn’t really bother me. Honestly it was the least of my worries at the time. I was more concerned about surviving. I wore a wig to school, which was hot and uncomfortable, but I wanted to project some sense of normalcy for my third-grade students. When I wasn’t working I had a collection of berets that I wore when going out into the world.
When the hair grew back and got beyond the fuzzy baby-chick stage, I was shocked that not only was my base hair color much darker than before, but there was quite a bit more gray than before as well. I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t feel like my appearance matched the “me” I had always been. It seemed unfair that cancer took one more thing from me. At the same time, I felt incredibly grateful just to have hair on my head again. It seemed frivolous at the time to do anything about the color, but eventually I took the plunge and went back to my light-brown-with-golden-highlights look. The expense didn’t thrill me, but I never really thought about stopping.
Enter COVID-19.
Women all over the world have been grappling with their hair color during these last few months. Some turned to color-in-a-box (which stores apparently couldn’t keep on the shelves, the demand was so high). Many ran to their stylist as soon as restrictions were eased, and breathed a sigh of relief when order was restored to their hair. Many, like me, didn’t feel comfortable returning to their stylist even when allowed by local authorities. It felt too soon and we still didn’t feel ready. I’m thinking that sometime in September I may return (if the virus numbers improve), but I’ve made the decision that I won’t be going in for color. I may get a super-short cut to get rid of most of the old color, or I may just have it trimmed back to the length it was before the pandemic.
I’m keeping the color that I decided 5 years ago wasn’t “me”, because over the last few months I’ve come to realize my hair color actually isn’t that important to me anymore. Maybe it’s because I’ve realized that I’ve come to terms with the other things that cancer took from me. Maybe it’s because I realize that I actually love growing older and embracing the gray feels right and natural. I don’t know. All I know is, when I think about my “new” hair color and what it might look like when it’s all grown out, I feel happy and excited. That’s enough for me.
I’m a great lover of before-and-after photos, so with that in mind I thought I would share with you some pictures of my hair journey:
Baby me2010 – A few months after I decided to embrace the curls December 2013 – one month before my diagnosis The pre-bald pixieBald – doesn’t seem real to me nowThe post-bald pixie – with the darker colorMy hair color from October 2015 to March 2020
Sometimes I think I should just rename my blog “Things That Make Me Happy” because it seems like the only posts I can be counted on making are these weekly odes to happiness (even though today I’m a day late). I do like the self imposed structure of forcing myself at least once a week to let my mind settle on things about life that bring me joy. I find that it’s a practice that is helping to keep me on an even keel these days, and that, as Martha says, is a good thing.
I’ve been trying to get out and take some photos each day, but my 10+ hour days at work (I’m still working from my dining room) have cut into that a bit. I have gotten a few good shots, and I guess I should count a few good shots a week as success.
I’m still fascinated by the hummingbirds. Something that is making me especially happy is that we are now seeing very small hummingbirds at the feeder. Yes, I know all hummingbirds are very small – the ones we have been seeing are about half the size of the others, so we know that somewhere close by there sits a teeny hummingbird nest that these little ones called home not so long ago. That just makes me smile.
Baby animals of all kinds make me happy. This is probably the first year ever that I have paid enough attention to the bird life in my neighborhood to notice the difference between the adult birds flying around and their smaller, more tentative, slightly different colored (the robin young are a little less vibrant, the cardinal young are slightly more vibrant) offspring. I find that I am noticing everything about nature more this year – the budding trees and bushes in the springtime looked more beautiful and miraculous than ever before, but I know for certain they actually looked no different than in previous years. If there are any tiny silver linings of this time of coronavirus-imposed isolation, rediscovering the beauty of nature is one of them for me.
The daisies have been in bloom along the side of our garage for the last couple of weeks. All flowers bring me joy (the topic of another Things That Make Me Happy post), but especially daisies. As I am a hopeless gardener, the fact that daisies are perennials, spread each year, and are no-maintenance (well they might be happier with more maintenance than I give them, but they tolerate my neglect) are all pluses as well.
Working from home has a downside of allowing you the opportunity to work at any and all times. As we are currently in one of our busy seasons at work I could be tempted to work this weekend, but I made the decision yesterday afternoon as I powered down my computer that I will not turn it on until Monday morning. Setting that boundary is making me very happy. My plans for the weekend include sitting in our back yard, reading, taking some photos, writing to friends, and just writing in general. I’ve had some blog post ideas bubbling up in my brain these last few days and I hope to get them out to you soon.
And speaking of the blog, let me just say that knowing you are out there reading these offerings, well, that makes me very happy indeed. Thank you.
We are only two days into this work week and already I have worked 20 hours. I am now eyebrow-deep in our quarterly busy season that is “recon” – reconciling investment accounts so that we can send out quarterly statements. I started work at 7:00 this morning so by about 3:00 this afternoon my brain was feeling fried and I was starting to slow down when Chris says to me, “We have a dead skunk in the backyard.” Wait a minute – what? A dead skunk?
Now, I have a very healthy respect for skunks and the havoc they can cause in our lives. I had a student once whose home was compromised by skunk stink (dog got sprayed and then came in and rolled all over the place). That poor boy’s family tried and tried to eradicate the stink but it held fast. The few times I have seen a skunk when out walking early in the morning, I have turned and run in the opposite direction faster than I have ever run before or since. So, although a dead skunk doesn’t pose the problem of being able to actively spray a person, there is no way I wanted to go anywhere near one of the species, dead or alive.
We half-heartedly googled how to get rid of it ourselves, called the local animal control officials who didn’t help much, and then decided to enlist the services of a professional. We called a guy who would charge $100 (a small price to pay, I thought!) to remove all traces of the skunk from our property. Only catch was, he couldn’t come until tomorrow.
Having not taken a lunch hour today, I felt free to spread the news of our dead skunk far and wide via text. It did occur to me that the fact that a dead skunk was such big news reflected poorly on the level of excitement currently in my life. My favorite exchange was with Sam (who is presently at his dad’s house):
About 45 minutes later, Sam’s dad called to say that he would get rid of the skunk for us and wouldn’t charge a penny. As I was talking to him I walked over to the glass patio doors and saw this:
Stop the presses!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A vulture had somehow smelled this tender morsel and was having a very nice little meal. I’ve since learned that turkey vultures can smell a potential meal up to a mile away (tucking that away for my next stint on Jeopardy). He flew away for a bit, then came back to work on it some more. At present he is gone, but I’m hoping he’ll get hungry later. Meantime, we are cancelling on the guy who was going to come take care of it for us. Cha-ching! One hundred bucks now burning a hole in my pocket!
