dual personalities

Remember this book from 1962? It reminds us that it’s the simple things that make us happy. Things like warm puppies and walking in the grass in your bare feet and knowing how to tie your own shoes and my favorite: “some black, orange, yellow, white and pink jelly beans, but no green ones.” (I am okay with the green ones.)

Charles M. Schulz certainly understood what makes a happy life. To this I would add a few things, such as a full tank of gas

and a stack of new magazines in the mail.

I had a happy weekend–did you?

I batted “0” at the only estate sale I went to on Saturday, but that’s okay. I had a text exchange with daughter #2 who was at an estate sale in Bethesda, Maryland, which warmed the cockles of my heart. (I taught her something!)

The boy came over to carry a chair upstairs for me. He was wearing one of his “coach” shirts.

Now I can sit by this sunny window and read or work on my blog.

We went to lunch at Qdoba Mexican Grill. I had a naked burrito–yummo.

Although snow was in the forecast this weekend, there were plenty signs of spring in our yard.

And the Christmas Cactus surprised me yet again!

I spent a good part of my weekend reading a book by Hilary Mantel published in 2000, Every Day is Mother’s Day. The book cover announces that it is “an accomplished novel of striking originality” and describes it as having certain elements of a “suspense thriller.” Really. Never in a million years would I confuse this book, although it is riveting, with a suspense thriller. Clearly prior to Wolf Hall no one knew what to make of Hilary Mantel. She defies pigeon-holing. She reminds me a lot of Shirley Jackson.

The characters in this book have no claim on happiness. One even admits: “Happiness seems a bit ambitious. I’m not sure I can see my way to that.”

England, we are reminded, is a depressing and dreadful place. One of the main characters describes his life thusly:

“I am a history teacher, a teacher of the benighted past to the benighted present, ill-recompensed for what I suffer and despairing of promotion. My feet are size eight and a half, and I belong to the generation of Angry Young Men, though I was never angry until it was too late, oh, very late, and even now I am only mildly irritated. I am not a vegetarian and contribute to no charities, on principle; I loathe beetroot, and the sexual revolution has passed me by. My taste in clothes is conservative but I get holes in my pockets and my small change falls through; I do not speak to my wife about this because she is an excellent mother and I am intimidated by her, also appalled by the paltry nature of this complaint or what might be construed by her as a complaint. The sort of writing I want to do is the sort that will force me to become a tax-exile.”

Terrible things happen. Funny things happen. As always I am in awe of Hilary and her amazing powers, but I really think I need to revisit the high, green hills of Mitford now, where the air is pure, the village is charming and the people are generally lovable.