Reach Out and Touch (Somebody's Hand) (Diana Ross)

[Disclaimer:  Not our family, but this photo is a placeholder until Sarah sends me the one she took a few days ago... 😍]

The highlight of this week was getting together with The MossFam6, maskless and hugging!  We have all finally had both vaccinations, and the relief is palpable.  I cried, because I just could not stop embracing my children.  Here's/cheers to better days ahead, because the world is becoming a safer place as we approach herd immunity... 💞

 It is indeed Feel Good Friday.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 

~ Biden Is Pushing a Climate Agenda. Gina McCarthy Has to Make It Stick:  Gina McCarthy, Barack Obama’s E.P.A. chief, could only watch as the Trump administration dismantled her climate work. Now, she’s back with another chance to build a lasting legacy.

~ There’s a Name for the Blah You’re Feeling: It’s Called Languishing:  The neglected middle child of mental health can dull your motivation and focus — and it may be the dominant emotion of 2021.

~ The Ms. Q&A With Ani DiFranco: “You Have License To Be All the Aspects of Yourself and To Be Unashamed of Them”:  When feminist icon Ani DiFranco first stepped onto the global music scene with a defiant voice and black combat boots, she was just 19 years old.

~ Mister Rogers Heat Changing Mug:  The Mister Rogers mug features several quotes from the beloved television host, and when you add a hot beverage, Mister Rogers changes into a comfy sweater. (Yes, I ordered it, and yes, it works.  Very cool.  However, *not* dishwasher-safe!)

~ 2021 Big Read Keynote Address: Hope Jahren, Author of Lab Girl:  More than half a dozen Big Read communities from around the United States will join online for an insightful and inspiring lecture and Q&A by Hope Jahren, a scientist from rural Minnesota who not only knows her trees and flowers, but “has some serious literary chops” (The Washington Post).

SONG:  Reach Out and Touch (Somebody's Hand) sung by Diana Ross (written by Ashford and Simpson)

BOOK:  Heart Minded: How to Hold Yourself and Others in Love by Sarah Blondin

POEM(S):  Hidden Haiku from a Times interview with Kyle Abraham

Even approaching

touch with a friend is a new

negotiation

Creed by Meg Kearney

I believe the chicken before the egg

though I believe in the egg. I believe

eating is a form of touch carried

to the bitter end; I believe chocolate

is good for you; I believe I'm a lefty

in a right-handed world, which does not

make me gauche, or abnormal, or sinister.

I believe "normal" is just a cycle on

the washing machine; I believe the touch

of hands has the power to heal, though

nothing will ever fill this immeasurable

hole in the center of my chest. I believe

in kissing; I believe in mail; I believe

in salt over the shoulder, a watched

pot never boils, and if I sit by my

mailbox waiting for the letter I want

it will never arrive—not because of

superstition, but because that's not

how life works. I believe in work:

phone calls, typing, multiplying,

black coffee, write write write, dig

dig dig, sweep sweep. I believe in

a slow, tortuous sweep of tongue

down the lover's belly; I believe I've

been swept off my feet more than once

and it's a good idea not to name names.

Digging for names is part of my work,

but that's a different poem. I believe

there's a difference between men and

women and I thank God for it. I believe

in God, and if you hold the door

and carry my books, I'll be sure to ask

for your name. What is your name? Do

you believe in ghosts? I believe

the morning my father died I heard him

whistling "Danny Boy" in the bathroom,

and a week later saw him standing in

the living room with a suitcase in his

hand. We never got to say good-bye, he

said, and I said I don't believe in

good-byes. I believe that's why I have

this hole in my chest; sometimes it's

rabid; sometimes it's incoherent. I

believe I'll survive. I believe that

"early to bed and early to rise" is

a boring way to live. I believe good

poets borrow, great poets steal, and

if only we'd stop trying to be happy

we could have a pretty good time. I

believe time doesn't heal all wounds;

I believe in getting flowers for no

reason; I believe "Give a Hoot, Don't

Pollute," "Reading is Fundamental,"

Yankee Stadium belongs in the Bronx,

and the best bagels in New York are

boiled and baked on the corner of First

and 21st. I believe in Santa

Claus, Jimmy Stewart, ZuZu's petals,

Arbor Day, and that ugly baby I keep

dreaming about—she lives inside me

opening and closing her wide mouth.

I believe she will never taste her

mother's milk; she will never be

beautiful; she will always wonder what

it's like to be born; and if you hold

your hand right here—touch me right

here, as if this is all that matters,

this is all you ever wanted, I believe

something might move inside me,

and it would be more than I could stand.

QUOTE:  "Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." ~ Leo Buscaglia

All the Same (Sick Puppies)

12,000 People Join Together for Supersized Group Hug
5/8/2008

Everyone feels a little friendlier on a Friday afternoon. But on April 25th, more than 12,000 students, teachers, and parents from 10 Ottawa-area high schools took their T.G.I.F. joy to the next level, joining together in a supersized group hug that spanned a circle around the city's Rideau Canal.

It wasn't just the elation of another week coming to an end that brought the group together, though: The major-league hug was an attempt to break a Guinness World Record, and a fundraiser to collect more than $150,000 for several Ottawa nonprofit organizations. In 2004, the city first broke the record for world's biggest hug with 5,100; but after being beaten by a group of amorous Americans, they decided to reclaim their title this year. They're still waiting on verification from Guinness, but it seems like a sure thing that Ottawa will be back on top this time.

The group hug was a great way for the students to bond and raise money for a good cause – and it was definitely an experience they won't forget, regardless of whether they make it into the Guinness Book or not. "We felt like connected with everyone else, and I was in between two Canadian Mounties," one of the students, Byron Shaw, told CBC News. "It was pretty cool."

SONG: All the Same by Sick Puppies

BOOK: A Book of Hugs by Dave Ross, Laura Rader (Illustrator)

POEM: Hug o' War by Shel Silverstein

I will not play at tug o'war.
I'd rather play at hug o'war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.

QUOTE: "Everybody needs a hug. It changes your metabolism." ~ Leo Buscaglia

Don't Worry, Be Happy (Bobby McFerrin)

I am most definitely a *wallow* kinda woman... and I am prone to immerse myself in an emotion until I can no longer cry another tear/feel another heart twinge/bear another self-pitying moment - when I finally reach that "life chose me after all" (Dar) epiphany, damn the torpedoes! The lows might be low, but god love those highs - I always manage to find my way through to the other side, with an extensive gratitude list to show for it... :-)

SONG: Don't Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin

BOOK: The 100 Simple Secrets of Happy People: What Scientists Have Learned and How You Can Use It by David Niven

POEM: Feeling Sorry for Myself by Charles Harper Webb

I start with a groan, swelling to a moan,

rising to a keen, ascending

to a shriek that tapers off in a thin wail.

I hug myself and, whimpering,

rock back and forth on my heels.

No one has ever known such sadness.

No one can grasp how I feel.

I smash an egg over each eye.

I smear my face with coal and pepper.

I wear a paper bag soaked through

with spoiled watermelon and pork grease.

I shred my happy past - my books,

pictures, and poems, published or not.

I'll never fly fish again.

I'll never make love again.

I'll never sit outside and watch night

stretch its starry tent over the sky.

There will be no more metaphors.

I am more sorrowful than a sorrowing man.

Life has no more meaning to me

than a life without meaning.

My heart slows. My blood congeals

to brown, vein-clogging mush.

My stomach goes on strike; my colon

bars its door. People assume

I'm terminal. They imagine what

would make them feel the way I look,

and project their paltry problems onto me.

As if they could fathom my misery

by waterwinging over its abyss!

My pain is too heavy to lift,

too vast to measure, too ineffable to name,

and incalculably too precious to share.

I dig my grave in a landfill, and topple in.

I rub dirt and dog droppings in my hair.

I've sunk so low it's funny; so I start to giggle.

Then to chortle. Then to roar. Mothers

clutch their bleating kids, and rush away.

Gangbangers dash to the far side of the street.

I crawl out of my grave, strip, and shower

with a gunk-filled water hose.

I shake and shiver, grinning, in the filthy air.

QUOTE: "What we call the secret of happiness is no more a secret than our willingness to choose life." ~ Leo Buscaglia