Namaste

Some weeks, joyful moments can be hard to come by. Or, I don't recognize them and hold on to them when they happen. It isn't that anything specifically bad happens, though sometimes that's the case; but rather, as Frost put it, "Way leads on to way..." and I get caught up in the walk, forgetting to love the moment. Saturday night though, J and I had a joyful moment-an hour, actually- and I slowed down enough to breath it in.

It was just after dinner time, and "A Prairie Home Companion" was on NPR. If you know Tim and I, you know that just about the only radio we listen to is NPR, and whenever possible, we don't miss, "Car Talk" or, "A Prairie Home Companion." Well, Saturday, the only radio on which we could get reception was the boys', so I pulled it out of their room, and set it in the hallway so that we could hear Garrison Keiller as Guy Noir, Private Eye, throughout the house. Then, wouldn't you know it, but the Powdermilk Biscuit commercial came on. . . . J leapt to his feet and started dancing all over the house! And if you've ever seen J dance...well, it's a full body experience that syncopates heavily on the side of his shorter leg. It looks a little like a circular skip with waving arms and a big smile. After the last, "Has your family tried 'em, Powdermilk?" J said, "More! More!" Tim and I looked at each other as if to say, "Could it be possible? One of our kids will see the glory of "A Prairie Home Companion" like we do? Do you think he'll listen to NPR regularly to balance out the far right's view of the news too? Maybe, at this defining moment, he'll realize that a person can be both athletic and artistic, love Jesus and peace, find the Colbert Report hilarious, and learn to see through propeganda as presented in the worlds' multimedia?" OK-maybe we were expecting too much from that moment, but if the boy wants to dance to the All-Star Shoe Band, let the boy dance.

So, I took him into the hallway, and we snuggled up and listened to the rest of the show. He clapped and danced to a Gospel group singing the classic, "If You Don't Love Your Neighbor, You Don't Love God;" he brushed my hair and listened to a tale from Lake Woebegon; he laughed at the ketchup commercial, and applauded whenever the studio audience did. It was a perfect bonding hour where neither of us chose to do anything else except lie on the floor and listen to the radio, stopping only occassionaly to re-adjust the antenae, or to get in a better snuggling position. Nostalgic, joyful, peaceful, and the perfect end to a week. We'll work on blocking out propeganda-ridden signs from the mind's eye next week...

Make a joyful moment this week and tell me about it!