*My Daily Orange...Seeking Happier Moments

(Steelfish font, designed by Ray Larabie)

Maybe it's genetic; maybe it's environmental, but one thing's for sure:  I do love the color orange.  In the late fifties, my mom dolled up her first dingy apartment's kitchen with a fresh coat of orange paint; she said it just made her happier.  HER mother went out and bought a BRIGHT ORANGE DRESS after Grandpa passed away; I'm sure to make herself happier.  My dad's wardrobe had a lot of orange in it; he was a big UVA fan, so it figures.  My son Dylan owns many orange items: water bottle, Denver Broncos' gear, hiking shoes, boxers...why wouldn't he?  We seem genetically predisposed to loving the color that boosts our moods.

When I happened upon the HAPPIER APP, my fate was sealed. Each day, we are encouraged to seek out at least three things that make us happier, and record them. One category on the Happier website is Daily Orange. Orange is the official color of Happier. There is scientific evidence behind increasing our feelings of happiness, if we simply record our happy moments. I personally utilize the Happier website to record my happy moments. Some people record them on their Smart phones, and others jot them down in a daily journal.

Recently, my happiness has been challenged. I found that forcing myself to look for the silver linings in each seemingly grey clouded day, I may not have been bursting with enthusiasm, but I lifted my spirits, if only just a bit.  

On a particularly down day, I was asked by my daughter, "What do you love most about this particular moment?" I paused in my downward spiral, and took a deep breath. My first thought was that I was so grateful that she cared enough about me to even ask me that question. And then I went on to discover how grateful I was for my silky, soft, zippy shirt, and my electric blanket. Even in our darkest moments, there is always something for which to be grateful.  

Over the last few months, even before I stumbled upon Nataly Kogan's Happier Website, whenever I purchased new items, I found myself drawn to the bright, cheerfully-colored orange things. One of our collections on Happier is entitled, Daily Orange. It is not difficult to find things to add to this category that make me happy; they're everywhere I look.  

Here are some of my favorite Daily Orange items; just looking at them makes me feel a little better on a bad day, and a LOT better on a good day.

 My Happier Word Cloud

Marley's orange ball

 The crocheted hat from Melissa Simpson

Even the moon cooperates sometimes.

Silly Marley on our favorite blanket.

Favorite water bottle from my big boy.

 Even as a little girl, I loved my orange Easter dress.

Matching crocheted hats for my friend and me.

My boys...orange shirts and pumpkins...recreating fun memories.

My daughter.

Hiking in my orange jacket.

Orange and Boston Terriers.

Shopping for my son.

 Thrift shop fun.

 Happy pillows.

 Happy hiking shoes.

My first major purchase, without anyone's input or consent.

Sunrise...sunset.

Orange on my toes and orange on my sandals.

 Pumpkins!

 My laptop makes me happier every single day, connecting me to my friends and family.

Sparkling, orange bling.

 Orange-flavored candy.

 Coloring...thank you, Autumn, for the tip.

 A friend from Happier, Carol, brightened my birthday with these little goodies.

 Starting my day in the shower with a bit of orange.

 Baking makes me happier.

 My Happier wrist band.

 Marley and my MacBook.

Everyday Grateful Course from Happier

Yoga class with a fellow Happier friend in Colorado.

Dreaming of a new car...

Farmers' Markets...

Hiking in orange rocks...

This girl...my favorite sweater...so happy.

 Flowers in Denver Botanic Gardens.

Fun socks, and my "son-in-love's" bike.

 Orange in the morning...favorite time of day.

Even Christmas has orange beauty.

My favorite pic of my big boy.

What makes YOU happier?  Come join us at Happier.com, and watch your own level of happiness increase.

Dear Princess

Dear Princess Summerfall Winterspring,

Once upon a time, you believed in fairy tales and happily ever after.  You were afraid of the dark and monsters under the bed. Lucky for you, you had a mother who told you bedtime stories, and a dad who made certain he kept his princess safe from anything lurking in the dark. 

When your fairy tale family divided, and your parents went their separate ways, they loved you enough to always speak honorably of one another. You had no reason to ever doubt their love for you. Later, when you were blessed with stepparents, you felt like you were blessed with wise counselors. No wicked stepmothers in YOUR fairy tale.  Your kingdom grew to include many siblings, and that made you happy.

I look at this picture of you, full of hope and trust.  You were taught early on to open the curtains in the morning, and no matter the weather, be grateful for a brand new day.  You never did learn to like wearing shoes. If you would've been Cinderella at midnight, you would have kicked off that other glass slipper, and kept on running. You trusted everyone, believed in the good stuff, and loved to laugh.

My first love.

You didn't realize that the king of your kingdom wouldn't live forever, but be grateful that your father left you a legacy of love. Follow his example, and give service to those who need it, share your laughter with those around you, and always be happy.  "Don't be sad, Princess," is what he would say to you if he could.

There will be dark days for a time as you struggle to find yourself and your voice as you work your way through the grief of losing so much in such a short period of time. You will find the prince you thought must only live in fairy tales, but since you won't know that until you find him, I would just like to tell you to hang on, even when things seem sometimes hopeless. Better days will come; I promise. You will know you have found your prince because he will treat you like a queen.

Fairy tales do come true.

Never give up. Never lose your light. You will experience sadness, but don't give in to it. Take life one day at a time so it doesn't overwhelm you. Follow your heart, and trust your instincts. You have a good gut; it won't let you down.

I love you for the happiness you have carried with you since childhood, and the way you give your heart so freely to those closest to you. Don't let your trials make you hard.  Always speak the truth of your heart. Lean in to the discomfort of saying things that are important to you, and always make sure you are coming from a place of peace and love when you say what's on your mind. You can be assertive without being mean.  Keep learning; keep trying; never give up. "It's never too late to live happily ever after."

I love you, Princess.

Love,
The Woman You Will Become

Blue Monday

Did you know today is actually known as Blue Monday? It's known as the most depressing day of the year.  I suppose it's natural for folks to feel a little down after the New Year, heading back to work for their first full week of work, after having some time off with loved ones to celebrate the holidays.  This is the week we come to terms with our holiday spending, and overindulgences in food and drink. While there's no scientific evidence for Blue Monday, I'd like to blame my present state on it, if I may.

Have you ever wanted to simply wallow in a dark mood?  That has happened more than once during the past couple of weeks.  I’m sure it has to do with the depression that settles over me when I am forced to face sadness.  Since my father passed away the Sunday before Christmas, it has been much harder to find a feeling of joy.  Grieving is such an unnatural state for me that when I am in that process, I tend to force myself “look on the bright side” and “look for the silver lining.”  That’s all fine and good, but sometimes, like when you have experienced great loss, perhaps it’s important to just let it all go, and mourn.

After six days of sleeping in a strange bed in Virginia, and waking early each day to join my stepmom for our quiet morning coffee time, the lack of sleep was catching up with me.  I hadn’t eaten well when I went home, waiting too long between meals, and seeking solace in the gingerbread cookies Daddy made the week before Christmas.  My tummy didn’t need the cookies, but my spirit did.

Although it was a time of great sadness, I think we all felt buoyed up by one another.  Being surrounded by my family, and so many wonderful friends, was a spiritual lift I hadn't counted on. When it came time to go our separate ways, I began to dread returning to Utah.

After spending 14 hours of travel time flying back from Virginia, my son and I arrived at my brother's house just before midnight.  We slept about four hours, and were on the road by 5:15 Thursday morning, determined to get Bridger back to school that day.

As I drove through the darkness, my mind wandered through the events of the past week.  Daddy was gone.  I was battling emotional problems of my own.  Looking out into the black sky in front of me, I wished a childish wish; I wanted the night to never end.  There was comfort to be found in the night sky.  I felt that I could hide myself and my feelings from the world in an endless nighttime. Perpetual blackness seemed like a good idea at that moment. My surroundings could match my mood.

Eventually, the sky began to lighten with a hint of pink silhouetting the mountains before me as we turned toward Marysvale Canyon.  I didn't want to enjoy the sunrise; I felt I needed more darkness, but I found my resolve weakening, and relaxed into the simple beauty of the sun coming up to reveal a new day.

Thursday oozed into Friday, and Friday bled into Saturday.  Occasionally, I gave into the tears, and my body was racked with sobbing.  The wind kicked up that morning, with ominous dark clouds racing across the sky.  I was so satisfied to see foul weather.  I was becoming a bit of an Eeyore, welcoming my bad mood, allowing it to take up residence in my heart and home. Every day looked pretty much like the day before:  bland and grey, which suited me just fine.

Before I knew it, it was Monday, BLUE MONDAY, I found out later. The sun was shining, and the skies were clear, much to my disapproval.  I found myself once again schlumping around in Daddy's beach t-shirt and my yoga pants. My first wake up was at 2:40, and I watched the rest of the Season Four Premier of Downton Abbey.  When I went back to bed it was still dark, and I was able to sleep in until 7:00. I managed to rake a brush through my hair, but I didn't bother to apply makeup to my swollen eyes and blotchy face.  Breakfast didn't find its way into my tummy until around 12:30.

After an emotion-filled morning, I found myself feeling peaceful as the day wore on.  My heart no longer raced, and my breathing fell into a natural rhythm.  I know there will be moments that will challenge me as January plods along, but I know that this depression is temporary.  I am starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, and soon, I will welcome this new year of 2014 with my face happily turned to the sun.

For now, I will settle in to the last of this Blue Monday, and watch the sun set before me, and welcome the night once again.  Soon it will be Tuesday, and I have a feeling that it will be the start of good things for me.  If you, too, have been suffering with sadness, I hope that you will take heart that there are better days ahead.  "It will all work out," my sweet stepmother reminded me before I left Amherst.  I believe they will, and I am grateful that I have had this time to give the sadness a chance to work itself out of my system.

Happy New Year, Friends.  My goal is to seek peace and happiness in the coming days.  Here's to happier blog entries from here on out!

Compassion Is More Than a Feeling

Neil Roger Beidler

When Daddy died on December 22, 2013, , I went into a tailspin. There were details to be managed, and arrangements to be made.   How fast could I get there?  What about Christmas?  How was I going to afford this?  Could someone pick me up at the airport, and save me the cost of a rental car?  Where would I stay? 

Worrying is so wasteful of our life’s precious moments.  I should’ve known things would work out for us all.  So many details fell into place as family friends stepped up to offer assistance.  I learned so much from them about compassionate service. Compassion is more than a feeling; it is a selfless act of service.

  

How many times have I offered a sincere “if you need ANYTHING…” to those who have lost a loved one?  I have been at a loss sometimes as to what to do, and I do hope they will ask for my help, but now that we’ve experienced being on the receiving end of compassion, I realize how awkward the asking can be.  Offering a general availability is nice, but offering a solid, concrete act of service means even more.  And that is just what our dearest friends did for us.  They saw a need, and they met that need with graciousness, and love.

“Where are you flying into, and when can I pick you up?” (A dear high school girlfriend.)

Thank you all for being there for me...the ride from the airport, the Saturday morning diversion, the lovely accommodations...All of it touched me more than you can know.

“My home is open to you, if you need a place to stay.” (My favorite teacher offered her master bedroom to us, and a friend of Daddy's offered her home to my brother's family)

 “Your daddy’s church is quite small.  Please feel free to use the Catholic Church, it will accommodate the crowd that is sure to come to his funeral.” (Daddy’s neighbors)

Thank you for adopting our dad as your own father and grandfather.  You were so important to him. I heard about you and your selfless acts of service nearly every time I called home.  We love you for loving Daddy the way you did.

"Don't worry about a thing.  We'll take care of the luncheon."  (Wonderful friends from Dad's and Jackie's churches, and from the community.)

We are all so grateful for your friendship, and your tireless efforts to support us.

"What can we do to help?  We'll help you get things ready for your Daddy's service." (Our lifelong friends, the Jennings, who also invited us over the day after the Dad's celebration of life to enjoy looking at their photo albums that are full of pictures of our dad and us.)

Daddy would be so grateful for your service to us at this time.

“We’re going for a bike ride tomorrow.  Meet us at 8:30 at the trail head; we’ll bring a bike, a helmet, and a water bottle for you.” (My best friend since junior high, who understood how much I needed a break from the crying)

I have learned so much from you, Sweet Friend.  Your friendship has sustained me through some of my darkest hours.

People came out of the woodwork, with trays and trays of food.  There were homemade ham biscuits a-plenty, fruit trays, meat and cheese platters, homemade quick breads, paper products so we wouldn’t have to wash dishes, coffee, creamer, sugar.  We would not go hungry, or be bothered with the worry of what to fix for our family.  

I wish I had a picture of the Kilgores, but I will settle for the cake June so lovingly prepared for us. Paul was the first responder on the scene.  Although he is my age, he and Daddy have been colleagues for years. He is the mayor of the town of Amherst, a position Dad held twice.  We thank June and Paul for the huge support they have been.

The “I’m so sorry”s and the sweet words of comfort joined together in my heart to make a resounding a cappella choir singing sweet words of peace that soothed my troubled thoughts.  If I have learned anything from our friends during this, it is that we should always take the time to express our sympathies, for one small voice may not make that big of a difference, but when one voice joins the others, the song builds, and swells, and provides solace where before there was only emptiness and pain.

Natalie's godparents, the Thomases, were some of the first people to extend a hand of fellowship.  Bill's tribute to Daddy extolled his public virtues, and exposed his sense of humor and human side.

People came from everywhere.  People from town.  The mayor.  The sheriff.  The members of the churches.  Old friends.  Daddy's high school classmates.  My bus driver from when I was in fourth grade (who turned out to be Natalie's bus driver many years later). My kindergarten teacher. My junior high teachers.  And the one that affected us the most:  our dad's high school teacher, Miss Orlich, also known as Diamond Lil. She is 85 years old, and still working to this day, now as a guidance counselor at a high school in Manassas.

What a tribute to our dad to have his high school teacher Miss Orlich attend his memorial service.

If I had all of the addresses, if I could remember every single solitary thing each of you did for us, I would write you a heartfelt note of gratitude.  I hope you will accept this as my thank you.  We will always be grateful for the prayers offered on our behalf, and the expressions of love that came to us in the form of whispered words of encouragement, messages on Facebook, cards that came in the mail, and the floral arrangements that brightened our home.  I had always thought I would feel crazy from the grief of losing a parent, but I learned that with the support of so many loved ones, the pain is tempered, and the burden is lifted, so that what I actually experienced were peace, and the bittersweet joy of remembering Daddy with fondness.  

Thank you.  Reliving the memories kept me feeling sane.

Mrs. Farris, I can still pick you up!!!  My kindergarten teacher.  And yes, I carried her around the room when she told me I couldn't pick her up.

Mrs. Weimer instilled in me a love for words and their meaning.

High school classmates, Martha and Mable, brought Dad's high school teacher to the celebration.  Look at the twinkle in those eyes!

I loved seeing the smile of recognition in Mrs. Hughes' face.  She was not only
MY bus driver, but Natalie's as well, many years later.

Our M & Ms.  Miss Marsha Honey and Miss Martha.  My favorite teacher with the wife of my dad's best friend.

Eric HAD to have a picture with Diamond Lil.

Father Poff offered such comfort in his well-chosen words, and positive outlook.

Dad's life partner and business partner console each other.

The friend who has known me longest...Karen.

Is Santa Real?

Snooping in my mother's closet one day, I stretched up to retrieve one of her purses from the shelf that was above her clothes rod. I opened her handbag, and took in the smell of lipstick and DoubleMint gum. There on the bottom of the bag, hidden by the rumpled tissues, was a collection of small foil-wrapped teeth. So THIS is where the Tooth Fairy stored our teeth. Hey, wait a minute!

That was the first of several experiences that made me doubt the magic of childhood, and I became an investigative reporter, asking questions about the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny, and, most importantly,  the jolly old man in the big red suit. 

Could he be real, if the others weren't? Hoping against hope, I went in search of answers. The logistics of these holiday heroes created confusion in my mind. I WANTED to believe in them all, especially Santa, but evidence was mounting that I had been duped.

My mom was in her bedroom, busily sewing a few weeks before Christmas. I was in fourth grade, and my parents were newly divorced. I lay face-down on Mom's bed, propping up my chin in my hands. 

"Mom..." I began tentatively.

"Yes," she absent-mindedly responded, adjusting the fabric on her sewing machine table.

"Is Santa Claus real? I mean, is he REALLY real?" I asked, hoping he was; knowing he couldn't be.

"Of course, he's real. Santa Claus brings presents to all of the good little girls and boys around the world. If you don't believe in Santa, he won't bring you presents. You want him to bring you presents, don't you?"

Well, of course, I did. I asked several specific questions, trying to catch her in her deception, and she fielded them deftly, but I was still unsatisfied. It was time for a second opinion.

Daddy, Danny, and me

The next time we were with Daddy, I waited for my opportunity to ask him, and being a good sister; this time, anyway, I made sure the boys weren't with us.

"Daddy, is Santa Claus REALLY real?"

He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and blinked a few times. "Princess," he began, "the thing you need to understand about Santa Claus is that he represents the spirit of Christmas."

Do you know what my sweet dad did? He told me the truth. And he told it in the most loving way imaginable. Daddy said the CONCEPT of Santa was very real. Santa represented love and giving. Many people, especially parents, want to perpetuate those wonderful traditions, and they keep the spirit of Christmas alive by acting on Santa's behalf. There are many people who are Santa's helpers, so to speak, who do the work of the beloved legend. Mommies and daddies love their children, and want them to enjoy the tradition of Santa, so they buy the presents, and they give them to their little ones. The outward signs of Santa (pillow tummies under cheap red suits, awkward artificial beards, and black boots) are not nearly as important as what is on the inside that represents the spirit of Santa; the giving and loving.

Dear Old Dad, around 2012.  Photo Credit: Natalie Beidler Mayhew

Daddy let me know that it's always a good thing to believe in the spirit of Christmas; we never want that to end. And it was also okay for me to not believe in the North Pole, and a man who traveled around the entire world in one night to stop at every child's house, delivering presents to good girls and boys. 

True to form, my dad made me feel good about my questions, and even better about myself. 

Santa represents loving and giving, just like my dad. 

Saying Goodbye to Granddaddy

Monday, December 30, 2013, we laid our Daddy to rest.  The Virginia sky blazed with a warm palette of reds that morning.  Our neighbors offered the Saint Francis of Assissi Catholic Church as a venue to accommodate the large crowd that would be in attendance at the memorial service. It was such a beautiful building, filled with those who had loved him longest and best.  

Father Poff provided a beautiful ceremony. Dad's friend Bill Thomas paid him the greatest tribute in his memorial speech.  My brother Danny did a lovely job of thanking our family and friends for their support, and thanking Dad for being a wonderful husband, father, and grandfather.  The luncheon afterwards was lovely.  The graveside service was sweet, attended by the family and a few friends who are like family.  The grandchildren gave Granddaddy a goose and duck call salute, much like a 21-gun salute for military heroes.  Everything about the day was so precious to me.  I will be forever grateful that I was able to be in attendance.

The public tributes to Daddy were very comforting to the family. There are two private moments in which I participated, which I would like to share with you here.

My dad has always been a Civil War History buff. The concept of state's rights is something near and dear to his heart.  His home has always been graced with pictures and small statues of General Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson.  One item he had was a replica of a Confederate States Army bugle.

My dad had owned the bugle forever, but to our knowledge, it was simply a decoration he had kept on his desk in his office at Beidler Realty.  Bridger and I had been looking at my dad's things...memorabilia that included his aprons, his chef's hat, a Redskins' Hogette pig nose, to name a few of his prized possessions.  Then we stumbled upon his bugle.  Bridger looked up at me for approval, and I told him to go ahead and blow it.

Now Bridger has played the trumpet since sixth grade, and has gone on to play the tuba, the trombone, and the guitar.  He had never played a bugle before, so I assumed he would put it to his lips, and let it sound with a loud honk.  What happened next touched me so deeply.

My son pressed the bugle to his lips, and reverently played "Taps."  Living near Hill Air Force Base, I am accustomed to hearing that play each night.  This time was different. This time it was personal, and so heartfelt.  I was amazed.  It was such a tender tribute; I hope Daddy was watching.  He would have been so touched, and so proud.  

My kids have always loved their Granddaddy.  Even though we lived 2300 miles away in Utah, the kids always felt close to him.  He achieved "rock star status" with them early in their lives.  They love his wit, his sarcasm, his wisdom, and his irreverent humor. One thing we all understand is Granddaddy's love of Krispy Kreme donuts.  

The night we found out that my dad was gone, my older son and I were consoling each other, remembering fondly things Dad had said and done.  Dylan started to chuckle.  "I'll always remember Granddaddy at Myrtle Beach, wearing his short shorts and leather loafers and UVA hat...and when he went to the  Krispy Kreme Donut shop, and bought 18 dozen donuts for us." Yes, that's right.  One dozen for each Beidler family member in attendance on that beach trip. Our German ancestors saw to it that our fair skin fries under the hot South Carolina sun every time we vacation there.  My brother Eric had designed t-shirts for us that year that said "Beidler Beach Bash" on the front, and "Crispy on the Outside, Krispy on the Inside" on the back.  

As the sky was fading into dusk on the day of Dad's funeral, Bridger told me had something he had to do; would I come with him to the grocery store?  We took his cousin Tatiana to Food Lion, and bought a small box of Krispy Kreme glazed donuts.  We drove back to the Amherst Cemetery.

Tatiana and I watched as Bridger walked to the freshly packed Virginia red clay spot in the plot of my stepmother's ancestors.  

Tatiana and I joined Bridger, slipping our arms around his back, and each of us told Granddaddy goodbye. We thanked him for our memories of Myrtle Beach.  We told him how much we love him, and how much we would miss him.  Tears flowed easily, and the love was palpable.  Each member of the family would have their own way of saying goodbye; this was Bridger's, and I am so honored to have been a part of it.