extremely thankful...every day

(the photo is a Brian Andreas print from the Story People)

Of all the good emotions – joy, contentment, happiness, hope, inspiration, excitement, awe, gratitude and love – gratitude is the easiest for me. (Of course, I love those I love dearly, but loving unconditionally, especially when faced with diversity, is not easy…) Being thankful, however, just flows out of my heart and the older I get the easier being overwhelmed with thankfulness seems to be.  

November is the “official” month of thankfulness and I have been focusing more than usual on how very much I have to be thankful for. The list of blessings is so long…Lately thinking of even the smallest of these brings tears to my eyes. (I’d think it was hormones, but I’m long past that type of turmoil, so I’m assuming it’s just a full heart finally bubbling over...)

I’ve not always lived in this state of extreme thankfulness. I’m a pessimist whose glass is more than half empty. Doom and gloom lurk around every corner and disaster is imminent.  There have been times when I paid more attention to the wolves at the door than the warmth inside the house. There have been times when my heart felt cold and shut, when the world seemed harsh and I could see little to be thankful for. During those times, someone or something always appears to whisper rumors of a thaw, gently in my ear…”This too shall pass”…”The sun will shine again”… “Things really will be okay”…And eventually they are and the pessimist turns thankful again.

There are also times when the depth and breadth and sheer scope of all the hurt and pain and death and evil in the world begin to overwhelm me. A devilish whisper says I should feel guilty in the face of all this terribleness, that all this flippant thankfulness is of no use, that the world really is a dark place…”Be a lamp or a lifeboat or a ladder,” the poet Rumi counters…”Look for the helpers,” Mr. Rogers’ wise mother said…

Over the years my pessimism and my thankfulness have learned to co-exist and these days they actually seem to help each other out. When every day could turn sour with some disaster or misstep, each day that ends uneventfully is truly something to be thankful for. And, I don’t mean that at all flippantly.   

So many people I know are struggling with illness or lack of work or money troubles or family issues – it’s been a tougher year of struggles than I remember in a long time. I watch these brave people and admire them. I reach out when I can; I also knock on wood a lot and thank the Lord for their strength, knowing that I don’t share it. If you doubt that you can get through whatever looms large and difficult ahead, it’s easy to be extremely thankful for each quiet well-blessed day.   

“Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion,” said Truvy Jones in Steel Magnolias. It’s mine, too.

So, this Thanksgiving, may you enjoy laughter through tears, a heart overflowing with thankfulness and a day so uneventful that it leaves you feeling very well blessed.  

 

 

Happy Anniversary, Roscoe - our "perfect demon"

“Dogs are great. Bad dogs, if you can really call them that, are perhaps the greatest of them all.” – John Grogan

Our latest rescue dog, Roscoe, will celebrate his one year anniversary with us this week. Lying at my feet in his dog bed, snoring loudly, he has no idea we’re about to mark this milestone. But, as in all other situations, when the fun begins Roscoe the no-longer-terrible Terrier will be in the middle of things, crooked smile on his face, barking loudly and prancing about like it’s all about him, which in this case, it is. 

When we first met Roscoe, he was not this way. He was a sad, broken, scared little fellow, so sick there wasn’t much life or love left in him. He’d ended up at the animal shelter after his person died and he was not doing well, at all.   

I saw Roscoe in a Facebook video a shelter volunteer posted. There he sat, shivering on the cold concrete floor, looking confused and sad, scared and pitiful, making a low moaning sound. That was it for me - I had to save him.

A rescue took Roscoe the next day. I contacted them immediately and offered to foster him – after all, people love the little dogs and all Roscoe needed was some TLC. We’d have him up and running and in a new forever home by Christmas…or so I thought.  

My theory began to crumble when I picked Roscoe up at the vet and they said, “Oh, you’re here for the biter!” What? I thought I was here for the cute little guy who just needed a bath, some love, good food and medicine – not “the biter.”     

It turned out Roscoe had the worst ear infection the vet had ever seen and even after treatment, he would still be nearly deaf. He had a mouth full of rotten teeth that needed to be pulled, once he was in better shape. Roscoe was elderly. He had one blind eye and the other one was infected, so when he gazed at you, it was with a vacuous, soul-less stare. His under-bite made his face look crooked. Flea allergies and skin infections had robbed him of most of his hair; what was left was a dull, grey-white color. Because of all of these things and some rough treatment along the way, Roscoe didn’t like to be touched - in fact, he would bite anyone who even tried.   

“He doesn’t seem to have much personality,” the vet said. “But maybe that’s because of all the health problems. Poor little guy. Good luck.” 

When we got home, Roscoe’s other issues became apparent. He ran around in a frenzy, pooping and peeing whenever and wherever he liked. He jumped on the furniture and up on the tables, searching for food as if he’d never been fed. He was like a mean little Whirling Dervish with some Tasmanian Devil thrown in.

I fed him a big meal and, to his credit, he quickly found his new dog bed and fell into a deep sleep. It was as if a full belly, a warm bed and the feeling of even temporary safety had overwhelmed his tiny tormented soul and it shut down peacefully for the night.

I fired off an email to the rescue, detailing all the reasons Roscoe wasn’t going work out. Then, something about the sight and sound of him enjoying that deep sleep touched my heart. I didn’t send the email and we gave Roscoe another chance…

Slowly but surely, Roscoe settled in. He became less wild and seemed to actually notice us – not with affection, but with tolerance. Roscoe still snapped when we tried to touch him, but he appreciated routine and regular meals and before long he would allow us to clip on his leash for walks and put a little coat on him when it was cold.    

Once he was well enough, Roscoe had his dental surgery and it worked a miracle. Without the terrible tooth pain, Roscoe became a new dog – friendly, affectionate and eager to interact. Even though he still didn’t like being picked up, the new Roscoe was a dog someone might actually want to adopt, so we had to decide if we were going to give Roscoe up or become his new forever family…Needless to say, Roscoe had wiggled his way into our hearts.    

Fast forward to Roscoe today and you’ll see a proud little fellow with a thick fluffy coat of apricot-colored hair. He likes being petted and having his head scratched; sometimes he even rolls over for a belly rub. He lets us bath and brush him. His one good eye has become expressive, dark and mischievous. He has the cutest button nose and that happy, excited, crooked smile would melt anyone’s heart. Roscoe is very vocal, too, prancing about barking orders when he thinks something needs to be done or softly yelping with his “inside voice” when he’s just trying to talk.       

Mr. Clark Googled Roscoe and now that he’s healthy, he looks like a purebred Norfolk Terrier – a breed the AKC describes as “fearless, active, compact and hardy.” They are admired for their “gameness, loyalty and great charm.” A “happy, spirited and self-confident” dog, they are known “barkers.” Norfolk Terriers are called “the perfect demon,” “self-confident dogs who carry themselves with importance and thrive on human contact.” Yes, that’s our Roscoe.

   

 

 

Sometimes the universe sends a surprise that has an obvious down side. But, if you accept it, go with it, believe and follow your heart, sometimes that down side turns around and the surprise becomes something wonderful. We got a demon who wasn’t so perfect at first, but now we can’t imagine life without him. Happy Anniversary, Roscoe!  

 

 

Man or angel? A blessing either way...

“Come thou fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing they grace; streams of mercy, never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise” – 18^th Century Christian hymn

 

The strains of that simple, haunting hymn always bring tears to my eyes - no matter the context, no matter the version. There’s just something about those gentle chords and humble lyrics that open a fount of thankfulness in my heart – every time I hear the song.  

 

November is the month of thankfulness and the holidays a time of generosity. But, as easy as they both should be, the business of being thankful and generous can be tricky at times. It’s nice when it’s clear that the cause is just and giving is in order; but when things are not so obvious, the suspicious gates of my heart slam shut, making it easy to look the other way. The other day I had an instance of both happening, almost simultaneously, when I encountered a man who was having a bad day.

 

I was at the hardware store buying birdseed and as I wrestled the big bag into my car, the fellow approached me. He was an older man, with a head of white hair, wearing clean, if well worn,work clothes. He asked if he could help me with the birdseed, then asked if I could spare any amount of money at all.

 

“I spent the last money I had on gas to get here from Athens for a day of work, then the guy I was ‘sposed to work with didn’t show up. So here I am, no work, no money and not enough gas to get back home to Athens,” he said, an obvious edge of desperation in his voice.

 

I could tell he didn’t like asking for money, that it embarrassed him and hurt his pride. I’ve not had to bury my pride and ask for help many times, but when I did, it embarrassed and hurt me, too.

 

Initially, the suspicious gates of my heart slammed shut and I told him, no, I didn’t have any cash on me. In actuality, I had two crisp $20 bills in my wallet and while it would’ve been a no brainer to give the man $5, I didn’t want to part with a $20. He said, “Thank you anyway, ma’am,” then went back to his vehicle, which I now saw was parked next to mine.

 

It was an old Jeep, painted flat black, with some years and wear on it. There were tools in the back, arranged in an orderly fashion, and some PVC pipe mounted along the windows, like the man stored something of use in his work there. He stood behind his vehicle looking worried and tired. He kept flipping open an old flip phone and looking at it like he was about to make a call, but he never dialed. His shoulders were stooped as if a heavy weight lay on them.

 

Damn! I thought. Who am I to judge him? Here I was, well dressed and well fed, on my way to yoga class, with $40 in my wallet and a big bag of expensive bird seed in my car…Good Lord! How suspicious and self-absorbed do I need to be?

 

I motioned to the man to come over, then rolled down my window and handed him one of those crisp $20 bills. He took it quickly, staring at it in disbelief, then stuck his head through the car window and gave me a big awkward hug.

 

“Thank you, ma’am! God Bless you, ma’am! You don’t have any idea how much this means to me, ma’am!” he cried, tears visible in his eyes, still shaking my hand through the car window.

 

At that point, the suspicious curmudgeon in me returned or maybe I was just embarrassed by his enthusiasm – it clearly communicated a need that was real. Either way, I withdrew my hand and said sternly, “Now use that money for gas and maybe a snack  - not for anything else.”

 

“I will, ma’am,” he cried. “There’s a station right over there and I’m headed to it right now.”

 

As I pulled away, I saw him open his worn leather wallet and place that $20 bill gently in it, as if it was indeed, a precious thing. Then he headed towards his Jeep with a bit of bounce in his step, his shoulders no longer stooped. There was a lightness to him that made him almost glow…Hmmm! I thought. Had I just had an encounter with an “angel unaware” as I call them, referring to one of my favorite Bible verses, Hebrews 13:2: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

 

There have been times when $20 meant an awful lot to me. During those times, someone - a friend, a family member or a stranger – always came along to help me. In those cases, they were the angel helping a person in need. In this case, the person who needed help was the angel - not me.

 

It’s good to be reminded of how blessed I am and to be made aware of how quickly those doors of judgment and suspicion can shut down my heart…“There but by the grace of God, go I,” may be a cliché, but it’s also true. And, I’m thankful to that fellow for reminding me of that, whether he was an angel or a man.    

 

 (I took the photo in New Orleans one hot Sunday morning. This man was singing "Amazing Grace" at the top of his lungs, in an alley way, beautifully and with such joy...No one seemed to listen or care. Sad, because he was definitely an angel sent down to praise God, whether people listened or not.)

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

from Halloween to thankfulness...

 

 “If the only prayer you say in your whole life is ‘Thank you,” that would suffice.” – Meister Eckhart

 

This week we move from the month of ghosts and goblins into the month of thankfulness. And, even in the context of this really beautiful time of year - the trees on fire with colorful leaves and the air so crisp, cool and fresh – thankful is sometimes a hard thing to remember to be.

 

“We count our miseries carefully and accept our blessings without much thought,” a Chinese proverb says. So true, so much of the time…

 

How often do we nurse some hurt, worry or problem at the expense of remembering the many things we have to be grateful for? Try as I do, to stay focused on my blessings, too often I find myself dwelling on my “hurt, worry or problem” list. With a life as rich and well-blessed as mine, there is no excuse for having to stop consciously, breathe and focus in order to remember how good life is. That should be where my mind rests – not where I have to pull it.  

 

The other night was Halloween and Mr. Clark and I gave out candy. I like watching the parade of trick-or-treaters in their bright costumes, attentive parents with flashlights hovering nearby. I like to see what the kids are wearing and I enjoy watching them pick carefully and thoughtfully from the big candy bowl, when I tell them to choose three of any kind they like.  

 

We didn’t have as many trick-or-treaters as we used to, but the ones who came were in good spirits. A surprising number of them yelled, “Happy Halloween!” or a really excited “Trick-or-Treat!” as they came bounding up our walk and almost all of them said “Thank you!” without being prompted by their parents as they left.

 

Some of the kids wore elaborate costumes that clearly involved either a good bit of money or a good bit of time or both; others wore something slapped together at the last minute. They all seemed to be having a good time.

 

Amidst all the princesses and super heros, ninjas, ghouls and Hello Kitty cats, one little guy stood out. He looked to be about five - clearly a busy and enthusiastic fellow. He was dressed in red long johns and brown cowboy boots. His face was painted to look sort of like The Joker from Batman. He picked his three pieces of candy quickly, thanked us loudly and whole heartedly, then stood taking it all in, bubbling with energy and joy.  

 

“I like your dogs,” he said, about the motley canine crew barking and hurling themselves at our front door. “I like your candles,” he said, about the brightly lit Jack-O-Lanterns. “I like your house,” he said, staring up at the tall columns towering over our front porch. “Wow!” he said, with a big smile on his face, “Wow!”    

 

“I like your costume,” Mr. Clark said. “Are you The Joker?”

“No!” the little guy exclaimed indignantly. “I’m a Dead Clown!”

At that point we noticed his older, much quieter brother standing next to him, wearing a thermal shirt, camouflage pants and a red clown nose.

“And, I’ve got his nose!” the brother said. Then they laughed and ran down the walk, into the night, calling “Happy Halloween!”

           

Something about the little guy’s joy was contagious and, Mr. Clark and I couldn’t stop laughing as one of us said, “Are you The Joker?” and the other replied, “No! I’m a Dead Clown!” Then, together, “And, I’ve got his nose!”

 

We stayed on the porch until all the candy was gone and the street fell quiet and dark.

“That was a good Halloween,” Mr. Clark said. I agreed, as we shared one more laugh about “And, I’ve got his nose!” 

 

Not all of our Halloweens have been such good ones. A few years ago, Mr. Clark was unemployed. We only had a little bit of candy to hand out, so we turned the porch light off early and went to bed with plenty of legitimate hurts, worries and problems to think about. Back then it seemed reasonable to focus on the sad things – there were so many of them and they loomed so large…

 

“I once had a garden filled with flowers that grew only on dark thoughts but they need constant attention and one day I decided I had better things to do,” said Brian Andreas and the StoryPeople.  I’m getting better at his approach - after all there are so many people with hurts, worries and problems so much bigger and more real than mine.

 

The holidays will soon be here – a time when, for many, the contrast between “hurts, worries and problems” and “happy, thankful and well-blessed” becomes especially stark. I plan to take it all in with the same joy and enthusiasm that little Dead Clown had, laugh with the same glee he and his brother shared, and be as generous and kind as I possibly can, to as many as I possibly can. And, the one prayer I will pray will be a heartfelt “Thank you.”    

 

 

 

 

           

 

           

             

             

 

 

 

A few local ghost stories...happy halloween!

"Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that's what." - Salman Rushdie

Halloween is here, which means ghosts and a fascination with all things ghostly. I’ve never seen a ghost, but I've always been fascinated by them. Who are these spirits, good and bad, inhabiting our world for reasons we cannot know? Some protect, others warn; some frighten and taunt us; others share the misery they suffered during their mortal lives; and, some simply wander, retracing steps they once took, over and over again…

Winder has its' share of ghost stories, so in the spirit of the season, I’ll share some of the ones I’ve heard, with you.

The Winder Fire Station has, over the years, been rumored to harbor the ghost of an older man who seems to mean no harm. Reports of strange lights, a door opening and closing, or sounds from the deserted engine bay are not uncommon, especially when it’s cold outside.  One chief told me stories about the Firehouse Ghost abounded back when the department was housed in its' previous location. There didn't seem to be any paranormal activity at the new station until the last load was moved, on an old fire truck no longer in use. The Firehouse Ghost must have sensed change and hopped on board, because as soon as that load showed up, he began to appear in the new station...     

The "Old Hospital" on E. Broad St., now a county building, is also the scene of various "bumps in the night." The most consistent tale is of an old caretaker, who may have even lived in a room in the hospital basement. He had a rocking chair that has been seen rocking, dust covered and forgotten, in the basement, with no one in it. There are also stories of the sounds he makes while doing his rounds through the old part of the building. Like the Firehouse Ghost, the Hospital Caretaker, seems to mean no harm. He’s simply continuing on with his duties…  

The now demolished Granite Hotel that once stood on the corner of Athens and Broad St. has long been a haven for the paranormal or at least stories about it. And, since granite reportedly attracts spirits because of its ability to remain cool and retain energy – conditions that “haints” need to occupy a place and make themselves known - that makes sense.

I first heard stories of a ghostly specter in the Granite Hotel when the restaurant in it was H's Grill. H’s served up some of Barrow’s best breakfasts and burgers for years and during that time, especially on a cold morning, “H” would encounter signs of a ghostly diner. Sometimes he’d find a nearly empty coffee cup on the counter – a counter he knew he’d left clean when he closed up that day before. Other times, he’d hear the back door open, then footsteps to the counter – the same seat where the coffee cup was sometimes found – but no one was ever there. H’s Ghost didn’t seem to mean harm either; he just wanted to get out of the cold.

When “H” retired, his grill became Humble Grounds, a neighborhood establishment owned by two brothers from New York. Apparently, H’s Ghost wasn’t happy with the sale or didn’t like Yankees or maybe just got grumpier with age, because the paranormal activity the Humble brothers and their staff encountered was much more dramatic and at times, frightening, than “H” had ever experienced. In fact, so many unexplainable things happened that the brothers kept a “Ghost Journal.”

The occurrences were almost daily and included doors opening and closing, footsteps, lights and TVs switching on or off, and people feeling as if they’d been touched when no one was there. One waitress actually saw a man walk in the front door while she was washing dishes, but when she turned to wait on him, no one was there. After a while, neither brother nor any of the staff would be in the restaurant alone.

Not all the Humble Grounds stories are scary. My favorite is told by a local fellow who stopped in for a brew one evening and while he was sitting at the counter, he had a vision of a young woman. She was "a fiery redhead" who sat down beside him and sent such a sensation of "warmth and comfort" over him that he felt like his "soul had been touched." A few months later he met the woman in his vision, married her and they are still living happily ever after, right here in Barrow County. 

 

The tales that come from a location next to the restaurant, also in the Granite Hotel, are of such a disturbing nature that the final occupants moved their business to get away from the power outages, odd noises, ghostly visions, sensations of warmth and cold, sounds of laughter and other unnerving events. They reportedly took a photo at one point during their torment that shows over 20 pairs of legs, dressed in period dresses or overalls, hanging down from the rafters.

There are also stories of ghosts in the “Old Courthouse” across from the Granite Hotel, especially in the “Old Courtroom.” In addition to the standard opening and closing doors, footsteps, and odd lights, moving chairs have been spotted. One deputy on a security check was visibly scratched on the back – by no one there – with another deputy as a witness.   

So, as you set out this Halloween, I offer up this Scottish prayer: "From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!" Have fun and stay safe.

 

 

Happy Birthday to me

“Every year on your birthday, you get a chance to start new.” – Sammy Hagar  

 

I just ate the last tomato sandwich of the season. There’s a crispness in the air and the leaves are starting to turn. Fall is definitely here and it’ll be Christmas before we know it. Where does the time go? How quickly it flies…

 

I will celebrate my 57^th birthday this weekend with a family trip to a pet-friendly state park cabin and I can think of no better gift. I do hope there won’t be a cake with a number so close to 60 on it, though. After all, I still pretty much feel the way I’ve always felt and I’d rather not have to blow out so many candles to get my birthday wish.

 

Age is a funny thing in that it constantly shifts. When I was a child, teenagers seemed old. When I was a teenager, someone in their 30’s was ancient. Once I hit 30, 45 was the next scary sounding number. Then, I ended up in my 40’s beginning to understand why people older than me always say “Time flies!” so emphatically. I’m not sure when I became the woman I now see in the mirror and how did those little children I remember so clearly end up in their mid-30’s?

 

I don’t have a lot of clear memories about my childhood – vivid glimpses of moments, but mostly just a happy blur. My teenage years were a struggle. I was an overweight overachiever with plenty of guy friends, but I never went on a single date.

 

During the second year of college my parents’ marriage fell apart and I ended up moving to Santa Cruz, CA with my mother. She’d always wanted to live at the beach and since Mr. Clark was the only person we knew along the whole West Coastline, we landed there. (At the time, Mr. Clark was a just friend and we were not romantically inclined…)

 

My mom crash landed pretty quickly, physically and emotionally. She died a short while later at the age of 38; I was 19 at the time. Her death sent me into a tail spin that kept me swirling in a frantic whirlwind of activity for the next 20 years because somehow, in my mind, my mom’s death at 38 meant I would die at that age, too. I’ve since read this is a common reaction among young women who lose their mothers, especially to a sudden death. But, knowing I was not alone did not ease my need to “get everything done” by the age of 38.  

 

I married (Mr. Clark) at 21 and had two kids right away. I threw myself into motherhood with great fervor. I spent lots of time with my children and made them the center of my life. We traveled a lot and had grand adventures because every moment was precious and every year brought me closer to my last. I was sure that by the time they were teenagers, I would only be a memory and I wanted to be a good one.

 

Then, my 39^th birthday came and I was able to breathe a huge sigh of relief. The curse had lifted! Now I could slow down…But, my 40’s were a very busy time. I worked fulltime and both kids were busy teenagers, involved in a lot of activities. The college years seemed to fly by and before I knew it, I was in my late 40’s and we had two weddings to plan…Still so much to do, still feeling the need to borrow more time.      

 

I took my 90-year-old grandmother to a family wedding in Mexico when I was 45. She was still spry and adventurous, so we had a good time. On the long bus ride back, it hit me – my life really may be only half over. What a revelation! And, another moment to pause and sigh with relief.  

 

My 50’s have been much quieter than the rest of my life. I’ve been blessed with good health, enough wealth and no disasters. The kids are living solid lives, married to people they love. And, while there are no grandchildren yet, I’m confident there will be. It’s been easier to slow down, and simply live and enjoy the passing of time…

 

On the anniversary of my mother’s death this year, I said a prayer and lit a candle and took some time to think about her. It’s been 37 years since she died; I’m almost 20 years older than she was when her life ended so abruptly. And, while her story has been frozen, mine has gone on and on, in ways that have been precious and special. I’ve been blessed with a gift my mother never had – years of rich living. It occurs to me now that the best way to honor her memory is to savor and enjoy that. ..

 

A Roman playwright named Plautus said, “Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words.” I don’t know what occasion he was celebrating, but barring the unforeseen, the occasion of my 57^th birthday will be celebrated with wine and sweet words and I am so very thankful for that.

 

princess progress and "let it go!"

"I am Merida, and I’ll be shooting for my own hand!" - Princess Merida in “Brave”

 

I saw the most wonderful Facebook post the other day. It was of a little girl’s “Frozen” theme birthday party. There were seven small Elsa’s, all dressed in her beautiful blue gown, all wearing her sparkly tiara, all holding magic freezing wands and all obviously having the time of their lives.

 

They were lined up in front of a limousine on the Chateau Elan lawn and they were lovin’ it. The photos showed them dancing and parading, hugging, whispering, giggling and even wrestling on the ground, gowns disheveled, grass in their hair. It hasn’t always been okay for a princess to behave that way and I’m so glad the breeze that ruffled those precious princesses’ hair was blown by the winds of change.

 

I’ve always had a special place in my heart for the Disney princesses. I loved them when I was growing up and my daughter loved them when she was small. There’s just something about all those pastel colors, those big doe-like eyes, that fabulous unruly hair and those wonderful dresses that draws a girl in and holds her hostage for a few years.

 

I named my daughter Amelia, not after a Disney princess, but after a heroine - Amelia Earhart. I believe there’s power in a name and I wanted my girl to have a brave, adventurous spirit that would follow its own dreams and not listen when the world said "No!" if she wanted to do something unique, unusual or not yet done by a woman. My Amelia was born in 1983, and while women had made great strides down the path towards gender equality, there were still plenty of steps to be taken.   

 

The Disney princesses in my day were well mannered, docile and eager to please. Their only goal was to find true love’s kiss, marry Prince Charming and live “Happily Ever After.”  Thankfully, the princess role had expanded considerably by the time my daughter became enchanted.

 

She grew up dressing up like clever, brave, kind, mischievous young women who were a bit rebellious and able to think independently. Their stories still, however, were inextricably centered on the men in their lives. Their acts of bravery and rebellion, the lessons they learned and the trials they went through, all had to do with earning their father's respect or rebelling against the bad guy or finding true love. Even though their “Happily Ever After’s” were not easily won, they still faded into the sunset once they found true love’s kiss and became Mrs. Charming.  

 

That’s why I’m happy to see the latest brand of Disney princesses and movie heroines. In “Brave,” Princess Merida embodies all of the things we know and love about princesses PLUS she is a skilled archer with a head of particularly spectacular red hair and a mind of her own. Not much of a people pleaser, she’s determined to carve out her own destiny, no matter the cost. And, what a wonderful twist to the story when she wins her own hand by out shooting everyone in the archery match where she is the prize. Her father then proclaims (at her request) from that day forward, people in the kingdom can marry whomever they wish. Now that’s a happy ending…   

Another heroine functioning off her own script is Katniss Everdeen in “The Hunger Games.” Like Merida, “the girl on fire” is a skilled archer, independent thinker and much too busy to care about male approval. Katniss is brash - a fighter, not a lover – and, so self-directed and self-sufficient that she repeatedly saves herself, her friends, her family and the entire day.   

 

In “Frozen,” the most recent Disney princess hit, Elsa and Anna are orphaned sisters with virtually no men to please in their lives. Princesses who live in an icy land, their adventures center on Elsa’s ability to freeze things (even her sister, Anna’s heart) whenever Elsa loses emotional control. While there is romance, true love and a “Happily Ever After, the plot focus is on the sisters and their relationship.    

 

Elsa’s anthem – now apparently the anthem of little girls everywhere - is “Let it go!” most often sung unabashedly and at the top of their lungs, arms outstretched, while  twirling in 3-D. What Elsa is letting go of is fear’s control over her life; she’s also learning to accept her sister’s unconditional love. Pretty good messages for princesses in any day or time…

 

Life can be hard, scary and confusing for any princess who is trying to become an empowered woman. Self-esteem is critical, so is self-direction and the ability to take care of oneself. Believing on one’s own perception of the situation is also useful more often than not.  

 

I'm glad the heroines those seven little princesses at the “Frozen” birthday party will grow up with are broader, bolder, more complex and more self-directed than the princesses my daughter and I grew up with. As Katniss Everdeen said, “Fire is catching!” and the world can always use a few more empowered heroines and princesses.