if music be the food of love…

My husband had a really big concert on the weekend.

Every year, he puts together a big band of young people to play with a famous jazz musician (or two, three, or more!). I've written about this band before, here, but that was almost three years ago! Time for a retell, I think. :) Every year, these kids and young adults get together on the day of the performance (for their one and only rehearsal!), get given sheet music they haven't seen before, plus a t-shirt to wear on the night, and get shown where to sit. They rehearse, hard, for 6 hours, then come back that night to perform. It's incredibly exciting for a lot of these kids—there's nothing like it in the area. I suspect there might be nothing like it in the country.

Now, when I say a big band, I mean, a really really REALLY big band. It is made up of 150 people. 150! Yes. All those young people work together to create a concert, led by a man with huge vision and energy (my amazing husband, who is helped by lovely, tireless colleagues), all of them running on sheer exuberance, talent, and courage. Some kids have only been playing for a year, and they sit beside people who are in their last year of highschool (even early university), and somehow, it works.

The only things they're asked to do? To have fun. To either play (or look like they're playing!). And to go for it.

My husband came up with this idea about 7 years ago, and his wonderful Conservatorium of Music has put on six Megaband shows so far. I've designed the t-shirt for every concert, and my son has played four times. We've had jazz, funk, and latin greats all come to play as guest artists, and on Friday night, we had 900 people come to watch. It's a thing now. Like, a real THING, something you might imagine kids remembering when they grow up…like, how maybe they got their guitar or music or drum sticks signed by this awesome musician, or how maybe that was the first time they ever properly performed and they were so nervous but they did it, and this maybe was the beginning of them realising they wanted to be a musician.

This lovely night has become part of our mutual history now, part of my family's and my town's story. It makes up some of the colours, the woven pattern of our place here. What a beautiful thing for people to be part (and proud) of.

For me, however, my favourite part of the night was a small and perfect thing. Something that felt so personal, but was shared with over a thousand other people. And afterwards, I felt all weepy with pride.

You see, my husband directed the band wearing Converse sneakers.

Second-hand ones, at that.

He wore a gorgeous black suit, crisp white shirt, grey tie, and these grey canvas "classic" Chuck Taylors. He bought them from the op-shop the other day, scrubbed them clean, and wore them to this "big deal" event. And the lack of black leather 'dress shoes' was noticeable—so much so that one of our two famous guest artists called my husband on it.

The guest who is a friend of my husband's, made a joke about my husband's tennis shoes. He suggested maybe my husband forgot to change shoes, and perhaps my husband needed to borrow his again, like that time four years ago (when my husband actually forgot to bring his own).

That got a good laugh, and then my husband good-humouredly went to the microphone and said something to this effect:

"These aren't just tennis shoes, man. These are Converse all-stars. These were made with no animal products."

Applause rippled through the audience, rose like a quiet wave through the theatre.

"So don't be givin' me grief 'bout my shoes no mo'."

And he grinned at the famous jazz man, who grinned back, and my husband turned to the band and began conducting the next piece, and the famous jazz man began to play something beautiful.

And while the night wasn't—at all—about animals or about ethics or choices or beliefs, the night, for me, became in that moment about something bigger than music, bigger than us sitting here, bigger than 150 kids having the time of their lives. It became about standing up for, reaching up towards, something that is as big as spirit, and as deep.

When my husband could have said nothing, he spoke for living things that do not sing or play or have a voice as we do, but feel as we do. He spoke for creatures who might have loved to listen to the music as we did, and been lifted by that music into joy.

growing Compassion

When I was a girl, about 12, I remember standing at the bus stop, waiting for the school bus with my sister, and stamping on the ants.

"Stop!" she said. "What did those ants do to you?"

Of course the ants had done nothing, but there was a quiet thrill in me, to have so much power. Tiny ants; what was the point of them?

A couple of years later, a friend of mine at his birthday party put a ring of some kind of gasoline around a group of ants on the sidewalk. Then he lit it on fire. It was a small fire, but all his friends and I crowded around to see the ants in a panic, feeling the wall of heat, with nowhere to go, no protection, no possibility of escape.

I don't remember feeling anything much other than perhaps this wasn't a fair fight. This was a step up from stamping. I don't remember watching for long. I think, at some point, I walked away. At least, my 40-plus-year-old self hopes I did.

Then my sister became vegetarian. I was fourteen. Being vegetarian in the 80's was very different to today. We would go out to dinner and the waiter would be stumped, totally unable to fathom what my sister could eat. My relatives would have big family dinners and serve ham salad, telling my sister she could just pick out the meat. As a university student, I would eat big t-bone steaks in front of her at family get togethers.

I ate meat without a thought. I killed spiders without a thought. I felt distant from other animals, and to be perfectly honest, I think I felt better than them. I remember thinking, "It's okay to eat chickens, because they are stupid." (Not actually true, it turns out). I felt the same about fish. I was a bit wobblier thinking about cows as they were so gentle and placid-looking. As for pigs, rumour had it they were smart, but I put that out of my mind to eat them.

My sister, in the meantime, remained vegetarian, never wavering, raising her kids as vegetarians, and quietly, slowly influencing me with her steadfast refusal to eat meat.

Some years ago, we had a problem with some mice. It was an infestation; a bunch of mice had found our house and decided to move in. We could hear them, scrabbling about contentedly in the walls, and sometimes popping, darting, dashing into our house to look for grub. We were told to bait them, so that's what we did. One day soon after, I remember finding a sick, scared mouse in our house. It could hardly move. I can't write or describe what I did to dispose of that mouse, but I will never forget it. That mouse was terrified. It felt shocking to kill it.

By this time, I was the mother of two kids as well as the carer of a dog, a cat, chickens, fish, birds. I cuddled my cat, walked and talked with my dog, watched as our two birds tried to have babies. The chickens would run to us when we dug in the garden, looking for worms. The hens shouted to let us, anyone, know they'd just! laid! an egg! My kids and I adored our pets.

Then about four years ago, I saw a friend's cat get run over.

I saw the whole thing from beginning to end. And I thought: I can't do this any more. Separate myself.

I went vegetarian then. I lasted about nine months. But no-one else went with me, and I'd just been diagnosed as wheat intolerant, and I couldn't think of what to eat. It seemed suddenly so hard. So I returned to eating meat, but I had to consciously switch off my mind when I went to buy steak or sausages or chicken at the shops, when I faced the shelves and fridges filled with meat. Switch off, don't think, don't think. Once it was at home, it became just another food, in its packet. It was easier to eat when it was just stuff in a packet. Nothing more.

Three years ago, around February, we went on a camping trip, to sand fly territory. Those sand flies were crazy. They'd bite you the minute they saw you, no introductions, no hovering about just to say hello. My son was really, really scared of them. On our last day, we were driving away from the camp site, and a sand fly came in through the window. There was shouting and panic.

We pulled over the car and I grabbed a tissue box and thwack! I got that fly. Job done. I turned back to face the front. My husband began to drive. I heard a sound and looked over to see my son and he was crying so hard. Face collapsed, weeping.

Why? I asked.

Because, because…

Oh, sweetheart. Because I killed the sand fly?

Yes, Mum. Yes.


That's when I realised how deep compassion could go.


Four months later we became vegetarian. A year and a half after that, we became vegan.

And our compassion, our "sympathetic concern for the suffering of others," has grown and grown and grown.

We have read, seen, discussed, learned so much. We are more aware these days, not just of animal welfare issues, but of global and environmental, political and human rights issues. We talk about everything, and our eyes are wide, wide open.

It's like we opened some door, and in came this sense of the World, all around. Our "Selves" stopped mattering so much. Now we talk of giving more, not needing as much, of wanting to speak out about the things we care about, making a difference, small or large. We talk of being the change we want to see in the world. We try, daily, to BE the change.

This might all have happened whether we became vegan or not. I know some extraordinarily compassionate people who eat animal products. I know people who are mindful and seeking to make positive changes in the world who also hold barbeques and eat chicken curry.

For us though, our choice to become a vegetarian family, and then vegans, was our door to compassion, opening.

And it's so bright and clear in here!

Sometimes it's a bit too bright, too clear. Sometimes there's too much knowledge, because once you look…you see that real suffering is all around.


But for us, whatever sadness that knowledge brings,

is countered with hopeful, positive acts.

Like my husband removing, the other night (and over the course of two more nights) more than 30 teeny tiny baby spiders from our house.

Spider by spider by spider…!

And my son learning to cook tofu scramble this week, making breakfast for himself and his dad…

And my husband (not a pet lover) speaking to the dog and cats with a whole new voice, a whole new language…

And all of us sitting and smiling over dinners that taste so very, very Good.

Peace and love and hope coming out to you all! 

I hope you feel it, because it's big and growing,

and there's so much to share. 

month of goodness

I would like to preface this post by saying, My heart goes out to those who have been through Hurricane Sandy, from Cuba to Canada. I am thinking of them, thinking of those who have lost so much. I hope their healing can happen without further sorrow, and that recovery comes smoothly. Sending warm, good wishes out, over the sea. 




I love November.

It's filled with so much goodness you have to take it a single bite at a time.

You have to close your eyes,

slow down time,

savour each minute as it comes.


Yesterday was the first day of the month.

It was really really hot, and filled with tennis and drama group and art class and juggling.

This is where we do drama group …

Isn't it beautiful?

But it was mind-bendingly hot out there, so we ended up in the hall up the hill. I'd reserved it Just In Case of wet weather, only to realise it's perfect for much-too-much-heat, too.

Imagine a hall filled with children laughing.

See?

Goodness.


Later, in juggling class (which we do as a family, all four of us), I juggled the balls NINE times without dropping them!

AND I figured out the diabolo, and could put my foot on the string and flip the diabolo over while it stayed spinning. Woot!

AND I learned to juggle cigar boxes. I could actually do it. The teacher said, "I think you've found your thing, Helena! I'm going to have to learn more tricks to teach you." Who'd've thunk it?

Ah, juggling class. I think I have found a new Love. I can't wait for next Thursday. Seriously. I can't believe I have to wait a whole week to go again.


November is the month of Happy Busy like this, but that's like a lot of our months—we are so lucky to live this life sometimes I have to (gently) pinch myself.


So what makes this month so Extra Specially Good, then?

Well, I'm glad you asked!

November is the month of birthdays!

My girl turns 10 on Sunday!

I turn (insert age) on Tuesday!

And my niece turns 21 at the end of the month.

We are going to have parties and dinners and go on getaways. There'll be a lot of singing, and feasting, and candle blowing. And there'll be a LOT of hugging, which is always my favourite part.

I can feel the goodness rising, just thinking about it :)

November is the month of writing!

And writing. And writing. And more writing! Because we (my son, daughter, mother, nieces, friends and I) are all doing NaNoWriMo. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. It really should be called IntNoWriMo, because people all over the world register.

We've each committed to writing a novel this month. My mum, nieces and I have all said we'll write 50,000 words before the 30th. That's FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS. Crazy! My kids and their friend have each said they'll write 30,000. That's THIRTY THOUSAND WORDS.

Isn't it wild?

Isn't it good?

Yes. Yes it is.

And,

November is world vegan month!

People will be talking about kindness and compassion all this month (and longer, too, I hope). People will be sharing recipes. People will be speaking and writing and learning—about how animals are treated on this planet, in places like factory farms and circuses, rodeos and slaughterhouses.

People will be talking about love and people will be trying to find new ways of co-existing on the planet with other thinking, feeling creatures—creatures who love their young as we do, are sociable as we are, who deserve a life free of fear and suffering as we do, and who trust us.

My family and I feel so good to be on this vegany path. It feels amazing to know that nothing we eat or support has brought fear or pain to another living being. I love that this month of awareness exists, and that the awareness is growing, every minute.



The goodness, rises, and rises.


I can feel it, as I sit, and breathe, and be.

I love that November is here, and I get to live it.

I love that I am here, in this moment,

and I get to live.

month of beauty: the song of the cheese

My mom is doing the fundraiser "Dry July" this year. She's not having a drop of alcohol all month, and says she doesn't miss it at all.

She's also going vegan for the whole month too. That's a lot to take on! Two weeks in, she's feeling it.

It's small things, she says. Like walking down the cold foods aisle at the supermarket and seeing all that cheese! Ack, and oh! So tempting!

I totally remember the same pull, fresh into our vegan-ness. I swear as I walked down those aisles, the cheese was singing to me. Love songs, gorgeous harmonies, sweet somethings crooned straight into my ears. For my mom, it's the blue cheese. It loves her so much! How could she walk away from a love this strong? Doo Wah!

And there's stuff you just can't find in most regular stores. Agave syrup, soy cheese, and nutritional yeast: all hard to find at first, but easy once you find the right shop. It's finding the right shop that can seem so impossible. Why aren't they all marked on Google Maps?

And all the things you don't know about and new things to buy. Did she know she needs to take B12 as a vegan? No? And does she know you can use egg replacer instead of egg? And that sometimes applesauce will work just as well? No? Well…!

And there's the going out, when people are providing food, when you feel you're putting them out if you ask for vegan. Or when you go somewhere and it's catered and the only options are meat or egg or dairy. Oh! and Double ack! for the new vegan, the vegan at the beginning of an enormous and amazing journey.

It's hard. I know that. It's hard because it's different and it's marginal and people question you and make jokes and some days, especially in the beginning, you really have to be dedicated sometimes to make it through.

But, you see, that's where it works for us. Because somewhere along the way, we got so dedicated, so committed to this choice that the hardest days just stopped being hard.

Something switched. Something huge in all of us turned away from eating animals and animal products, and we truly cannot imagine ever going back.

So when people say, "Your diet is so limited!" I say, "Ah, but it's not. I can eat this and this and this, and it's so yummy!"

And when people say, "Oh, so, you can't have ice-cream?" I say, "I can. I have sorbet, and soy ice-cream—it's delicious!"

And I think to myself (and sometimes say):

"Actually the word "can't" doesn't apply here. I choose not to have these things. This is a choice, and the choice brings joy."


I have looked closely at the animal food industry—read the hard stuff, seen the hard stuff. Then I've  read and seen more. I haven't turned away. I am unbelievably glad I don't support an industry that brings pain, unhappiness and terrible fear to millions of animals. Choosing to live differently now feels utterly right.

I have learned about the benefit of a whole foods, plant-based diet. I've read just how good it is for our bodies. I didn't realise before what a truly healthy choice this was. I feel pleased to bits that this is the path we've taken.

I've listened to people's doubts about eating this way, or being able to keep to it. And I feel incredible strength, because this choice is just the right fit for us. It is a compassionate and mindful choice,

and that, for me, is the way to beauty.




p.s.

Here are some links for recipes, for those keen to try some seriously yummy vegan food:


Forks Over Knives: Recipes

Vegan Starter Kit: Recipes

Cooking With the Vegan Zombie

And these are two books I've really enjoyed, that give you practical (and fun) tips on how to live as a vegan:

This Crazy Vegan Life

Vegan For Life

p.p.s

I'm so proud of you, Mom, for giving this a try. I love you so much. 

month of beauty: eating well

I remember days, when my son was five and my girl was two, and I was tired. I remember days picking him up from school and—knowing my husband would be out 'til late teaching—I'd think, "I'll take it easy tonight; we'll have a treat; this will be fun," and off we'd go for a Happy Meal. One cheeseburger with fries and an orange juice. The kids would love their toys and the Special Treat.

Win Win, I thought.

There were more nights like that than I want to admit! Sometimes dinner felt like a mountain. Like a really big mountain with stairs at the top, and then maybe a fence to climb and a guestbook to sign in and a secret password you had to guess before you could even glimpse the peak. What parent hasn't ached some nights for an easy meal?

Now, I suppose I've picked a whole new mountain, because being Vegan and Wheat Free has sometimes felt kind of enormous. It sure felt gigantic when we started. First there was the getting over dairy. What a long love affair that had been (over 40 years for the grown-ups). Oh, the days of pining that followed, the longing looks, the sad love letters! Worse than Romeo and Juliet!

The detox lasted about a week, and then we were fine. But then there was the "Whatever Will We Eat Now?" stage and the "Can A Person Really Survive on Beans (and Lentils and Nuts and Grains and Vegetables and Fruit) Alone?" thoughts. In those first weeks and months I poured over cook books, health books, the internet. Each meal needed to have protein, plus iron and zinc and calcium, Etcetera. I had to make sure there was vitamin C to help absorb the iron and we needed to have our B12 supplements and I wanted the meals to be tasty, so that we wouldn't be miserable. Big deep breaths! Such a big mountain!

But then… it suddenly wasn't so big. Because I discovered some really yummy recipes. I learned there is literally protein in every single grain, bean, nut, lentil, vegetable and piece of fruit you eat (I had no idea). Once you find meals you love, you can make them in a flash.

And trying new things is actually fun, because they are usually insanely scrumptious. And because we are so committed to this choice, the hardest days (when we've forgotten to go shopping! and er, there's a single limp carrot in the fridge and some old mushrooms and only two cans of beans and half a bag of pasta!) are just that—days. And I have learned that eating a plant-based diet is not just a really kind thing to do for animals, but also incredibly, incredibly, good for you.

Do we have easy meals now? Do we ever have take out? Yes, and yes. Easy comes when I've made such a big pot of lentil bolognese that we can use it three days later for a quick pasta meal. Easy is when there's lots of bean mix from the nachos dinner, and I can pop it on rice the next day for lunch, with slices of avocado on top. Easy is snacks of fruit and carrots with hummus and peanut butter on rice cakes and smoothies with mango. Easy, is going to the local Thai restaurant and asking for Pad Thai with no egg and tofu instead. They know us now and cook everything with vege stock.

Easy, is sitting down to a meal and knowing that every bite will be a good one. We are eating so, so well. It feels all kinds of Beautiful.

5 senses

Things I happened to…

See.

We watched a movie last night. We hardly ever watch movies and we never watch tv. When I say never, I really mean never! The tvs all went to digital this month in Australia. We'd been thinking we needed to get a set-top box to convert our old analog images (little people walking along that high wire, all the way to our house! Where they would put up their little sets and move about inside our box, just for us. We always felt so special), into digital (all those people shrinking, turning into ones and zeros, all saying, 'But wait…wait…'), but we never did.

We never bought the box, much less a new television. Ours is over 10 years old. It's a fossil. Where's it supposed to go now? Is there a play park for defunct things, things like walkmans and the egg beaters you whirr by hand? I imagine our tv shyly entering… 'Hello?' it calls. The other tvs wave shyly back. There's a special corner for them, I imagine. Somewhere they plug themselves in…and in the crackle of nothing, there are the ghosts of the people who used to live there, moving about silently inside. 

We watched a dvd on our new computer. Why? It seemed easier, in the moment, to do it that way. And this is how you make these huge changes in your life. One moment you're in your old life, and then, just like a train being rerouted, a click shifts the tracks, and you head into the new. At some point, maybe years later, you go, "Remember when? When we used to watch tvs, when we listened to CDs, when we warmed up food on the stove, when we washed dishes by hand, when all we had were rocks to make fire and the wolves howled outside?"

It was a movie called Moon, a sci-fi film with Sam Rockwell. I'm not a sci-fi sort of person. I'm not a scary/spooky movie person either. I don't like to be shocked or overly nervous. But I'd heard this movie was great, and I'm a Sam Rockwell fan. It was worth it. It was unnerving in this delicious way, listening to the spooky music, knowing (sort of) and not knowing what's going to happen. There's a man, Sam, who is stuck alone on the dark side of the moon (or IS he? Oooh.). There's the grey of the moonscape and the trundling of the moon rover and the visions Sam starts to have… and then it gets kind of surreal. And kind of sad and kind of beautiful too. I totally went with it—I got hooked. I'm very glad I did.

We stayed up too late watching, of course.

One day, maybe we'll look back and say, "Remember? When we stayed up too late, watching Moon? And we didn't care because then we went to bed and whispered to each other as the children slept, as the night crawled into morning? And the last thing we said before sleep was, 'I love you.' Remember?"

Hear.

I just found a new band. Oh, they are lovely. They make you bounce. They lift you and make you smile. It's easy to love them. Because lift, bounce, smile and love are the things you always hope to have in your day.

Someone commented on this video: "This is what happiness feels like." Don't you agree, now that you've heard and bounced and smiled?

Taste.

This is just some of the vegan yumminess we've been loving recently!

Porridge with pear, apple and banana.

Home-made muesli with flaxseeds, chia seeds, pepitas, slivered almonds, psyllium husk, and oats, served with banana on rice flakes. (served with four milks—we're crazy that way. Almond, rice, soy and oat—all very yummy and all easily available)

Almond banana fritters served with real maple syrup!

Brown rice with lentil bean mix, sliced avocado on the top. 

Sweet potato and cannellini bean soup.

Quesadillas and Nachos and Tacos—all topped with crazy amounts of guacamole!

Pad Thai—my favourite. Unbelievably scrumptious, noodles and veg and tofu with a magic sauce, made by my beautiful husband. 

And a recipe for you (because I know you'll love it)

Vegan Brownies from the very cool, and very funny Vegan Zombie website:

These are insanely, divinely, yummy. They work with gluten free flour too! We dazzled everyone at my son's party with them, and then a family got the recipe and made a batch for their school fete. How cool is that? It made me very happy, to think of all the vegany love spreading outward.

Touch.

Winter is truly upon us. It's cold here, lots of wind blowing, lots of rain outside. Heaters on inside, sitting in ugg boots and jackets inside, many jackets (for me) outside. 

But because we love the sea, and because it wasn't raining one day, we went to the beach to feel the wind. 

It was Glorious. 

Smell.
My children's skin, as I'm cuddling them. When I'm kissing them goodnight and their skin gives off that sweet, sleepy scent. I breathe in and everything is all right with the world.

and See, again.

My children's stories from the Just Image competition!

I love them, and I know I'm biased, but I think you'll love them too.

Frederic Bates, Late lights, 
1963, watercolour, brush and blue ink on paper, 32.4 x 29.1cm

Down Down Down

by my boy

Down down down—it seemed strange that he should fall that fast through water.

Great unfamiliar shapes shot past as he tumbled, head-over-heels, towards the bottom of the sea. The underwater inhabitants watched with curiosity as the alien trespasser fell through their midst.

A stream of bubbles blew out like a cape behind him as he fell. It was like some great monster was hiding in the depths, and with each mighty breath the sailor was sucked further downwards. Like a missile, he sped through the twilight zone into midnight. In the blink of an eye, all sunlight was shut out. Eerie glowing colours swam in and out of his vision.

At that moment, his need for air hit him. It started like a bed of hot coals sitting in his lungs, and grew into a raging inferno. He tried to swim up, up towards the surface, but he knew it was futile.

And then, the light flickered back on again, first as a soft blue-ish glow, then becoming a harsher, colder shade. And with the light came a new sensation, like he was below the monster now, and it was weeping for something lost. Its great silvery tears flowed over his body.

Finally, the need for oxygen became too much. The sailor blacked out. 

•

Slowly, the young man’s eyes swam back into focus. He was lying on a hard, cracked grey surface as great rivers of rain poured down on him from a turbulent sky. Fog swirled and twisted around towering structures, concealing shadowy forms amid its misty folds.

Suddenly, something swooshed past his fallen body, sending a great wave of dirty water crashing down on him. He cleared his eyes just in time to see a sleek black monster shooting through the darkness. Its great red eyes glared back at him before it was swallowed by the night. The sailor shuddered. Then he heard a voice.

“Oh my god! John, come over here!”

The voice was high and female, and had a foreign tinge.

“What is it? Oh my god!”

This new voice was deeper, but had the same foreign sound.

Someone bent over him.

“What’s your name? Where do you live? What happened?”

The sailor groaned.

“Prithee, good sir, I beseech you; where am I?”

He shook, hacked up a great gob of seaweed, and collapsed again into darkness. 

and…

The Dance Of The Brolgas

by my girl

The sky glowed red above the mountain tops. Underneath the setting sun the pool lay, soft and silent in the twilight.  It was still, reflecting the sky and the bunches of stars that poked their heads out into the world, dimly shining as they waited for the last streaks of sunlight to fade.

Then they came.

Dancing and calling came the brolgas. Waving their wings high, they sang. They shook their beaks and lifted their feet, scattering the water that leapt like tiny fish. The brolgas seemed to sing the moon into existence. Their song was powerful in a simple, beautiful way. The stars glimmered, smiling down at the dancing birds.

The brolgas, five of them, beat their wings and took great leaps in a circle, as the shining sphere of the moon rose into the sky, first low, over the mountains, then higher and higher.

One of the birds stretched its long neck, uncurling it to touch the moon, just gently, with its beak. It lifted its wings and brought them down again, letting out a burst of song.

And the other brolgas raised their heads and watched as the bird rose and circled above them.

Then they too beat their wings, once, twice, three times, and followed the brolga into the sky. The birds flew, giving swoops of song that were filled with the delicate power of the stars and the moon they had sung into life.

∞

and that's it…

(for now!)

here's to finding the joy in every moment you can,

with love from me to you.