Tag Archives: happy

What is the Highest Form of Love?

Posted on April 27, 2012 | 2 Comments

Last week I had the pleasure of reconnecting with my best friend from high school, Jess.  It was so rejuvenating to see Jess again, to hear about the twists and turns life has thrown at her, and to remember why we were best friends.  I owe her for introducing me to romance novels.  She was the first person who got that shifty look in her eyes and handed me a book with a cover I would never have shown my Mom and said, “Here, you’ve got to read this.”

One of the things we talked about was love.  More specifically, the way we were raised to see love.  Jess and I were both raised in a relatively small religious community.  We went to a church school where we had chapel every morning and religion classes as part of the curriculum.  The good news is that the early exposure to philosophy that that gave us taught me how to think about the bigger questions of existence.  The bad news is that some of the messages we were given about love have left me, and Jess, with life-long scars.  But ours is not the only religious or philosophical tradition that dictates this misinformation about love.

You see, we were raised to believe that the highest form of love is that between one man and one woman, the kind of love that produces a family.  In other words, marriage is the highest form of love.  Although I’m sure there are some people who would also argue that the love of a parent for their child is the highest form of love as an off-shoot of that.

Like I said, we weren’t the only ones raised this way.  In fact, a lot of current popular media pushes the same agenda.  The highest state of love you can attain is a spouse.  And yeah, marriage love is awesome, but is it really the highest form of love?  Is it something that everyone should aspire to and that people should be disappointed about if they don’t acquire it?  How many couples out there marry and then find out that they were sold a bill of goods?

There are other traditions out there that would tell you that devotion to God is the highest form of love.  These are people and cultures that do not laud marriage as the be all and end all.  The aim in these traditions is to rid yourself of all worldly attachments, including love of the flesh and love for other people above God.  In these cultures it is the guru or shaman or religious that has attained the highest form of love.  Marriage is considered an impediment.

So right there you have a tradition that directly contradicts what I was raised with.  That gets me to thinking.  If one culture espouses one set of values and another says something entirely different, then what really is the highest form of love?

Sometimes I feel like I get a lot of pressure or a lot of pity for being single.  Poor Merry, she isn’t able to attain the highest form of love.  Well, that’s just absurd.  I feel as though I am so full of love that it bursts out all over the place, on paper and in real life.  Just because I’m single doesn’t mean all that love inside of me has nowhere to go.  Quite the contrary.

Personally, I believe the definitive word on love comes from one lovely Bible verse:  “Greater love hath no man than this: than to lay down one’s life for one’s friend.”  There you go, folks.  The Bible puts it clearly and succinctly.  And you don’t have to be Christian to see the point it’s trying to make.

The highest form of love is whatever form it takes when you set aside your own wants and concerns to help or comfort or consider someone else.  It could be a life or death situation or it could be letting someone else have the last slice of pizza.  Sure, that could easily be the love between spouses.  But it’s not limited to marriage.  Yep, it can also be the love a parent has for their child, or vice versa, but it’s not exclusively that relationship either.  It is a form of love that every single person on this planet and any others can partake in to an equal degree, no matter what their status in life is.

The theologian Emanuel Swedenborg has another way of putting it that I love: “To feel another’s joy as joy in oneself: that is loving.”  I don’t know about you, but seeing someone I love, friend or family, burst with joy over an accomplishment or a milestone is absolutely the best feeling ever.  It’s love and pride and happiness all rolled into one gorgeous package.  It’s awesome.  And it’s not exclusive.  Anyone and everyone can feel that way.

So what is the highest form of love?  It is the love that brings you outside of yourself.  It is the love that urges you to be a better person.  It is the love that improves the world one person at a time as we stop to consider what would make our beloved, friend, spouse, or family happy regardless of what we want.

It is the love that everybody can participate in and everyone can benefit from, no matter what their state in life.

Incidentally, I also found this quote from a site of Bodhisattva Quotes while looking for pics for this post:  “Friendship is the purest love. It is the highest form of Love where nothing is asked for, no condition, where one simply enjoys giving.”

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Cricket for Americans

Posted on April 13, 2012 | 2 Comments

“Wait….  You’re an American … and you’re a girl … and you’re interested in cricket?”

Thus began my first ever experience with the game that would become one of my three greatest loves in life.  The Gentlemen’s Sport.  Cricket.

Me with Indian cricketer Sunil Joshi

I came to cricket in a wild, round-about way.  Back in the fall of 2009 I was directing a production of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night that I had set in India.  When I went online to look for music to play during scenes I stumbled across the soundtrack to a Bollywood film, Salaam-e-Ishq.  I fell in love with the song and after the show had wrapped I got the film from Netflix.  I fell in love with Bollywood, and through that with Shah Rukh Khan.  Shah Rukh owns a cricket team, the Kolkata Knight Riders.  Of course I had to be a fan, but I knew nothing at all about cricket.  So I went online, typed “Philadelphia” and “Cricket” into Google, and was directed to the website for the Philadelphia Cricket League.  A friend and I went to watch a match at what we thought was the closest pitch to where I lived.  And that’s where I met BOCC, British Officers Cricket Club.

Aside from being startled that an American girl like me would be interested in cricket, the guys were super happy to have a supporter.  During that very first match, in the second innings, they encouraged me to score for them.  I didn’t know anything about scoring, but Tahir, who is my “cricket uncle” taught me the basics.  I enjoyed it so much that I kept coming back again and again and again.

Me with a tiny fraction of BOCC on our UK tour 2010

Almost three years later here I am, a card-carrying member of the club, studying to be an internationally certified scorer.  I’ve traveled to England with the club and every year we go to Toronto for a tour.  I also help out with the Philadelphia International Cricket Festival (in  just three weeks!) and have been known to score for Merion Cricket Club and Staten Island Cricket Club.

And most Americans probably have no concept of what I’m talking about here.  Well, that’s because Americans just don’t know what they’re missing.  So let me tell you about cricket….

Here is my favorite explanation of cricket:

“You have two sides, one out in the field and one in. Each man that’s in the side that’s in goes out, and when he’s out he comes in and the next man goes in until he’s out. When they are all out, the side that’s out comes in and the side that’s been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out.”

Believe it or not, that makes sense when you know what you’re talking about.  But if you’re American and you’re confused, let me simplify it….

You have two teams of eleven guys.  One team begins by fielding and one team by batting.  Sound familiar?  In the center of the pitch is a long rectangle called the wicket.  At either end of the wicket you have… wickets.  I’ve always been a little confused on the terminology here, so someone might have to correct me.  Anyhow, the wickets are made up of three stumps with two bails laid across the top.  Each of the two batsmen who are “in” stand in front of these wickets wearing what looks like battle armor made out of mini mattresses.  Why all the coverage?

Because the bowler (think pitcher if you’re American) comes running full speed towards the pitch and hurls a small, rock-hard ball (usually red, sometimes white) overhand at the batsman in an attempt to smash the wicket to pieces.  The ball bounces several feet in front of the batsman, who is protecting the wicket.  At least it’s supposed to.

The batsman’s job is to protect the wicket.  As long as it remains intact he can stay in.  But points are scored when the batsman “on strike” hits that ball and the two batsmen run back and forth between the wickets.  There are large boxes drawn around the wickets in chalk and the batsmen just have to get part of themselves, which includes their bat, inside of that box in order to turn around and run back for another run.  If the batsman hits the ball and it rolls on the ground over the boundary (usually a large oval marking the far edges of the pitch) then he automatically gets 4 points without having to run.  If he hits the ball and it goes airborne over the boundary he automatically gets 6 points.

Batsmen get out by having their wicket broken, either by the bowler when he bowls, by the wicket-keeper (think catcher) who can knock the bails off of the stumps if the batsman steps outside of the box but doesn’t make a full run, by a fielder who hits the wicket with the ball before the batsman runs into the box, by having the ball caught after he hits it (just like baseball), or by this nutty thing called LBW or Leg Before Wicket which I don’t entirely understand but has to do with the batsman blocking the ball from hitting the wicket with his body or leg pads instead of the bat.  Oh, or if he steps back and knocks his own wicket over, which I have never seen happen but have been learning about in my scorers course.

Unlike baseball, each batsman stays in as long as he can, scoring as many runs as he can, until he’s out.  Once he’s out the next guy  on the team goes in to replace him.  In most cricket one side goes in and scores as many runs as they can, then in the second innings the other team bats and tries to beat the score of the first team in the first innings.

Which brings me to innings.  There are two of them (unless you’re playing test cricket, which is still a bit of a mystery to me).  Innings are made up of Overs.  An over is made up of six deliveries of the ball.  Meaning the bowler bowls six times.  Unless there are “Extras” (think Balls in baseball).  An inning is made up of a pre-established number of overs.  We generally play 40 over innings, but there is a new form of cricket growing in popularity called Twenty20 that is only 20 overs per inning.  Cricket purists scoff at the very notion as an offense to all things good and holy in cricket.

Well, if I haven’t confused you enough, there are two other VITAL parts of the cricket match that make the whole thing the most wonderful experience ever.  After the first inning but before the second innings is something called “Tea”.  Tea is lunch.  When BOCC hosts matches we usually provide a stellar spread of home-cooked food.  Because we have a lot of Indian members of our club, sometimes Tea is a full-on curry.  After the match is over it’s time for the Pub.  We don’t always go out to the pub afterwards, but it’s just not quite the same when you don’t.  Because cricket is a social game.

So there you have it.  Americans, this is the sport that most of the rest of the English-speaking world eats, sleeps, and breathes!  It is here in America, but you have to hunt to find it.  Look in communities with a strong ex-patriot population.  It really is a lot of fun.

 

Heaven on earth

 

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The Best Compliments

Posted on March 30, 2012 | 1 Comment

Fact:  I can’t stand negativity.  I’m seriously allergic to it.  When people are being negative or complaining it feels like nails on a chalkboard to me.  The world has too much negativity as it is.

And so, in honor of Fun Friday, and in an attempt to dispel some of the negativity in the world, I now share with you some of the very best compliments that have ever been given to me and why they are so wonderful.  I hope that reading these will inspire you to compliment some other people in your lives….

“I loved your book”

Click on the cover to read some of my awesome reviews!

Okay, this one is obvious.  Praise is always a good thing.  Especially when you are praised for something that you put your heart and soul into.  I work very hard on my writing.  My writing is a part of me, the very deepest part of me.  I identify myself by my writing.  So when someone compliments something I’ve written I feel it on the very deepest level.

But it goes further than that.  I write so that people can enjoy the stories that live in my head.  I could just let them be in my head forever, but that’s not the point.  The point is to bring joy to others through what I write.  When someone tells me that they loved my book it means that I’ve done my job and done it well.  It’s the best feeling ever~

“You know, Merry, I just don’t understand.  You’re attractive, intelligent, easy to work with, easy to talk to….  I just don’t understand why there isn’t a line of men waiting to date you.”

This compliment was given to me by my friend Will when we were working on a play together.  It’s one of the best compliments anyone has ever paid me and I keep it close and replay it in my mind when I’m feeling particularly miserable about life.  Because my answer was and is “Yeah!  I don’t understand either!”

There are so many reasons why this is an excellent complement.  First of all, he said some very nice things about me.  More importantly, he said some very nice things that also happen to be the things that I value about myself.  Will’s compliment completely validated that everything I was trying to be, intelligent, easy to talk to, easy to work with, was succeeding.  The fact that he said it to my face instead of just wondering to himself was so encouraging.  And the fact that he would empathize with exactly the thing that I’ve always thought, that it doesn’t make sense that I’m single (insert ego here) was also a totally cathartic validation.  This was such a great compliment because it was personal and genuine.

“You’re so interested in things.”

This is the second best compliment I’ve ever received.  It was given to me by my friend Margo in the middle of a really interesting dinner discussion I was having with her family.  There’s nothing like being complimented by someone that you really love and admire.  And again, this compliment is special to me because it speaks to something that I value about myself.

I am interested in things.  I have always been.  Life is really interesting!  There are so many things that beg to be looked at and explored and understood.  I enjoy delving like some people enjoy gardening.  To have someone pick up on that and praise me for it meant so much.  If someone had complimented my shoes I would shrug.  If they said my hair looked pretty I would probably smile.  Those things aren’t important to me.  But to say that I am so interested in things hits the nail right on the head.  That’s what I’m all about.

“That’s a nice shirt you’re wearing.  And that’s a great vest you’re wearing too.  But you know what would be even better?  To see them crumpled up in a ball at the end of my bed.”

Okay, context is important for this one!  It was when I was hanging out with some friends at auditions for the PA Renaissance Faire.  We all knew we would get in because we had been in it the year before.  My friend Ryan made this cheezy pass at me while we were waiting in the hall to do our monologues.  He was (and is) an actor, and he delivered the line with all the smarminess of a pro.

So why does this make my list of the greatest compliments ever paid to me?  Because I was 18, hopelessly naïve about the world, and desperate to make a good impression on people, especially guys.  The fact that he would hit on me made me feel attractive and desirable.  The fact that Ryan would hit on me made me feel like I was accepted as one of the inner circle by one of the coolest guys at the Ren Faire.  And for someone who was bullied through school and terribly insecure about her social value, to be the recipient of a corny pick-up line was heaven on earth.

And the best compliment I’ve ever received?

…

Well now, I can’t say it here online.  My blog has a PG rating, after all, and the compliment definitely wasn’t PG.  But it was fantastic and I’ll never forget it.  It was so good, in fact, that I wrote it into one of my novels, along with my response, word for word.  Which novel?  Wouldn’t you like to know.  ;)

So get out there and compliment someone!  Spread the love.  The world will be a much better place for it.

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How I Became A Writer

Posted on February 13, 2012 | 33 Comments

Here it is, folks!  In honor of ORIGINS Blogfest (a fabulous idea created by DL Hammons which hundreds of writer/bloggers are participating in today) I present you with my origins story – how I became a writer.  Or rather how I knew I was a writer.

I’ve included the one sentence version of the story in many a bio I’ve written:  I have been a writer since I was 10 years old and realized one day that I didn’t have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something.  But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Three year old Merry & her Granddad

I was in third grade.  It had been a rough couple of years for me.  My dad had walked out on us when I was 6, we moved halfway across the country to live near my Mom’s family, my Granddad (who had become a beloved father figure) had passed away very suddenly of a heart attack, and when my dad remarried he took my two older half-brothers (his sons from his first marriage) away to live with him.  Trauma!  I was struggling in school that year too.  It sounds so silly to an adult, but my best friend from second grade had been put in a different classroom than me.  I also had to learn long-division, which nearly killed me.  Everything pretty much sucked far more than your average ten-year-old deserves to have things suck.

My third grade teacher was Mr. Morley.  I adored him.  One day we were given a creative writing assignment.  I don’t even remember what we were supposed to write, but I ended up writing a story about a girl who made friends with and probably fell in love with a wasp (yes, a wasp) named Michael Greer.  Now Michael Greer was a boy in my class that I had been in love with since he kissed me in first grade.  This was the first instance of me making a character out of someone I knew.  I’m sure it was also the first time I used fiction to express and work through my emotions.  There was probably some deep psychological meaning to the fact that I would write a story about myself falling in love with a wasp (I was and still am to this day completely terrified of wasps) named after a boy I had a crush on.

Well, when we did these creative writing assignments in third grade we generally read them aloud to the class after they were graded.  I still remember Mr. Morley asking to speak with me at recess.  He was very tactful about saying that while he liked my story he didn’t think I should read it aloud.  I knew what he was talking about and agreed.  Thank you Mr. Morley for helping me to dodge a bullet that would have meant third grade social suicide!  I loved him even more.

Young Merry coming up with ideas to write about

But this first critique of something I had written got me to thinking….  I had written a story and enjoyed the process of writing it, and even though I had handed it in to the teacher it hadn’t been read aloud like the rest of the class’s stories.  So that meant that not everything I wrote would have to be on display for my class.  And if I could write something for a class that then wasn’t shared, who was to say that I couldn’t then just write something for myself alone to enjoy?

That’s when I started writing.  Granted, I didn’t do it a lot, just every now and then.  Until something else coincidental and wonderful happened when I was in fifth grade.  My Mom took a job as the secretary of the elementary school that I attended.  When she was cleaning out the office she found a bunch of old school supplies that no one wanted.  One of these items was a small spiral-bound three-subject notebook.  I asked if I could have it.  She said yes.  For the first time in my young life I had in my possession the tools to write as much as I wanted.  This was a notebook that wasn’t earmarked for schoolwork.  It was mine to do with as I pleased.  I believe I wrote another story in which a boy in my class who I had a crush on fell in love with me.  And I think there was some time-travel involved too.  Either way, the tide had turned.  I was a writer.

I have boxes and boxes of spiral-bound notebooks with stories I started, ideas I’ve had, and boys I’ve had crushes on.  I suppose I was always meant to be a romance novelist at that.  Those notebooks lasted up until I got my first computer.  I have a few ancient floppy disks with stories on them (that may never be able to be recovered).  Nowadays I have a flash drive with everything I’ve written for the last five or so years.  But really, it all goes back to those heavy, obnoxious boxes of spiral-bound notebooks that I’ve lugged from apartment to house to apartment to state to state for the last 25 years.  And yes, I still have the original notebook.

I was born to be a writer.  It’s as simple as that.  And I’ll be a writer until the day I die and then some.

[Medieval Monday will return next week as I begin an exciting new series on Awesome Medieval Technology!]

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Complaints-giving

Posted on November 24, 2011 | 8 Comments

Today is Thanksgiving Day in America.  All across our fair country families will be getting together to eat turkey and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie, to enjoy each other’s company, and to be thankful for the good things in our lives.

Well, in theory at least.

The reality is probably more along the lines of families getting together to drive each other crazy, children screaming and whining about having to eat all of their beans, men disappearing to watch football games, and women buzzing around the kitchen muttering about no one helping them clean up or trying to out-martyr each other.

And you know what?  I say go for it!

This Thanksgiving I think we should all take a moment to complain at the top of our voices.  I think we should all really let rip and tell people all of the things we can’t stand, disapprove of, or think or are unfair in our lives.  Let’s really go for broke and kick up a ruckus.

I’ll go first.

I am really angry that I’m still single at age 37 without any significant relationships to look back on or forward to.  I think I’m better than that and that I have a lot of really good things to offer a man.  I’m angry that no one has bothered to see me as a potential mate or even a date for dinner.  I’m annoyed that so many men that I’ve met are so selfish and can’t be honest about what they really want in life.  That goes for non-romantic-interest men too.  In fact, I’m pissed off that no one, not even my family, ever seems to be there for me when I really need them.  I’m furious that I have to struggle financially, that I have to work two jobs, three if you count writing (which I do) and that no one has offered to help.  I’m livid that the closest offer I’ve ever gotten of concrete help from my family is my aunt saying I could maybe, possible, rent a room in her house, but under no circumstances could I bring my cats if I did.  I hate that no one ever gets me anything even remotely useful or even in the ballpark of what I want for Christmas but instead fill up my already overcrowded apartment with glorified paperweights because they don’t stop to think about what I really want or need.  And I’m frustrated that I haven’t sold thousands of copies of my novel or that I don’t have thousands of Twitter followers, Facebook fans, or Blog subscribers.

Whew!  Yeah!  That was a rip-roaring bundle of complaints!  Grr!

And now I can take a deep breath.  Ah!  Now I’ve gotten that out there in the world.  Now I’ve said it.  Now I can let go of it and move on.

Complaining is like vacuuming.  Carpets get cluttered up with dirt, dust, and gunk.  That’s why every once in a while we have to bring out the big, obnoxious, noisy machine that scares the cats and makes them hide under the bed.  We flex our muscles and raise our heart rate as we lug those gigantic machines around to suck up all the clutter.  What we’re left with is a nice clean floor that may not be as fresh and new as the day we bought the carpet, but it looks a whole lot better.  The room looks bigger.  We can breathe a sigh of relief and say “look how much cleaner the whole place seems now!”

Complaining is a necessary part of the process of gratitude.  We all have so many things to be grateful for in our lives.  No seriously, we do.  But it’s so hard, impossible even, to see all of the wonderful things in our lives if we’re clogged up with dirt and unhappiness.  Nothing is ever going to be the way any of us want it to.  It’s human nature to be dissatisfied with what we have.  We all have complaints.  As long as you hold those complaints inside, letting them fester and grow and sink into the fiber of the carpet, you’re not going to have room for gratitude of any kind.

You have to let go of the bad before you have space for the good.

So now that I’ve ranted and gnashed my teeth and spit out all the crap that clogs me up when I’m feeling vulnerable I can take a look at the good things in my life, the things I’m thankful for.

I’m thankful that I have a vivid, crazy, lively imagination that has been my closest friend and ally for my entire life.  I’m thankful that it has provided me with hours of entertainment, made writing essays for school easier, gotten me out of tight predicaments, and given me wings.  I’m thankful that I was taught to go after the things I want in life rather than to sit back and feel sorry for myself for not having them.  I’m thankful that I have a few people in my life that I can call the best friends ever.  I’m grateful that I have the strength and health to work insanely hard so that I can make ends meet and pay my own way without having to mooch off of anyone.  I’m thankful for the recent changes in the publishing industry that have made it possible for me to share my stories with the world without having to venture down a path that I’ve never felt comfortable with.  I’m so very thankful that I discovered the wonderful sport of cricket and that I’ve become a part of the cricket scene in Philadelphia, made a name for myself and made so many wonderful new friends.  I’m thankful that I can see things other people can’t, and that other people see things that I can’t because it means I’ll always have room to grow.  I’m thankful that I can share these words with complete strangers and I hope that good will come into the world in ways I’ll never be aware of because of them.

Ah!  That felt good.  It’s nice to be reminded of the good side of life.  I don’t know if I would have been able to feel so thankful if I hadn’t felt free to honestly express all those negative things that were taking up the brain-space I needed to feel that way.

So give it a try.  Dump out all the bad.  Rant here in a comment if you want to grouse about something that pisses you off and be heard … but not by the people who you have to live with.  And then fill up all that empty space with thankfulness.  But get rid of the crud first.

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