The Project

I was feeling a bit grumpy earlier this year (approximately 46 days ago).

There was no legitimate reason for my grumpiness.

I was just a little bummed out. You know… that feeling where everything kind of sucks, and you try to put on a brave face for the world, but inside you’re wondering why you got a Fine Arts degree (and then added insult to injury with a Masters degree), and also… why you didn’t go into dentistry? You like teeth.

I was also a little stressed out. You know… that feeling where everything kind of puts you on edge, and even small tasks seem gargantuan and unrealistic, and you look at your calendar and have to breathe into a paper bag.

I was also feeling a little burned out. You know… that feeling where everything is an effort, and you’re still tired even though you slept for 11.5 hours, and instead of making breakfast, lunch or dinner you just nibble on a Pillsbury cookie dough tube all day, and when the mailman knocks on your door you don’t answer because you fear his judgment. Metaphorically speaking, if you were a steam train, you’d be stuck in the station… because you are out of steam.

I was just a bit bummed out, stressed out, burned out… and also, a bit grumpy. I really needed a week on any of the Italian Riviera’s… but I was stuck here in sunny California.

So, approximately 46 days ago… I started what I like to call the #positivityproject on Instagram. I thought that if I sought out something that made me happy, or laugh, or feel something “positive”… and took a picture of it… then maybe I’d be less bummed out, stressed out, burned out, and generally a less grumpy person.

It’s working.

I’m less grumpy. Ask anyone*.

And I’ve realized that I have a lot of things to be thankful for. Lots (tons).

I’m listing them here (for your convenience… and my convenience) in no particular order:

– my super duper husband

– my wonderful friends

– my loving and supportive parents

– my sister and brother-in-law (both very kindhearted)

– my wise and wonderful Gramps

– my sweet nieces and nephew

– pannekoeks (savory)

– my espresso machine

– my cruise group fake cousins

– my real cousins (by blood)

– trees

– flowers

– nature (all of it)

– Grumpy Cat

– Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (the movie)

– Amazon Prime

– Christmas

– Cuckoo clocks

– The beach

– Waffles

– Gin & Tonics

– Portlandia (the TV show)

– California (the state)

– pets

– Neil Young

– sunsets

If you want to keep up with my #positivityproject (or better yet – join me!), follow me on Instagram: kimberlymanky

 

*Except certain individuals, religious groups, and corporations.

The Card

So, I’ve just gone ahead and done something incredibly thoughtful.

I do that. I’m thoughtful. I think about others and then I do thoughtful things for them. People always say, “Kim, you’re so thoughtful.” And they’re not wrong. It’s the number one compliment I get after, “You have perfectly straight hair”.

(In case you’re wondering… number three is, “Your fingernails look healthy.”)

So, I’m thoughtful. Yes. I do thoughtful things. All the time (twice a week, on average). I think about people… and then I think about what I can do for them.

Like sending them a card, for instance.

Sending a card sends a message. It says: ” I was thinking about you. So then I went to this store and bought you this card – which is really just a folded piece of paper, but if you turn to the back you’ll see that it cost me approximately $2.99 (or more). Then I wrote a thoughtful, personalized message inside, just for you. You’re special to me.”

And believe me… the message is personalized! I do not recycle messages, ever! Also, as a writer I sometimes (…rarely, if ever) make money from my writing… so the fact that I am doing work for you makes it extra special, thoughtful, meaningful, etc.

So, after I have gone to a store and hand-selected (is there another way to do it… without hands?) the perfect card for that particular person, and after I have written a personalized message (in cursive!)… I then walk to the post office (20 minutes… each way!) and then I wait in line, buy a stamp and then I post the card.

That’s a lot of effort.

I hope the recipients of said cards enjoy said cards. I hope said recipients realize the amount if effort it takes. No, it’s not at all like sending an email (or worse, a text!)…

It is worth much, much more (at least $2.99 plus tax, and the cost of a stamp… often an international stamp, which is $1.10!), and those receiving said cards should feel very special indeed.

The Third Best Day Ever!

I said it before, and I’ll say it again…

If my husband asks… the “Best Day Ever” was definitely our wedding day… the day we got married, and expressed our love and lifelong commitment to each other by exchanging vows and rings in the presence of friends, family and our MAKER.

Uh huh.

Sure.

And, if my husband asks… the “Second Best Day Ever” was definitely Roald Dahl Day… when I went to Roald Dahl’s Gispy house (!!!), and I toured the grounds, and I peeked inside his writing hut (!!!), and I held his ball of solid candy wrappers (!!!), and I went inside INSIDE Danny’s caravan (!!!), and I sat in the Wonkamobile (!!!), and I met Roald’s son Theo and his widow Liccy (!!!), and then I purchased some first-edition books from his private collection (!!!), which Liccy signed for me (!!!).

I have let my husband continue to think that our wedding day is in the top spot, but we all know the truth… The “Best Day Ever” was definitely Roald Dahl Day, and our wedding day is a close (yet very distant) second.

The “Third Best Day Ever” has been up for grabs for a long time now. It was a close call… between weddings, vacations, bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs, the birth of our nieces and nephew…

Today… it has been decided (after mulling it over for at least 20 minutes)!

[cue music]

And the award for the “Third Best Day Ever” goes to…

[drum roll] …if you insist.

[opening envelope]

Gruyères!

 

You know who you are… you wonderfully Swiss, medieval mountain town in the canton of Fribourg… known for your cheese and the Battle of Morat!

Gruyères has been awarded the coveted award for “Third Best Day Ever” (aka, “the Oscar of days”) because of it’s lasting impression!

We visited Gruyères in November 2012 with my parents. We knew it would be great… but I don’t think any of us realized that it would be that great.

There were fun and amusing cut-outs with which to take fun (and amusing) photos with!

There was a factory that made Gruyères cheese! We went on a tour and we were given samples!

There was fondue (moitié–moitié) that was quite simply put, “off the chain”.

There was a beautiful castle… which was the site of the Battle of Morat and a pretty sweet fortification!

There were quaint little shops and cobble stone streets.

There was a rainbow!

There were snow-capped mountains!

There was a vending machine that sold Gruyères cheese!!!!!

We were like, “WHAT.” and the vending machine was like, “YEAH.”

And that’s why…Gruyères is the “Second Best Day Ever”… which unfortunately displaces our wedding day.

Just so we’re all clear…

BEST DAYS EVER:

1. Roald Dahl Day.

2. Gruyères (Gruyères “came up the rear” to claim the second spot… Sorry “wedding day”).

3. Wedding Day*.

*Unless my husband asks…

 

 

The Game

Last year whilst vacationing in the Rhine Valley, we came upon a flea market in the small town of Boppard. They were selling the usual what-nots, hoo-dads, and thing-a-ma-jiggers, and I wasn’t at all interested.

You see, I consider myself a minimalist. I like order and purpose, and hardwood floors. I don’t like clutter or crap, or people who litter (it’s unrelated – but still very true).

I grew up in a house that was definitely not minimalist. I think the best way to describe it would be… the exact and polar opposite of minimalism. My parents were/are collectors and loved/love garage sales. I did not – and do not – share their enthusiasm.

So, when we came upon the flea market in Boppard, I was quite happy to pass it by, and go on my merry way (I was feeling quite merry that day) and possibly have another glass of Riesling (because dang, they do make a good Riesling in the Rhine Valley).

Then I heard something that would change my life FOREVER… “Mankomania!”

I looked over at my dear, dear husband thinking he had come up with yet another clever nickname for me, using my unusual surname… as though Spanky Manky, Hanky Panky Manky, The Mankanator, The Manx, Monkey Manky and “My Manky wife” weren’t enough.

Then I saw what he held in his hands…

Mankomania… the game!

We obviously had to buy it (for two euros). I might be an minimalist, but I’m not insane.

 

 

The Story

If I tell you this story, please don’t judge me. Please don’t make an assessment about my overall character on this singular story, okay?

Remember: It was just a one-time thing.

I’m actually a very nice person (ask my mom). I have my flaws (who doesn’t?). My niceness should not be overshadowed by this particular occurrence.

I do plenty of nice things. Plenty (like, a lot). I do nice things almost every single day. I have taken the time to list them here (for your convenience, and reference).

Nice things Kim does almost every day:

– volunteering

– buying taquitos for 7-11 employees

– buying sandwiches for lonely truck drivers

– giving gently used clothing to charity

– putting pennies in “give a penny, take a penny” trays

– complimenting people after a haircut

– complimenting people after a teeth-whitening

– complimenting people after they have obviously been “toning up”

– hugging people when it’s obvious they need a hug

– laughing at people’s bad jokes (someone has to)

So, just because I wished harm on someone while flying over the Atlantic, it doesn’t mean that I’m a bad person, right?

Right? (I feel like you’re not totally in agreement with me here.)

Okay, I should explain.

I love Iceland. It’s so green and lush and volcanic and fun. In 2003 I had the opportunity to visit this Nordic gem of a country. It was my first trip to Europe and I can honestly say that it changed my life. I walked around with wide eyes… taking in the architecture, the geography, the people. I went to a grocery store in Reykjavik at 2 a.m. and the sun was still shining! I took a bath in geothermal waters! I ate a puffin!

(That’s the back-story. It’s important to know because it will give you some idea about why I wished harm on an ailing, old, Japanese man on a transcontinental flight.)

So, we’re flying from Los Angeles to London and I’m standing in the galley of the plane doing some light stretching (to avoid getting blood clots) and I overhear the flight attendants saying something about a man in seat 38B who was “not doing very well”.

And, of course I’m extremely sympathetic (but that’s just me – caring, compassionate, loving… and also: charming, vivacious, charismatic, resourceful, gracious, generous, kind, good-humored and humble).

Then I heard a flight attendant say that the pilot was determining whether the man’s condition was serious enough to make an emergency landing… and that we were very near Iceland.

I thought to myself… “Self, if the man was a teeny, tiny bit worse off, perhaps the pilot would determine that we should make an emergency landing in Iceland.”

So… (yeah)… I wished a little harm on him (just a teeny, tiny bit).

I mean, he was already “not doing very well”. 

And sure, I had my own selfish reasons for wanting to make an emergency landing in Iceland (the Blue Lagoon, Skyr yogurt), but my genuine concern for the man’s health was definitely my primary motivation.

And, because the man’s health was my primary motivation, I wasn’t at all disappointed* when the man made a full recovery, and we landed at London Heathrow as scheduled.

***

*maybe just a teeny, tiny bit

 

The Trip

I’m not talking about the kind of trip where you drink a tincture and come away with a new sense of purpose and understanding.

Wait.

On the kind of trip I’m talking about, you do occasionally drink tea and have a good old catch up with a loved one, where you might hit on some interesting topics, which may in turn give you new insight into a situation.

But I’m definitely not talking about the kind of trip where you go up into the clouds and see your ancestors.

Okay, wait.

On the kind of trip I’m talking about, you do get on a plane and you do go up in the clouds (as planes travel at approx.. 10,000 feet), and you are likely to see relatives, and some of them might be elderly.

But I’m definitely not talking about the kind of trip where you feel crazy for 8-12 hours.

Okay, wait. Now it’s getting weird.

On the kind of trip I’m taking about, you do occasionally attend a large gathering that may last the better part of a day, and you may drink a lot of soda and eat a lot of Red Vines, and because you already have hyperglycemia, you go slightly berserk.

Okay, yeah.

So the type of trip I’m talking about is actually very similar to the kind taken by Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters.

A visit “home” can definitely feel like a drug-fueled trip (not that I would know – however I have done extensive research on Wikipedia, etc.).

There is a lot of talking, and crying, and hugging, and sleeping wherever, and saying, “I love you man”, and also (occasionally) taking drugs (like Tylenol) because sleeping on their sofa bed has left you with a crick in your neck.

But, it’s all worth it.

…The trip home. Not a drug-fueled trip, obviously. A drug-fueled trip can have devastating effects on your physical and mental health.

But then again, so can a trip home.

The Handful

My poor parents…

They had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they decided to procreate for the second time.

Their first child (my sister, Michelle) was a calm, quiet child (I’m assuming this, as she is currently a fairly calm, quiet adult, and she looks very calm and quiet in old photos).

They probably wanted a second child to give Michelle a sister and (possibly) to give themselves another opportunity to eat birthday cake during the year. Because while cake generally tastes very good at any time of year, there is something about birthday cake that I can’t put my finger on. It might be the candle wax melting into the icing?

I digress.

I’ll bet my parents thought that both of their offspring would be calm, quiet and well-behaved children.

Let’s just say… it was not so.

I was a challenge. I was feisty, lively, scrappy. I would say inappropriate things at inappropriate moments. I regularly challenged boundaries and authority. I was not calm, or quiet (and definitely not well-behaved).

Some people blame parents for their children’s behavior. I don’t think Stan and Linda are to blame. (My mom possibly consumed too much Red #40 dye while I was in the womb, but we’ll never know for sure).

They are lovely people that tried their best. I was just a handful.

*

Case in point:

A few months ago my mom was going through their attic and came across a folder of my old drawings, notes, and schoolwork. She found a particularly intriguing letter from my childhood that I have transcribed (verbatim), for your convenience…

Bye!

Dear Mom and Dad, 

I’m tired of getting blamed, spanked, kicked, pinched, scratched at bitten. (all from Michelle) 

So i’ve decided I running away! I’ve taken everything I want! 

Bye! Love Kim xoxo

Tell Grandma and Grandpa Bye! 

Here’s an idea where i’ll be!

(For their convenience, I thoughtfully included a detailed map of my location – near a shrub, between the Watt’s and Hesketh’s.)

If you find this letter Aug 19-21

23 i’ll be leaving that spot!

I don’t remember if I actually followed through on my plans, but I do remember living with my parents until I went to college – so I guess everything turned out okay in the end – for me, not for my parents – they had to suffer through it until I turned 18.

God bless them!

The letter

Kim, aged 7