Please Happy

Internal surveillance. All for it. For five minutes’ peace. Just me, the baby cam, a cup o’ joe and the best ass in Jackson Hole.

Another day when I need a hip hip hooray, a personal cheerleader angel, a fuzzy pink monster hat and some imagination. This is not a new video. But, it does make me smile.

At Linda’s house when we were little, we’d always give thanks before meals.

And I looked forward to it. The Best Grace Ever!

We’d all – anywhere from four to 10 kids at her daycare – grab hands around the table. We’d chant, “Hip Hip Hooray!” and lift our linked hands in the air.

“Hip, Hip Hooray! Hip Hip Hooray. Hip Hip Hooray!” With the last one being the loudest.

During Lillian’s wedding dinner, Linda got up and led us all in a round.

You use it to give thanks, to celebrate. And sometimes you use it when you’re feeling low. When you want to remember the warm summer light at Linda’s house and the smell of basil and grilled cheese from her kitchen. Of the feeling of holding hands around a table and cheering. Together.

Today, I needed one. So here it is, from my mom’s old friend. At her daughter’s wedding.

Hip Hip Hooray!

F is three. We hung out last night. She taught me a few things.

•
You know what disappear means?

What does it mean?

It’s all gone.
I will disappear this baby.
[Throws it behind her.]
See! I disappeared it.

•

[Running in circles around the house. Big, wide, dizzying circles. Every time she passes me, she yells something.]

I’m getting dizzy!

You’re getting dizzy!

A. is getting dizzy!

Mommy and Daddy are getting dizzy!

The princesses are getting dizzy!

The babies are getting dizzy!

_________ is getting dizzy [every family member she could name]!

You wanna know why they’re getting dizzy!?

Why?

Because the sky is moving!

•

Do you know what’s really far away?

I don’t know, Japan?

No, the letter factory! [Disneyland? Sesame street land?]
They talk.
And eat.
And have hair.
And mouths.
And they’re all girls.
But, it’s really far away, so you get tired getting there.

Where is it, F?

It’s in a hotel.

As a child, I’d draw during church. Later, when I had to go as a teenager, I’d keep my mouth closed – silent protest style – during the recitations. Especially the We Believe in One God stuff. Now, I go to church on holidays because it makes Grandpa and Dad happy. And when traveling, I’ll visit old churches. For the smell. For the ancestral tie. And to light a candle for Mom.

So, it wasn’t until I saw Martin Sexton live that I said Hallelujah out loud. And by out loud, I mean, screamed it. Loud. While dancing and sweating. First time, Boulder Theater with Mark. Moved to tears. Second time, Targhee Music Fest, last summer the day I got back to Jackson from my four-month personal Odyssey in Asia.

If Martin Sexton were a preacher, I’d be in church. Belting it out. Voice uplifted. As if from a mountain top.

And here’s a pro(er) vid from a show at Woodstock, NY’s Colony Cafe. 2004.

I’m stopped on the side of the road in between jobs to listen to NPR and write this. Poaching Internet.

I can’t believe Michael Jackson died today. I was rooting for him and his always-imminent comeback. As I always do when I hear Billy Jean, Thriller or any 80s Jackson song, I will continue belting it out and doing the dance. In honor of MJ. Long Live The King of Pop.