The Green Swamp

My mom gave me an Avanti card for my birthday. You can find a photo of it at the end of the story. She wanted me to write a story about it before Jan 30. Since I had a snow day today, I decided to see what I could write. 

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Malook, Hungblob, and Wooshee sat on their proverbial royal couches in their swamp palace rec room . Malook sighed,  Hunglob farted, and Wooshee moaned.

“Our Royal Father,” said Malook, “looks as if he is going to live forever.” Malook was considered the most handsome of the brothers. During the Mid-Summer Ball, the guests would comment about  how his slender legs moved so gracefully around the floor, avoiding the toadstools, and how his grey speckled head glistened so slimeily in the light of the fireflies.

“Why can’t he die before we all have to find a bride?” said Hungblob, scratching his grey voluptuous belly.

“It was supposed to be a blessing, and not a curse,” said Wooshee. “Our fairy godmother wanted to make sure that our father lived to see our wedding.”

“We are 137 years old,” said Hungblob, “That’s no spring peepin’ frog. My chirp, sounds more like croak these days.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have started smoking swamp grass.” said Wooshee. “I gargle with honey and onions twice a day and my voice is primed and ready to give royal speeches. I have been thinking of joining the choir in the meantime.”

“Well, since you don’t have anything better to do with your time…” threw back Hungblob.   

“Brothers,” said Malook. “I know we have all been getting antsy.”

At this point, an ant saw this as a que and crawled from under Malook’s t-shirt  and started making its way up toward his ear.

“And, it is an archaic tradition that the first born takes the throne only after he takes a wife. You would have thought there would have been a clause in there for triplets anyhow. All that aside, I’m tired of sitting around. I’m going to take some action.”

“Well, woopdedoo for you,” scoffed Hungblob. “ You forgot to mention that the law also calls for a foreign wife. How are we supposed to get a foreign wife when we can’t even leave the water of our kingdom? I can see a lost manatee or two getting washed into our swamp during a hurricane, but there is no way three eligible manatees would make it here alive. I would even take slow lady tortoise at this point. I’m not picky. As long a she looks curvy in a bikini, I’m good.

Wooshee grimaced,  “You disgust me. I’m hoping for a beautiful mermaid brought here by a stream. We will fall madly in love and swim around the kingdom together and sing songs at the parties we throw.”

“You two are forgetting about the internet,” said Malook.

“Oh, believe me, the internet is the best thing that has happened to me these past 137 years,” said Hungblob, giving a little smirk.

“Well, anyway, we can use it to our advantage. So what if we can’t leave the swamp? We can bring our future wives to us.” Malook glided over to their PC and started typing. “Does this sound good? “A Luxurious Florida Spa Adventure for Three?”

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Marcia, Deb, and Lil looked at their map.

“This can’t be right,” said Marcia. “They don’t put spas in wilderness preserves.”

“But the agent was so descriptive and nice,” purred Lil. “He said that the state is working with Royal Spas Unlimited to bring more tourism to the Green Swamp. You know there was all of that hurricane damage last year? They need money to restore the land to the natural habitat and this spa adventure is the new trendy experience to bring people out here. At least, that is what Will, hehe, I mean the agent, told me. Gosh, his voice was like honey.”

Deb rolled her eyes.“So you walk through stinking mosquito filled paths, stub your toe on every rock and stick, and then, after you think you can’t stand another minute of it, you get into this canoe that looks as if it has been sitting out here for ages. No wonder you need a spa after it all. I won’t be able to recognize my own skin under all of the lumps by the end of the day.”

“But anything is a good break after the office,” said Marcia. “Every time I slap a mosquito, I thank God I’m listening to the whine of the bloodsucker, instead of the constant whine of Burbanks, the life-sucker of a boss.”

“I’m just imagining that there will be strong a Cuban man rubbing my back by the end of the day,” said Lil. “With that on my mind, I can get through anything.”

Deb and Lil continued to paddle while Marcia navigated. A dense mist began to drift over the party.

“I’m getting goosebumps,” said Lil.

Just then, there was a splash off to the left of them.

Deb screamed and looked down, “There’s water coming through a crack in the side of the boat.”

The canoe started to sway back and forth as if  there were a large creature swimming under it. Suddenly, with a huge swoosh, all three of them were thrown out of their small craft and into the thick dank green water.

The Constant Adventure

Having a summer job at the local state park seems peaceful. I get to work in a place that people use for rest and relaxation. That means I get to rest and relax too? Hah!

One of my roles is goose wrangler. Although I worked at Rock Cut for three years now, I had not yet learned the fine art of hearding, holding, and tagging a goose. Sometimes I feel like a goose savior. In the instance of this photo, my coworkers and I saved this goose from loosing its leg that was tangled in fishing line.

Poison ivy is a constant threat. This year, the plants seem to be extra luscious. Poison ivy comes in multiple forms. It can be the common ivy you see on the ground, but it can also be the three inch thick vine climbing up the tree with leaves larger than your hand. It’s a good thing I ate poison ivy this past spring to inoculate myself against the itchy rash.

Sometimes, at Rock Cut, we perform community service work. A bachelorette party was hiking miles away from their car. One of the bridesmaid’s injured ankles started to give her problems and my coworkers and I were valiant enough to sweep the maids off their feet and carry them back to their vehicle.

Though saving geese and brides is quite exciting work, the crimes that occur in the park keep me on my toes even more. Last week, while I was mowing the beach and listening to an exciting podcast about the crime reporter Agnes Underwood, I began to imagine myself as a great detective myself. I could be daring and brave like this woman and catch the bad guys. While I was fully entranced in my fantasy, I was slightly disturbed by the sight of two teen girls standing next to an SUV seemingly in distress. When I went to talk to them, they told me that their vehicle had been broken in to and robbed while I had been mowing the grass a few feet away.

I am a goose cowgirl, a poison ivy eater, bachelorette party rescuer, and imaginary crime fighter. Long live summer.

Also PSA: Do not leave your purse or your wallet in plain sight of the window. It is so easy for the bad guys to break a window, reach in, and grab your money and ID. Please.

Quotes from a First Grader

“Do you think I’m cute?”

T:  Are you married, because I want to marry you?

Miss Hughes: I bet you say that to all the subs.

T: Yes, but you are the youngest and the most beautiful. Can I have one kiss? Just one?

Miss Hughes:No, that is illegal.  Don’t you remember me?” I tutored you in math last week?

T: No. Takes off glasses and blinks. So, do you think I’m cute?

 

 

 

 

 

Lunacy

I have been reading a lot of G.K. Chesterton lately, and it is very thought provoking. Though the concept of modern homeschooling didn’t become popular until the 1980’s, Chesterton seems to champion it in his essay, “The Thing.” It made me think so much, that I made a little illustration for one specific paragraph of that essay. I usually think better in pictures than in words.  Without further ado, here are Chesterton’s own words, and a photo to go along with it”

“Some social reformers try to evade this difficulty, I know,
by some vague notions about the State or an abstraction called
Education eliminating the parental function. But this,
like many notions of solid scientific persons, is a wild illusion
of the nature of mere moonshine. It is based on that strange
new superstition, the idea of infinite resources of organisation.
It is as if officials grew like grass or bred like rabbits.
There is supposed to be an endless supply of salaried persons,
and of salaries for them; and they are to undertake all that human
beings naturally do for themselves; including the care of children.
But men cannot live by taking in each other’s baby-linen. They cannot
provide a tutor for each citizen; who is to tutor the tutors?
Men cannot be educated by machinery; and though there might be
a Robot bricklayer or scavenger, there will never be a Robot
schoolmaster or governess. The actual effect of this theory
is that one harassed person has to look after a hundred children,
instead of one normal person looking after a normal number of them.
Normally that normal person is urged by a natural force, which costs
nothing and does not require a salary; the force of natural
affection for his young, which exists even among the animals.
If you cut off that natural force, and substitute a paid bureaucracy,
you are like a fool who should pay men to turn the wheel of his mill,
because he refused to use wind or water which he could get for nothing.
You are like a lunatic who should carefully water his garden with
a watering-can, while holding up an umbrella to keep off the rain.”

G.K. Chesterson

Unified

One of the ideals I most desires is the re-unification of the Christian religion. Since I was a little baby, I have been going to both Evangelical kids groups and catechism groups. I would listen to Focus on the Family and EWTN. I have good, wise, and holy friends in both the Evangelical and the Catholic communities. I think my desire for unification mostly stems from these friendships.

I see divisions all over the place. People who should run together toward the Kingdom of Heaven, but instead, look at one another from opposite sides of the fence and never quite connect. We had the 500th year Anniversary of the Reformation about two weeks ago. Though there was a lot of reform that needed to be done, much brokenness and finger pointing has also resulted.

As the Reformation festivities and discussions of the divisions were going on, I noticed something unifying between both Catholics and Protestants. If there is one thing they do not disagree on that much, it is the importance of daily scripture in their lives. The Catholics have a liturgical calendar. There are daily bible readings from both a Gospel and a non-Gospel book. This calendar is followed throughout the whole world. Everyone is reading the same passages on the same days. This year, we read the book of Romans from October 16 until November 11 for our non-Gospel reading.  Catholics are unified in their readings and this is a great conversation starter when meeting a new Catholic friend.

I also participate in a non-denominational bible study called Bible Study Fellowship International. BSF is a very organized bible study for women and children, that consists of analyzing one book of the Bible every year, and discussing it in great detail.  This year, we are reading through the book of Romans. One of the main reasons I like BSF, is that it connects me to my Evangelical friends who live throughout the USA. Almost all of my good homeschooler friends attend this group in their own state and city. Because we are all reading the same chapter in Romans, I can talk to my friend in Indiana about justification one week, and I can talk to my friend in Wisconsin about the difference between punishment and discipline the next.  I’m internationally unified with the Catholics in the daily liturgical readings and I’m also internationally unified with the Protestants in my weekly BSF study.

But, strangest of all, when commemorating 500 after the split, both Catholics and Protestants find themselves reading the same book at the same time. From the same Book of Life their lives form.

This is Carolyn who introduced me to BSF. We are sleeping in a tent, in case you were wondering.

 

Lit 103

Prof:  Hello, My name is Professor Thorten. Welcome to Modern American Lit 103. If that is not the class you signed up for, you can leave now….Ok. Good. Now how many of you have heard of the Canon? What is the Canon?

Student 5: Isn’t it like everything we are supposed to read by the time we graduate?

Prof: Well, yes.  It used to be. Think about it. What unifies the Canon? What do they all have in common. What is the demographic of people who wrote the Canon?

Student 12: Um, wealthy white males.

Prof: Correct! Until recently, the only literature we would teach in our classes would be books written by wealthy white males. Many of the marginalized voices were not heard. We did not teach a well rounded curriculum. Now, I want you to open your books to page 224. On this page you will find a story called, “The Lumberjack.” This story is written by a very marginalized voice, the middle class unmotivated 28 year old female. Before we printed it in our textbook, this piece was never even published in anything but a blog with under 100 followers. This is a voice that is screaming to be heard….  Ok, you may begin reading. I will ask you some follow up questions in 15 minutes.

The Lumberjack

by J.H.

Colin buried his nose in his wife’s hair. What a greeting, after a sweltering sticky day of tree removal. Even though sawdust clung to every hair on his arms hid in the folds of his shirt, she still ran to greet him every day and threw her arms around him.

During dinner that night, after he had showered, Lydia told him that their son had some good news. “ I went poo on the pot today dad,” the son said.

“High Five!” said Colin, and they smacked their hands into one another.   

“So,” said Lydia,  ” They’re finally taking down that old forest behind the high school?”

“Yep, who would have thought they’d hire me to do it? That property has been for sale for a long time.”

“Remember when we used to eat lunch there every day when we were seniors?”

“Yup, and that is where I kissed you for the first time.”

“Eww,” said the son, covering his eyes.

Lydia winked at Colin and poked his leg under the table with her toe.

Knock! Knock!, The sound startled their quiet evening.

Colin pushed his chair back and went to open the door.

“Oh, Hi, Jared,” said Colin. Jared’s eyes were puffy and red. Plastic grocery bags full of clothes were in each of his hands. His favorite pair of skates hung around his neck.

“She threw me out!” said Jared.

“What? Come in. Do you need a place to spend the night?”

Lydia had overheard the conversation and came to the door and stood in the doorway.

“I’ve never heard a cross word between you two in all the years we have known each other. Maya is one of my best friends. We meet up for coffee every few weeks. I didn’t see this coming. She would have told me.” She reached out and touched Jared’s elbow.

“Let the man in Lydia,” said Colin.  He took the bags out of Jared’s hands and brought them into the living room where there was a fold out couch that could turn into a bed. While he fixed the bed, he could hear Jared and Lydia in the kitchen. He heard the sound of the fridge being opened and the plink as Lydia popped the lid off a beer and the cap landed on the counter. He heard Jared take a sip, and say, “I just didn’t see this coming. I just didn’t see this coming.”

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Colin tossed the logs he had cut the day before onto the truck bed. The new fitness center will have a pool. My kid will love it.

It had been a rough night. Jared had not been able to sleep. Lydia noticed every tiny creak in the house and the sound of Jared getting up to wretch and flush the toilet at least five times, had kept her rolling and tossing for the majority of the time they were supposed to be sleeping.

Though his arms felt like taking a break, Colin kept his constant pace of tossing one log after the other. Just as he picked up a hefty log, something in the bark caught his eye. There were some old words carved into the wood, “Jared+Maya Forever.”

Colin smiled ruefully and threw the log into the back of the truck. Jared and Maya must have carved that over 12 years ago when they were all still in high school.

“Poor Jared,” he sighed. Thoughts of high school began to run through his head. Maya and Jared had been so funny together. There was that one time when Maya brought in three pigs from her farm. Jared had written 1,2, and 4 on the pigs. The janitor had been looking for a pig with the #3 on his back for hours, but there was no # 3 pig to be found.

The truck was now full of logs and Colin’s partner drove off to dump the lumber at the county mulching facility.  Colin picked up a fresh chainsaw from the bed of his truck. He had just sharpened the chains that morning and it was ready to go. He had felled most of the trees yesterday, but he had saved this little grove of beech trees for last. It was where he and Lydia had liked to sit on sunny afternoons during their senior year.

The first time Lydia had brought him to this grove, she pulled him over the the tree that her parents had carved while they had been in high school. “20 years and still just as in love as the day they met,” she had said while she traced the M+K in the smooth bark. Then, she had turned her head and gave Colin this little knowing smile, like she had known they were to be together like that some day as well.

Near the in-laws’ tree, there was this beech with a knot hole where they would hide presents for one another.  In fact, he had hidden her ring in it right before they became engaged. “Get your act together Colin,” he said to himself. He just had to keep reminding himself of that new and shiny building. There would be handball courts and he and Lydia could play a few games on Saturdays, while their son could play in the free child care. The tree was old memories and he could make new memories with his family at the fitness center.

Still, Colin couldn’t shake the memories. Colin choked the saw and it started on the second pull. He would cut Lydia’s parent’s tree first. The part with the initials he would save and his father-in-law could make a table leg or something out of it to commemorate their 40 long relationship.  He cut a pie slice and a hinge so that the tree would fall just where he wanted it to.

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Lydia’s phone rang. She picked it up.

“It’s your father,” said her mother’s breathless voice, “he was just in a terrible car accident.”

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Colin’s day was almost over. All of the trees in the grove were down, except for their tree. He shut off the saw and went over to the tree to say goodbye. He looked at the special hiding place in the beech and chuckled at the poorly carved heart around the knot hole. Lydia had carved the heart and she was not an expert carver she was now. He had carved their names at the bottom of the heart in neat block letters. Colin reached his hand into the hole. There was something in there. A faded bag of what used to be valentine’s candy. Now, it had mushrooms growing on top of it. This bag must have been here since high school and it had gotten buried under the crumbling wood. He smiled and closed his eyes.

Colin shook his head and sighed, he needed to stop being so sentimental. It was just a tree like all the other trees. Just timber. That is all. This tree would end up just like Jared and Maya’s, ground into mulch.

This time, Colin didn’t need to choke the saw because it was already warm. He pulled the cord and it roared to life. He made a hinge cut in the old rotten tree, and then cut through the trunk. It dropped in a directionally accurate location, with no splintering, just like he had planned.

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Prof: Ok, the 15 minutes are up. Have you all completed reading? I see two people still reading, I will give you 2 more minutes while I write the questions on the board.

Q1: What do Jared and Maya’s tree, the in-laws’ tree, and Colin and Lydia’s tree have in common?

Q2: What happens to the relationship of the couple once the tree with their initials in it falls? What will this mean for Colin and Lydia?

Q3: How is reading this marginalized voice important for your college education?

(Dear reader, you may now act as the student and answer these questions. Once you finish, you are free to leave class for the day. You homework will be to read “The Yellow Wallpaper” on pgs. 365-372.)

How Jojo learned chainsaw lingo.

To Journey Like Dorothy

One of my favorite stories as a kid was  The Wizard of Oz. Actually, that was the first book in the series, and before I could read, I had my dad read me all 14. But, the first book is the most memorable. Dorothy is not content with her life on a Kansas farm and wants to be anyplace else. When she would stand “in her doorway and look around, she would see nothing but grey prairie.”  Her wish is granted when a cyclone carries her off and she lands in OZ where she has to go on a mission to find the wizard and get the silver shoes. Along her journey, she meets a scarecrow, tin man, and lion, who help her upon her journey. Dorothy is in a completely strange land, but these chums of hers turn out to be real friends, who help her navigate her course, escape dangers, and help her to learn positive character traits.

From a very early age, I had ideas in my head that a person needed to go on a journey and adventure to find out what is most important. I knew that journeys bring hardships and adventure, but also some of the most meaningful meetings. This was the case for my most recent adventure.

At the end of September, I set out with my stalwart father for a trip to California. The Catholic Answers conference was the excuse to make this journey, but I had been itching to see the Pacific Ocean for quite some time. We had a week of vacation, and the conference was only three days long and so that gave us several other days to have unplanned experiences.

While flying into San Diego, I let my mind wander. I read the magazines I had brought and daydreamed. I wasn’t going to pay the $5.99 to use the in flight t.v. There was a man sitting in front of me reading a book. I put my head between the two seats near my face to get a better look at the book. He could be reading something interesting and he was so engaged in the book, that he didn’t notice my head there. The plane was dark, and I don’t think anyone else noticed either. Whew! Because it is usually only three year olds who do that sort of thing. The yellow paged book happened to be historical fiction about druids. That was rather intriguing. I had a difficult time seeing all of the words and I only got about a paragraph of visible words per page. So yeah, I can’t tell you what it was about. Afterwards, when the plane had landed and we were leaving, the man turned around and looked at me. I had many laughing thoughts about how fun it was to stealth read someone else’s book. The silent laughs were flying out of my eyes. They hit the man’s eyes and I could see him start to laugh too.

He walked in front of us out of the plane, and this is the weird part. I had this new thought in my head that I knew we needed to talk to each other. My dad asked me if I needed to use the bathroom, and I said “no.” Instead, I waited outside of the bathroom and looked at this guy’s back. He turned around and said he wanted to talk to me. We both knew we needed to talk for some reason. I’m thinking this was the Holy Spirit at this point. My dad came out of the bathroom and we all began to chat together. It turns out, the man’s name was Frank. We told him we were on our way to the Catholic Answers Conference to commemorate the 500 year anniversary of the Protestant Reformation. The main focus of this conference was to talk about opening up dialog and building bridges and unity with our Protestant brothers and sisters. Frank found this to be interesting, and this led to further conversations about novels we have read, theology, and family. Frank became a close interlocutor with us in a matter of minutes. I could feel the laughs that had been flying like sparks out of my eyes, now buzzing all over the place and binding us together. This could have also been the Holy Spirit or angels. I’m not sure what, but I was feeling so happy that I could barely talk, and I had to resort to flailing hand motions. We traveled together to the baggage claim and then on a shuttle to the car rental. Before we said goodbye to one another, Frank told us about his family and his meadery and invited us to come and visit him in a few days.

Like Dorothy, I was on a journey and meeting new friends in unexpected ways. Because I could feel this meeting was of a more supernatural occurrence, I wanted to let the Holy Spirit keep working. I asked to get inspiration for something I could give to Frank and his family when we would meet them in a few days. We got to our final destination, the hotel and I went to sleep.

So basically, I’ll cut this part short. I was inspired to make a drawing of the Madonna and Child with the theme of honey bees. I knew it would turn out beautiful, because my work always turns out beautiful when it is made with love for another person.  Plus, I knew the Holy Spirit was there giving me a hand. We went to the conference and had a fulfilling time there. In between talks, I would whip out my art supplies and work on my water color drawing. No, I am never bored.

Our Lady of Honey Bees

By  the time Monday rolled around, the watercolor was done.  Frank invited us with go with him and his wife, daughters, and friend John to the San Luis Rey mission for daily mass. That was a beautiful and joyful experience. Frank and his wife Theresa then said they were working on the virtue of generosity, and they treated us to a Vietnamese lunch where deep conversations continued even more. We bonded over not having TVs and having three girls in a family.

At the meadery, I presented the painting, and hugs followed. They shared with us their cute children, and smiles followed. Then, Frank told us all about honeybees and honey. He shared mead and showed us how to really appreciate and savor it. We learned that a bee has to visit 2,000,000 flowers to make one sip of mead. I have a very high regard for bees right now.

Like Dorothy, my dad and I realized that, though we were thousands of miles away from our own homes, that didn’t mean that we were far away from friends, love, and generosity. Also, Glinda was always in the background making things work out for Dorothy, and the Holy Spirit was in the background making things happen for us.

 

Amen

Septic

On a sweltering 90 degree afternoon, it was time to clean out the septic system at Rock Cut State Park where I am a seasonal worker. The septic field had gotten clogged up with “solids”. These solids are of the smelly and gooey kind, if you know what I mean.  Now let me give a little background on the intricacies of a septic system. This septic system deals with the liquids and solids from the two shower buildings in the campground. There are two holding tanks that hold both the solids and the liquids. Then, there is the septic field. This is a square plot of land full of pea gravel. Under the pea gravel is a network of PVC pipes. Our system has twenty 1 inch pipes about fifty feet long.  Each pipe has 25 small holes. Most of the holes face down into the ground and each hole is covered with a cap. The liquids are shot through the septic field pipes and the liquids drip out through the little holes and go though the pea gravel and into the sand beneath where there lives a colony of happy bacteria who eat all the toxins and nutrients out of the pee. The liquid is now clean and can eventually make its way back into the well.

This septic system was installed at Rock Cut about 10 years ago and had never really been cleaned. There was some other problem with the septic system holding tank and solids had been getting pushed into the pipes as well. This was a two day project on some of the hottest days of the summer. Each of the 20 pipes were pulled up from the gravel one at a time. It was my job to pull to cap off the pipe. These caps were full of gravel and brown, slimy, shitty, sludge. I would lift the pipe up into the air and try to find the little hole. Some of the holes were invisible because of all of the slime and gunk growing all over the pipe. I would rub my gloved finger, like a doctor looking for a tumor  use a hanger to poke each hole to unclog it.  Then, the liquid would  be turned on and flush the holes. Once the liquid was pouring out of each hole, it was good to go. There were a few times when I got this water in my face. This actually was not as disgusting as I thought it would be. If you think about it, the water in a lake is pretty much made of the same thing. When each hole was flowing freely, the pipes could be covered back up with pea gravel.  This whole job took our crew of 10 people about 6 hours to do in the sweat sucking sun. My coworkers and I were quite dehydrated at this point. We twisted off the caps of our waters with our slightly contaminated hands. Oh well, like I say, “probiotics.”

Rescue

Dancing With Abandon

Yesterday, I realized that sacrificing shyness is a great way to celebrate Lent. I put my desire to stay on the sidelines away for a little bit and dusted off my Irish dancing skills for the folks celebrating St. Patrick’s Day at a Pub in town. Apparently, this brought joy to many people and eventually I had a whole gang dancing with me. The dancing changed the  mood of the whole event.

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The event was the Irish parade after party at the local  Brewhouse, an old revamped marina building. The Hughes clan was represented in the parade and my family went to show our Irish pride. The Brewhouse had 4 stages throughout their facility playing all sorts of good Irish music. After talking with relatives a while upstairs,  Nate and I decided to venture into the downstairs to see if we could find any other bands. There was a 2 man Irish band lilting and banjoing.   After a while, my sister, dad, and other family members came downstairs and the music began to get really lively. One of my uncles, knew I did Irish dancing as a kid encouraged me to go out on the floor in front of the whole celebration. Now let me tell you that I was feeling very shy at this point. I had not Irish danced in front of a crowd for probably 13 years. I didn’t remember all of the steps and there were so many people watching me.  But, I came to the realization that the dancing was not all about me. It was for my relatives who appreciated Irish culture. It was for my dad who had paid for 6 years of lessons of Irish dance lessons. It was for the band who had been in a kind of slump before hand, but were now doing better because of the enthusiasm of the crowd. I had all of these thoughts fly through my head in the course of a few seconds and decided to get out on the floor and dance as best as I could. The crowd began to clap and cheer and the band began to play even more wildly. Then, like Rapunzel in Tangled, many other people came to join me on the floor for polkas and Virginia reels. The ice had been broken and the joy meter increased. Because I stopped caring about embarrassing myself in front of strangers, the happiness of everyone increased.