To get you started, here is a poem from American Life in Poetry, introduction by Ted Kooser:

So often, reading a poem can in itself feel like a thing overheard. Here, Mary-Sherman Willis of Virginia describes the feeling of being stilled by conversation, in this case barely audible and nearly indecipherable.

From over the wall I could hear the laughter of women
in a foreign tongue, in the sun-rinsed air of the city.
They sat (so I thought) perfumed in their hats and their silks,

in chairs on the grass amid flowers glowing and swaying.
One spoke and the others rang like bells, oh so witty,
like bells till the sound filled up the garden and lifted

like bubbles spilling over the bricks that enclosed them,
their happiness holding them, even if just for the moment.
Although I did not understand a word they were saying,

their sound surrounded me, fell on my shoulders and hair,
and burst on my cheeks like kisses, and continued to fall,
holding me there where I stood on the sidewalk listening.

As I could not move, I had to hear them grow silent,
and adjust myself to the clouds and the cooling air.
The mumble of thunder rumbled out of the wall
and the smacking of drops as the rain fell everywhere.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright © 2007 by Mary-Sherman Willis. Reprinted from The Hudson Review, Vol. LX, no. 3, (Autumn 2007), by permission of Mary-Sherman Willis. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation.

What are some of your favorite routines? What rut(s) would you like to escape from? What small change can you make to liven up your life?

How does this sound: 10 hours with no errands, laundry or grocery shopping, no TV blaring, no checking email or mindlessly surfing the ’net? Yeah, I would have thought so, too. I spent such a day yesterday, but I did not find it relaxing or refreshing. I found it frustrating…and then this morning, I realized how lucky we’d been.

A storm system blew through our area yesterday, drenching us, spinning off tornados, and cutting power to more than 100,000 people, some of whom will not get their electricity back until late today. Strong winds tipped over cars, trucks and small airplanes, flattened fences, tore apart pool cages and snapped power poles. Thankfully, no one was killed or seriously injured, according to the local paper. (To see photos, click here and scroll to "Links from the Times for April 1: Severe storm.")

Forecasters expected the storms to be strong, but not this extreme, so some people (including me) were caught off guard and unprepared. We were without electricity for 10 hours. I didn’t have my laptop battery fully charged and hadn’t taken a shower following my workout. Due to the power failure, our household alarm system caused all the smoke alarms to go off with nerve-shattering blasts. My husband and I ran through the house with a bar stool, disconnecting them. The two radios we have that take batteries didn’t work when we put the batteries in them. Since I didn't know what was happening, I didn't realize how serious this storm system was.

I couldn’t do any of the things I’d planned for the day. No power for doing laundry or working on the computer. The wind and rain made it too dangerous to run errands, and even with candles and battery-operated lamps, it was too dark in the house to do any real work.

I would have enjoyed this if I hadn’t felt worried about dinner and what we’d wear the next day if I couldn’t finish the load of laundry sitting in the washing machine. I worried about the survival of my freezer’s contents and how long we could go before we opened the fridge and let all the cold air out. I felt guilty about what I “should” be doing, and anxious that my Friday would now become too busy to manage.

The real problem here was not the power failure. It was my expectations and slavery to a schedule, my inflexibility and my inability to abandon myself to the moment. It took me nearly all day to wrestle my mind to the ground and relax and enjoy the experience. When I stayed in the moment, I enjoyed hearing the sound of the rain on the roof—something I can’t always hear when all the electrical things are humming. I admired three creamy gardenia blossoms glowing under a silvery white sky, while our oaks bobbed and bowed in the wind. I pulled out and reread one of my favorite books, 84 Charing Cross Road. I only became anxious when I began to think about what would happen if the power didn’t come on soon.

Yesterday, Gretchen Rubin’s emailed Moment of Happiness was this quote from Schopenhauer: “To be sensitive to trifles implies a state of well-being, since in misfortune we never feel them at all.” I realize I am fortunate. We have no damage to our home, and the boarding stable where we keep Tank is completely unscathed. Today, I can think about what I learned from my enforced idleness, catch up on everyday chores—and be thankful that we are all safe.

*I'm beginning a new feature on Catching Happiness--each Wednesday, I'll post a photo, an interesting quote or piece of poetry--something to inpire, amuse, uplift--and help us make it through the week. Hope you enjoy it (and please let me know what you think).

This is my second year to choose a “word of the year” to guide me, and I wanted to stay more in touch with my word than I did last year, when I pretty much let “open” recede into the background. To do that, I’m keeping some brief notes, and performing a quarterly evaluation of how things are going. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

The concept of light can be applied to many areas of my life—my home, health, relationships and attitudes. Each of these areas could use a little “light therapy.” In my home, I’m lightening up by getting rid of excess possessions—pretty obvious, and an ongoing process as I fight my pack-rat-ish tendencies. In addition to getting rid of stuff, I’m incorporating things that bring light to my life, like the simple act of opening all the blinds in my bedroom each day because it lifts my spirits to see the room flooded with light when I walk by.

I’m working to eat lighter (another ongoing project) in hopes that I’ll eventually be lighter; I’m striving for a light touch with family and friends by doing more listening and encouraging and less advising and correcting.

And most important of all, when it comes to my attitudes, choosing light as my word of the year has reminded me to look for the bright side, to focus on the good I find in daily life. When two or more courses of action present themselves, I choose the one that feels “light.” When I feel myself spiraling down into melancholy, I remind myself to look for the light. I think that’s my take-away lesson of the first three months of 2011: Look for the light.

Do you have a word of the year? How is it working for you so far and what have you learned?