A horse’s head is big, and the closer you get to it, the bigger it gets.  Here is the Idaho poet, Robert Wrigley, offering us a horse’s head, up close, and covering a horse’s character, too. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Kissing a Horse

Of the two spoiled, barn-sour geldings

we owned that year, it was Red—

skittish and prone to explode

even at fourteen years—who’d let me

hold to my face his own: the massive labyrinthine

caverns of the nostrils, the broad plain

up the head to the eyes.  He’d let me stroke

his coarse chin whiskers and take

his soft meaty underlip

in my hands, press my man’s carnivorous

kiss to his grass-nipping upper half of one, just

so that I could smell

the long way his breath had come from the rain

and the sun, the lungs and the heart,

from a world that meant no harm.

Reprinted from “Earthly Meditations:  New and Selected Poems,” published in 2006 by Penguin. Copyright © Robert Wrigley, 2006, and reprinted by permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

Martha Beck wrote an article in the February issue of O Magazine about the difference between excitement and happiness. In it, Beck explains that “our culture has come to define happiness as an experience that blows your mind…. But happiness—real happiness—is something entirely different, at once calmer and more rewarding.”

This article reminded me of my own recent contemplation of what makes a good day—a plain, solid, happy day. What would it look like? Am I expecting exciting events or major achievements? Peak experiences? Or is happiness for me something much more subtle? And once I understood what contributed to a good day, how many of these things or experiences could I incorporate into my days?

On reflection, my definition of a good day is pretty simple. First, I’d wake up on my own, without using an alarm clock. I hate being jolted awake, and even my clock radio can be a little jarring. Maybe I hate being told what to do (“Get up!”) first thing in the morning? In addition to a peaceful waking up, I would like my good day to involve the following, in no particular order:

Going outside. 

Reading.

Doing something for someone else.

Laughing.

Writing, in a journal if nowhere else.

Paying attention to my animals.

Mostly eating healthy, real food.

Basking in some solitude in which to think.

Puttering around the house, setting things in order (NOT doing any major cleaning—do you think I’m crazy?)

Feeling like I have more than enough time to do what I want to do this day.

That’s one of my most treasured simple pleasures—feeling I have plenty of time. I seldom feel this way, however. More likely I feel behind and overwhelmed by the sheer number of things on my to-do list.

As Beck writes, “genuine happiness [is] abundant, sustainable delight in the beautiful moments of ordinary life.”

What does a good day look and feel like for you?

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not our business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.”

—Martha Graham

I confess until recently, I didn’t know much about Mardi Gras—only that it involved parades, beads, and a reputation for debauched behavior. Even though many cities worldwide celebrate Mardi Gras (which takes place tomorrow), New Orleans is perhaps the most well-known location for major Mardi Gras festivities. On our trip to New Orleans in November, we stopped in at Blaine Kern’s Mardi Gras World for a tour and sketching. Before that trip, I learned some fun facts about Mardi Gras and New Orleans' famous celebrations in particular. For instance: 

In New Orleans, Carnival season involves many invitation-only balls and supper dances hosted by “krewes” (private clubs). These balls are traditionally very formal, with elegant decorations, tableaux presentations, and dancing for the costumed and masked members and their guests. The krewes also stage more than 50 parades during the season in the city and suburbs of New Orleans.

Historically, masks were worn to many of the balls, and eventually it became traditional to wear a mask on the street on Mardi Gras day. However, in the early 19^th century, people behaved so outrageously while hidden behind masks that they were forbidden for decades!

Even though (or perhaps because?) this festival has roots in pagan celebrations, Pope Gregory XIII made Mardi Gras a Christian holiday in 1582 when he placed it on the calendar on the day before Ash Wednesday.

The first North American Mardi Gras took place when two French explorers and brothers, Pierre Le Moyne, Sieur d’Iberville and Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne, Sieur de Bienville, found the mouth of the Mississippi on Mardi Gras day (March 3) 1699. They made camp, named the spot Point du Mardi Gras, and celebrated. Bienville later went on to found New Orleans.

King cakes begin to be sold on Jan. 6 (also known as King’s Day). The brightly colored cakes have a small plastic baby baked inside them. According to tradition, whoever gets the baby in his or her piece has to buy the next cake.

King cake--Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons

On Mardi Gras day, there are parades all day long. Sometimes as many as two million people flood the streets of New Orleans to celebrate.

Revelers line the parade routes hoping for “throws”—beads, doubloons, cups and other souvenirs. According to several New Orleans web sites, it’s a myth that you have to expose a particular body part to get beads!

Louisiana is the only state in which Mardi Gras is a legal holiday.

The Rex organization, which debuted in 1872, is responsible for the official Mardi Gras colors (purple, green and gold), for starting daytime parades, and for the anthem of Carnival, “If I Ever Cease to Love.” Every year, the organization chooses an outstanding civic leader to reign over Mardi Gras, and this person is known as Rex, King of Carnival. Rex arrives by boat on the Monday before Mardi Gras, and is conveyed to City Hall in a carriage where he accepts the keys to the city from city leaders. On Mardi Gras day, he rides his float through the streets of his kingdom.

Laissez les bon temps rouler! (“Let the good times roll!”)

Do you celebrate Mardi Gras?

Want to know more? Check out Mardi Gras New Orleans  or New Orleans Online.

A wise friend told me that since the Age of Reason we’ve felt we had to explain everything, and that as a result we’ve forgotten the value of mystery. Here’s a poem by Lisel Mueller that celebrates mystery. Mueller is a Pulitzer Prize winning poet from Illinois. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.] 

Sometimes, When the Light 

Sometimes, when the light strikes at odd angles

and pulls you back into childhood

and you are passing a crumbling mansion

completely hidden behind old willows

or an empty convent guarded by hemlocks

and giant firs standing hip to hip,

you know again that behind that wall,

under the uncut hair of the willows

something secret is going on,

so marvelous and dangerous

that if you crawled through and saw,

you would die, or be happy forever.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©1980 by Lisel Mueller, from her most recent book of poems, Alive Together: New and Selected Poems, Louisiana State University Press, 1996. Poem reprinted by permission of Lisel Mueller and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2012 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.