Finding a Happy Place

Have you ever had a day that was just bad, that just stacked mishap upon misunderstanding, where you just wanted a whole handful of mulligans? Today was that day for me.

I came to the end of the day and received an e-mail from a wise friend who knew what my day had been like and sought to lift me back up from under all the misunderstandings. The e-mail encouraged me to go to a place that gives me joy.

I started walking backwards through the cobwebs of my mind, and landed on 1976 Walt Disney World and a singer-dancer troupe called "The Kids of the Kingdom." My then-husband, the father of my children, stage-managed this group, and my sons heard and watched them perform over and over again.

My daddy had a weekend house where he would go at noon on Saturdays after hospital rounds. This house was on Lake Mabel, a mile from the Disney employees' entrance. Daddy would spend the remainder of his weekend fishing and puttering around the house, enjoying the solitude of the country.

In the late spring of 1976, Daddy had a problem with his heart. He had slipped a blood clot from his earlier bypass surgery. The doctors thought it was a stroke, and advised Daddy to restrict his activities. His weekend trips out to the lake cottage were curtailed, and someone had to step up to take care of the cottage.

Our little family—FOMC, my two sons, and I—would pack an overnight bag and head out to the cottage. While their daddy was at work a mile away at Walt Disney World, my boys and I would have our leisurely weekend. After their naps, I would put them in the wagon, hop onto the lawn tractor, and mow the two-acre yard.

Florida summers can be brutal, and riding that tractor around in the heat and humidity every Saturday afternoon gave me excruciating migraines. But I could imagine my daddy walking alongside me, telling me what a good daughter I was. That practice of getting past the headaches by imagining Daddy with me became a habit, and continues with me to this day.

But the magic began after the lawn mowing was over. The boys and I would play in the yard, turning on the sprinklers, splashing in the shallow water at the edge of the lake, or tossing a ball around.

Scott would notice the sprinklers, which stood about three feet tall, spaced across the lawn. To him, at age three, they looked just like the microphone stands he had seen on stage after stage at Walt Disney World.

So they became his stage. He would walk up to a sprinkler and launch into the Kids of the Kingdom's "Lady America" routine. He would sing every song, and do his three-year-old version of the choreography. "Lady America, I love you 'cause you're mine." Step, shuffle, step-ball-change.

Anytime I need a place of peace, a place that brings me joy—a happy place—I can look through my mind's eye and see that little tyke singing and dancing with the skill and verve of the Kids of the Kingdom.

That memory makes my heart smile, and brightens the darkest day.

What's your happy place?