M is for MindSet

"Nothing is either good or bad; our thinking makes it so."  ~William Shakespeare

When I logged onto Facebook this morning, I read a post from my ordinarily pleasant and positive friend that said, "Feeling BLAH today...I hope the weekend is better for me:("  My immediate reaction was sadness for my friend and I wanted to post a comment that would lift her spirits.  I typed,  "Happiness is only a MindSet away." My next thought was that today is Friday, my Blog day, and the letter for the day is M.  Aha.  M is for MindSet.  Then the floodgates opened as all sorts of ideas washed over me as I thought about thinking and how we with our own free will  can create our joys and sorrows by our perceptions.
Here is an example, albeit paradoxical, an example none-the-less.  Early in our dating relationship, the love of my life and I traveled to my home town.  As we neared Pottsville, I asked would he mind stopping by the cemetery of my old church.  He may have thought that an odd request, but being the ever polite man that he is, never would have commented so.  I had not been there is years and years, and why I wanted to stop, I still do not know.  We stopped and hopped out of his Jeep and inhaled deeply the smell of autumn.  With the crunch of leaves underfoot, we passed through the wrought iron gates and into my childhood.  You see, the St. Joe's Parish was the Italian Catholic Church.  Back in the early years of Pottsville, each of the ethnicities settled in their own section of town and thus founded their own parish.  The Germans had St. John's; the Irish had St. Pat's; and we Italians had St. Joe's.  As a matter of fact, when I was a little girl, marrying outside the church meant that someone from St. Joe's was marrying someone from St. John's.  The Italian community centered itself in the borough of Palo Alto, nestled at the foot of the glorious "Pally Mountain."  Pally, as it has come to be known, has only three streets, the longest of which stretches just over one mile.  Block after block I could find family members either by blood or by marriage as well as family friends.  So now as I walked past headstone after headstone,  I read the name and relayed a memory.  There was Mr. Mirabella, who owned Angelucci's Sub Shop.  There was nothing like stopping there for subs and if I was lucky a tiny brown bag filled with penny candy.  Then there was Anna and Christy Joy, who started Christy Joy Catering in their garage on Cadbury Street.  My mom was best friends with their daughter Rita.  My mom remembers peeling potato after potato for Old Christy.  In fact that's where she met my dad.  Oh, and then we walked by Mr. and Mrs. Tassone's headstone. He owned Frankie's Smoke Shop, where I would buy gimp and braid for hours.  His wife Francis was my Nonnie's best friend.  Those two talked on the phone for hours on end.  My Nonnie had a party line, and I'm sure the other party would be mighty frustrated at times when they picked up their receiver only to hear them gabbing away.  I remember when my Pop Pop would answer the phone, then yell, "Mamie, Windy is on the phone again!"  Windy was short for wind bag, you see.  I got to see my Uncle Johnny, who grew his own grapes and made the best wine.  I always loved how at Aunt Angie and Uncle Johnny's everyone drank wine out of small juice glasses.  We passed my Uncle Foosie.  He had the best garden.  Oh and the big old pear tree in his back yard, how I couldn't wait until I could make a pouch with my shirt and collect!  I don't think I have enjoyed a pear like those in decades.  I revisited so many memories and even though some of those people met untimely deaths, I could focus on the impact their lives had on me.  My friend Mike Ferugio, who was in the South Tower on September 11, 2001, may have been the kindest soul to ever grace our planet.  There was my friend Chris Garrity who late one summer night died in a car accident less than a mile from home.  Chris always had a big smile with the cutest dimples ever.  Then I saw my Nonnie and Pop Pop, with whom I spent most of my early years while my mom and dad worked.  I thought about how fortunate I was to have known those people, to have loved and been loved by them.  My mindset was of happiness and of reliving a childhood populated by wonderful experiences provided by fantastic people, all of whom are together again in Heaven.  So the paradox of lightheartedness on a visit to a grave yard is the best example for my comment to my friend on Facebook.  Happiness is only a mindset away.  And as the Bard said, "Nothing is either good or bad; our thinking makes it so."  So today my dear friends focus your perceptions with rose colored glasses. After all, it is what it is...only until we spin it...