Simply Happy. Yes, indeed.

Disclosure: This is a sponsored post. I received an ARC of Simply Happy in exchange for my honest review.



Off and on for the past 13 years, I've been contributing stories to the best-selling Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies. It's always a thrill to open the box of books they send me with each publication. I've been published in 8 of the books, with 2 of my stories appearing in the Chicken Soup for the Soul 20th Anniversary Edition Reader's Choice. 

Recently, the CSS editor-in-chief, Amy Newmark, contacted me and asked if I would be willing to review her new book, Simply Happy. Of course, I thought. I would love to. 

I had high expectations for this book and I wasn't disappointed. Amy's keen eye for spotting a good story and her precise editing skills were already working in her favor. But it's her writing, both conversational and compelling, that makes this book a winner. I found it to be a perfect companion to my morning coffee as I digested a chapter a day, savoring the wisdom and inspiration consistent with the Chicken Soup for the Soul name. Chock full of stories Amy gleaned from the thousands that have appeared in the anthologies, Amy's found the perfect recipe for sharing her own journey toward happiness.

Simply Happy is quite simply a joy to read and re-read. I cannot recommend this book more highly. While I usually post my reviews on Wednesdays, this week I made an exception because today is Pub Day for this inspirational book. So head out to your favorite book seller (or Amazon if you're housebound) and pick up your copy and maybe a few more. After all, what better gift for the holidays than "A Crash Course in Chicken Soup for the Soul Advice and Wisdom"? And it's always a bonus to get your Christmas shopping done early, right?

Reviewing it for you,

Spreading some Christmas cheer and charity: A story

Charity 

Christmas is most truly Christmas when we celebrate it 

by giving the light of love to those who need it most. 

~Ruth Carter Stapleton 

I walked through the house looking for my twelve-year-old daughter, Jessica. Entering the family room, I found her sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree. Her back was to me, her long blond hair nearly reaching the floor.   

“Hey, what are you doing?” I asked. 

She didn’t answer, but I noticed her wiping her nose on the back of her hand. 

“What’s going on?” I persisted. 

She paused. “Have you spent everything you were going to spend on me for Christmas yet?” 

“No. Why?” 

“How much is left?” 

I thought about the budget and wondered where this was going. She was probably going to ask for something way too expensive. 

“I’m not sure. Probably around ninety dollars.” Again I asked, “Why?” 

She turned to me, her gray sweatshirt streaked with tears. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” I sat down beside her and cradled her in my arms. This was my baby, the youngest of my children. Jessica was the one who took my husband’s death seven years earlier the hardest. At the tender age of five, she lost her daddy to a flash fire at the place where he worked and she still missed him terribly. 

After her sobs subsided, she told me what was on her mind. “There are so many people who don’t even have food. They don’t have a home or a place to sleep.” She paused. “Can we give the rest of the money you were going to spend on my presents to the homeless?” Her request was pure and sincere. It was my turn for tears. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” was all I could muster. “Whatever you want.” 

The tiny bulbs on the tree sparkled, lighting the season with new hope… hope for my daughter’s generation. Perhaps this would be the one to eradicate poverty and homelessness. At least I knew there would be one amongst them who would try. 

On Christmas morning, the family gathered to exchange gifts. The pile of presents under the tree was considerably smaller that year. Yet somewhere close by, a family or two was enjoying an unexpected Christmas celebration. I glanced out the window at the gently falling snow and said a prayer for them. Looking up to the heavens, I had a heart full of gratitude. “Thank you,” was all I could manage to say. 

Jessica smiled as she watched her sisters opening their packages. And as she gave me my present, I looked at her precious face and knew there was nothing in that box that could be better than the gift she’d already given me. 

~Hana Haatainen-Caye

As seen in CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL: MERRY CHRISTMAS!

©2015

The Sentinel -- A story about my dog

It's a busy day for me. Tonight, I start teaching a new workshop called, Inspiring Others the Chicken Soup Way. After seeing eight of my stories in print with the best-selling series, CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL, I will be teaching others the formula that dramatically increases their chances of being published in the anthologies.

That said, I thought it would be a good day to share my most recent publishing success with them. It's a short little story about the pets we had several years ago. I hope you enjoy it.

The Sentinel

"Here kitty, kitty," our green parakeet, Maggie, said, leaning down from her perch. "Meow." Her endless taunting frustrated our menagerie of cats. I frequently caught them eyeing her, their whiskers twitching and their tongues running hungrily across their lips.

Then it happened. I arrived home from work, surprised that my overzealous American Eskimo dog did not greet me.

"Jake," I called, but the tapping of claws across the hardwood floor didn't happen. Neither did the exuberant barked greeting I was accustomed to. Something was wrong.

I walked into the kitchen, then back out to the living room, calling for my dog again. Stepping through the door of the family room, I stopped. Maggie's cage was on the floor, seeds scattered and water spilled. Since her wings were clipped, she wasn't able to fly to safety, so she was on the floor as well. Hopping back and forth and chirping apprehensively, Maggie was being watched by five attentive cats, their tails swishing across the carpet. 

There was only one thing standing between a parakeet feast and their growling tummies -- Jake, the ever vigilant guard of all members of the Caye household, whether human, furry, or feathered. Jake sat facing the cats, baring a bit of teeth if one of them so much as lifted a paw, while Maggie paced behind him.

After the cats were shooed out of the room, I set the cage upright onto its stand. Maggie eagerly hopped from my finger back into her sanctuary, chattering gratefully for a moment before resuming her usual, "Here kitty, kitty. Meow. Meow."

Jake looked up at me and I patted him on the head. Then we went into the kitchen for the treat jar. If ever he earned a reward, it was the day he saved the parakeet. Good dog.

~ Hana Haatainen Caye

as seen in CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL: THE DOG DID WHAT?

     ©2104 

 

A Shelter, Indeed -- my most recent story in Chicken Soup for the Soul

A Shelter, Indeed

“Go ahead, Mom, read yours,” I said, as the Boggle game timer dinged. Our separate lists of words competed with each other.

“Shelter,” she said. “That’s four points.”

“How’d you get ‘shelter’?” I challenged, looking across the kitchen table at the scrambled vowels and consonants.

Bent fingers glided across the letters. She was right and her list of words trumped mine once again.

In my mother’s kitchen, it wasn’t just about the food – it was about the words. Words spoken around this small table where secrets were whispered, good news shared, wisdom imparted. The table holds within it memories of a lifetime of visits, of family, of broken hearts, of friends. New babies bouncing on laps, children kneeling on chairs dropping cinnamon hearts into warm applesauce as it squished through the strainer. Widows trying to find their way. Teenagers attempting to do the same. All of us digging our toes in the proverbial sand, finding our place, murmuring the word “home.” If I’m quiet enough and I gently rest my ear upon the table, I can almost hear the voices.

I long for those voices as I sort through cabinets, clearing them out for the next family destined to fill this kitchen with their own words. Newlyweds whispering of want. Babies babbling. Teenagers voicing rebellion. Word games played, vocabulary lists reviewed, letters written.

I have dreams for this kitchen, for this home. My life has, in one way or another, revolved around this place. My words were born here – some mimicked and some surely my own. I learned to speak here, to spell, to write. My first poem was penned at this table when I was barely old enough to put words to paper.

My father, gone for over thirty years now, left his impact in this house through the words he’d spoken. Sometimes, they were stern, reproving. Other times, instructive. Often, they swelled with forgiveness and grace. His words resound as I whip up an omelet.

“It’s in the wrist,” he taught me. Every time, whether here or across the state in my adult home, I hear his words as I twirl the fork swiftly through the yellow foam, and I’m transported, with regret, to a time and place when my younger mind quickly rejected many of his words.

Now, with my mother gone, it’s time to part with this place – the childhood home I never outgrew, the walls ever expanding to welcome new folks into the fold. Even as I look out the front door, the street calls to me with memories of bicycle rides and walks in the rain; of running to the corner to meet my best friend. There were birthday parties and sleepovers. Missed curfews and subsequent groundings.

I look out the kitchen window and see my prepubescent cousin and me crossing the backyard in our pajamas midday, the summer breeze carrying our giggles ahead of us. I remember my mother’s words as she phoned my aunt for an explanation. In that same backyard, I see picnics and badminton games, croquet and cookouts. I see my mother lounging in the sun, the newest best seller on her lap, bed sheets flapping in the wind. I hear laughter, conversation, and storytelling. All around me I see and hear home.

It is said once a house is vacated by the people who lived there, it becomes merely a shell. I have to disagree, for this house whispers of tender moments and resounds with joyous laughter… a communion of those who were fortunate enough to spend time here within these precious walls.

Alone in the kitchen, I sit at the table, shake the Boggle cube and lift the lid. Blinking away tears, I start to write on my lone list: S-H-E-L-T-E-R.

“That’s four points, Mom,” I say. And just like that, I feel a warm embrace. A shelter indeed.

~ Hana Haatainen Caye 

©2013   

   

* * *

A Shelter, Indeed and similar stories can be found in CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL: HOME SWEET HOME, available online and in stores now.

Award-winning writer, Hana Haatainen-Caye, changes hats often in the course of the day. Whether standing behind a microphone narrating a children’s book (as Maya Ray) or poring over books at the library as she researches her next biography for kids, she switches gears often. As an editor specializing in short stories and non-fiction, she’s edited countless stories for the Chicken Soup for the Soul anthologies. She’s published close to 40 children’s books with Marvel’s iStorybooks, and is currently under contract for twelve more. Multi-published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, her 8th story in the series hits the shelves on August 19th.

 

A little bit of motivation

A few years ago, I was hired to edit a book called You Will Overcome by Minesh Baxi. It is a book of stories of people who overcame obstacles in their life and followed their dreams. My own story is on page 176, just a few short pages from Oprah Winfrey's story. It was written during my humble beginnings with this blog, so my life as Green Grandma is not mentioned. But it is a story intended to motivate and inspire and I thought you might enjoy reading it.

The Up Side of Upside Down

by Hana Haatainen Caye

The ringing phone roused me from my sleep. It was 2:45 a.m.

“Jim’s been hurt and is being taken to West Penn Hospital,” a familiar voice said.

“Why? What happened?” I asked, sitting up in bed and turning on the light.

“There was a fire and he got burned.”

“Where?” By now my heart was waking up and starting to race.

Doug, his co-worker and best friend, tried to avoid my question.

“WHERE was he burned?” I demanded.

“Well…it’s nothing more than bad sunburn,” he lied. “Life Flight’s taking off now. I’ll see you at the hospital.”

“Wait,” I panicked. “Life Flight? They’re flying him to West Penn. Oh god, Doug, how bad is this? You have to tell me. Where was he burned?”

He hesitated before answering. “Pretty much all over his body.”

Before I left the house after making arrangements for my five-year-old and seven-year-old daughters, the phone rang again. This time it was a nurse calling from the Burn Unit.

“Your husband wants to talk to you,” she said softly.

“Then he can’t be hurt that bad.” Hope started rising in my chest.

“I’ll let him talk to you.”

“Hana?” Jim’s voice was strained. “I love you. I’ll see you in Heaven.”

“No,” I screamed. “Don’t you leave me!”

“I’ll try to hang on…for you and the girls.”

Those were his last words to me. My 34-year-old husband suffered third degree burns over 98% of his body and lived in that condition for 23 long, but way too short, hours.

As I left the hospital, I felt numb. Nothing would ever be the same for me again. I went from being a stay-at-home mom, who loved her husband and the life they’d made together, to a 32-year-old widow. What was I going to do?

The years passed. I married another wonderful man who embraced my girls as if they were his own. We bought a beautiful house and lived comfortably on his income coupled with the Social Security I received for my daughters.

Even though graduation was looming for both of them, I kept ignoring the ramifications of losing the S.S.I. once they were done with school. It always seemed ‘so far away.’

When graduation day one and two finally arrived and I no longer was bringing in an income, I knew I had to do something. Working part-time as a floral designer, I realized I’d have to find a more substantial way of making a living. Scanning the Internet, I discovered the world of mystery shopping, merchandising and auditing. As an independent contractor, I was able to set my own hours and thoroughly enjoyed the flexibility of my new ‘career.’

In January 2005, after a rather dismal year financially, I decided to pursue a full-time writing and voice-over business. Gas prices were rising, the wear and tear on my car was starting to take its toll and the mystery shopping industry was becoming saturated with shoppers. One cold winter night, I decided to join a couple of websites featuring freelance opportunities. I named my company Speechless, developed a tag line – I put words in your mouth! – and started bidding on projects. The next morning I woke to discover I’d been awarded four of them; one being a voice-over project. The problem was I didn’t even own a microphone!

“I need to buy the best microphone you have,” I told the salesperson at a local electronics store. He led me down the aisle and handed me a $34.99 mic that plugged directly into my laptop. It worked well enough for me to complete that project and many more in the next six months or so. It wasn’t until a client asked me what kind of mic I was using that I realized it was time to upgrade. Eight hundred dollars later, I felt like a pro.

Immersed in a business I love, I am able to use my talents, and my college education, in a way I’ve never been able to do before. My voice-over work ranges from simple voicemail and on hold messages to audio books and eLearning modules. Sometimes I need to sound like a business professional; other times like a little girl. I’ve voiced animations, book trailers, television and radio commercials, and nearly everything in between…all without ever having to leave my home.

The writing part of my business has led to my leading a local writer’s group and teaching workshops at writer’s conferences and other venues. One of my workshops is titled, Inspiring Others: How to turn your true stories into cash and as a result, I’ve been thrilled to see some participants in my classes have their work accepted for publication.

In 2007, Bill Hyman contracted me to work as an editor/ghostwriter for Chicken Soup for the Network Marketer’s Soul. I was privileged to interview or rework stories from some fascinating and resilient people.

Every day for me is different, which can be challenging at times. But having created the opportunity to pursue work I love makes everything worthwhile.

Here are the main characteristics I think you need in order to turn things around in your life:

• Resiliency – the ability to bounce back when life doesn’t go as planned.
• Tenacity – the drive to keep going and not give up.
• Creativity – the power to re-create yourself and your career.
• Flexibility – the willingness to alter your plan when it is not working.
• Curiosity – the need to discover and learn new things.

It’s been 20 years since the phone call that turned my life upside down. As painful as it was, I’ve come to realize that upside down isn’t always a bad thing…not when we’re given the tools to build around whatever it is that life has handed us.

©2009