On Happy
- Caroline Mauldin
- Apr 16
- 4 min read
We cannot let our ideas blind us to our unknowing.
— Jane Hirshfield
Notions & Contemplation
Phonebooks. When I was a little girl, maybe six or seven—young enough to notice things but not quite old enough to question them—I thought it was perfectly normal to sit on phonebooks while driving a car.
Along those lines, I also thought it normal to pick flowers on the side of a highway or spend an afternoon grazing for four-leaf clovers. Why shouldn’t it be normal? My grandmother, Happy, did all of those things with perfect, impermeable confidence and joy.
Happy lived her life through joy. No matter the setback or obstacle, she chose love over fear and faith over worry. She used what she had to do what she needed (e.g. phonebooks to see over the steering wheel). She taught us that it was alright to cry, but when the crying was done, it was time to stand up and move forward.
Born on April 17, 1914, Happy was part of the Greatest Generation, who came of age during the Great Depression and WWII. She lived in the Deep South during the Civil Rights movement and taught in South Carolina’s public schools during integration. Along the way, she raised three children, buried two husbands, and earned a Masters degree in education. In other words, Happy saw some stuff over the course of her 95 years–and, from what I can tell, it didn’t slow her down a bit.
I have been thinking about her a lot lately, wondering what she would make of the state of the world today–and what wisdom she would have for those of us having trouble making sense of things. She once told me she’d been a Democrat so long she used to be a Republican. “The label doesn’t matter,” she said. Instead, she took a person’s measure by their honesty and willingness to work hard. She was a proud, strong woman, unflappable in resolve and courage–and she expected the same of others.
On that score, I suspect she would be fairly disappointed by most of today’s leaders–but she wouldn’t waste too much time thinking about their “foolishness.” More likely, she’d remind me to buckle down and take care of my business.
Of course, Happy made it her business to take care of her community. Her faith called her to consider the plight of others every day of the week, not just on Sunday’s. She believed–and taught me–that to whom much is given much is expected, to see God in every person I meet, and to help lighten their load if it is within my power to do so.
When Happy wasn’t tending to the people in her path, she turned her attention to the rest of God’s creation. She was enchanted by native flora and fauna–most of which she knew by their scientific name. In a testament to her foresight, she helped write the first environmental conservation curriculum for South Carolina’s public schools the same year that Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring was published.
Happy’s given name was Caroline. I am my grandmother’s namesake. No honor in this world could come close to that of carrying her name. In truth, I probably only know a mere fraction of her contributions to the world; but what I do know about her time on Earth yields some important lessons for ours:
Choose love over fear, and faith over worry.
When the crying is done, stand up and move forward.
We don’t have time for foolishness. Make use of what you can and do the work anyway.
No political or economic crisis can deter us from living values of honesty, compassion, and generosity.
Stop to smell (and sometimes pick) the flowers–they may not be there the next time you pass by.
When you can’t see where you’re going, sit on a phonebook.
Onward,
On My Playlist + Feed + Calendar
Not gonna lie, I get a lot of great magazines that I never read. They pile up in a tidy corner as a constant reminder of my failed ambition to be an erudite person. There is, however, one exception: the semi-annual arrival of The Bitter Southerner feels like a bear hug from an old friend. Sometimes we cry, sometimes we laugh, oftentimes we do both at the same time. This Spring’s edition is no different. Start with Imani Perry’s “Letter from Home,” sit with “Mothering at the End of the World” by Gray Chapman about families impacted by Hurricane Helene, and leave with Pableaux’s recipe for Monday Night Red Beans (available in print here).
NB: I also just purchased this classic T-shirt from the BS General Store. Some may think it outdated, but I don’t think it’ll ever go out of style…
Because music is [always/especially right now] better than the news: I have had Jason Isbell’s new album, Foxes in the Snow, on repeat, along with Jon Batiste’s World Music Radio when I need to dance off the despair.
For my fellow Americans, I offer this video, with sincere thanks to Timothy Snyder and John Lithgow. (One cannot hear or read this text enough these days.)
For my fellow grammarians, I offer this video, with sincere thanks to Elle Cordova for making me feel so seen.
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