Secrets for FUN

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Runner-Up

Debbie Fein-Goldbach • Toronto, Ontario

For a long time, making time for fun was like diet and exercise, 'I’ll try tomorrow.' Then I met Jacob who eats with abandon, laughs spontaneously, waves at strangers. And drools.

Fifteen-month-old Jacob taught me about fun again. As long as your life is still calculated in months, you understand fun. At 375 months I didn’t understand much, so I interviewed Jacob, my guru of good nature, regarding the subject. He was happy to share his thoughts, especially since he still can’t speak.

Me: Jacob, tell me about having fun.
Jacob:spontaneous clapping
Me: Spontaneity is the key to fun?
Jacob:finds a Cheerio behind the couch and smiles
Me: Discovery is fun. And the search for what delights you.
Jacob:runs his hand along the rug
Me: Texture. Maintaining texture in your life.
Jacob:holds up a picture book
Me: Knowledge; art; yes that provokes joy. Joy is fun.
Jacob:crawls away and looks at me upside down
Me: Changing your perspective is great.
Jacob:goes to the kitchen and points to the cookies
Me:I hand Jacob a cookie.
Jacob:He devours it messily, rescuing dropped crumbs and stuffing them into his mouth already brimming with cookie. There is cookie on his face, his hands, all over the kitchen floor.
Me:I think, 'What a mess. Now I’m going to have to clean. . . .' I stop myself. I sit on the floor. We eat cookies together. And they taste so much better like this.

Debbie Fein-Goldbach, 32, is Jacob’s mother and a writer living in Toronto’s Yonge-Eglinton neighborhood. Her first film, a short humorous story of a frog, premiered recently at Toronto’s Hot Docs documentary film festival.

John Steingraeber • St. Paul, Minnesota

Two of my favorite things are good food and good poetry, so I felt lucky when I was introduced to a Benedictine monk in college who shared my passions. About once a month or so, we'd head to an upscale grocery store or ethnic market and splurge a bit: tiny jars of caviar, hearth-baked bread, imported cheese, fresh organic vegetables, quality meats. After quick phone invitations to two or three friends, we'd take off our watches, forget about time, and upon their arrival at my apartment, we'd begin cooking: we'd begin cooking; everyone was expected to help with preparation, regardless of culinary ability. Meals were slow and each of the three or four courses was savored. At the end, he and I would begin to pass around books of poetry; occasionally friends would bring their own. As we read and drank scotch late into the night, the words, and drink created an absolutely magical, intimate atmosphere that wasn't duplicated until the next time we gathered. Although I graduated almost three years ago, this tradition continues today: he taught a class in January combining world poetry and gourmet food prepared by students, and I continue to read and cook with friends. The most important things to remember are that you are not allowed to pay attention to time (weekend nights work particularly well, and there is something exquisite about starting dinner preparation at 11pm) and to make sure you have an ample supply of good poems. Somehow, no matter how delicious, the food always becomes secondary to the words.

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