Something in the cosmos was aligned properly today. Things worked out, people went out of their way to smile at me, good things happened. Personally, I think root beer is an omen of all that is right, decent, and good in this world.

Why do I say this? Because everything was going wrong this week, until I made root beer. Today was the day that Greg the Brewer invited me to the kitchen of Sweetwater Tavern to make my very first batch of root beer. I was excited, I was ecstatic! I couldn’t wait to see just how much sugar was in that magical stuff I’ve been able to chugalug for the past year or so.

The folks at Sweetwater Tavern were incredibly nice. I was allowed back in the kitchen, I got to see the restaurant staff in action, I got to make root beer, and to top it all off, they gave me a hat! Greg called it my “official I-Work-Here hat.” I love it! As I’m writing this, it’s sitting in a mug on my kitchen counter, the brim getting nice and curled.

Making root beer – breathing in that gorgeous mountain of sugar – was exactly what I needed to assuage the wrongs of the past few days. It was fantastic, and I really learned a lot. Greg walked me through the whole process of making root beer, I got to help out making the syrup, and we made three big kegs full of root beer – which should be enough to last them through the weekend. He was also sweet enough to give me a tour of the rest of the brewery – I even got to see the inside of the silo and the big brewing vats! And you know what else? He let me take pictures! So rather than spill all the details of the visit here, and lose them in the confines of the ever-growing blog archives, I wanted to give the event its own permanent home on Meggers.org. I’ve made a lovely photo-gallery and play-by-play, explaining the process of making root beer and illustrating my day at Sweetwater. Take a look – you just might learn something. 🙂

Having been sufficiently coated in sugar and a wide root beer smile etched across my face, I walked through my front door just in time for the phone to ring. I picked it up and found that it was my dear friend Zora, one of the World War II veterans that inspired me to volunteer for the dedication of the National World War II Memorial. He called randomly, out of the blue, just to thank me for volunteering, for serving him and his generation. He said he felt impressed to tell me that very afternoon how much my volunteering meant to him personally, and that if ever he could do anything for me, I need only ask. I nearly cried, it was so sweet of him. All I could say was that he had already given so much for me without even knowing me. We promised to meet together to talk about the war, the dedication, and what it meant to both of us, just as soon as he recovers from a fall that he had a few days ago.

My smile only got wider. When I said hello to my Father, who was planted in the family room, folding laundry, he said that some of the missionaries from our church would be stopping by later that night. Remembering that I owed one of them a chocolate cake in return for some chocolate cake he had given to me after a particularly bad day, I decided I’d make good on my marker. I got straight to work baking a rich chocolate cake, my smiler only growing by the minute.

About twenty minutes later, just as I was mixing up the cake, the phone rang again. This day just kept getting better! This time, the person on the line was my other friend, General Bush – he’s the WWII veteran I met at my very first training meeting for the WWII Memorial Dedication. He say that he happened to find a note that I had sent to him a few weeks ago, thanking him for his service, and he felt the urge to call me and to thank me again for everything I’d done for him. Whenever he and I happened to find each other at training meetings, we’d sit next to each other and talk, and he’d tell me all about what he did during the war, and he’d show me all the medals he received for his service. I had sent him that note the same night I met him because I was so impressed with his courage, his dedication, and his humility in sacrifice.

And here he was, calling me, two weeks after the dedication, to check up on me like a loving Grandfather, telling me how much our impromptu friendship meant to him. He said he wanted to make sure that I had a great time on the Saturday of the dedication, and he told me all about what section he had been assigned to and all of the famous people he’d been able to see. Suddenly, all of the muck and unhappiness that had built up from that awful visit to the doctor, and some unfortunate news that I received yesterday, it all melted away. I remembered the happiness I felt two weekends ago while I was volunteering at the dedication. I remembered all of the people I was able to help, I remembered all the friends I had made, and I remembered the gratitude and humility I felt as I watched the veterans pay tribute to each other. The plastic surgeon didn’t matter, Wednesday didn’t matter. Everything was good.

I went out to dinner with a friend this evening, which helped a lot. It felt great to go out again and laugh with a friend about anything and everything. When I got home from dinner, the missionaries were there. We ate the chocolate cake I had made that afternoon, we laughed a lot, and that’s when I found a name for today. One of the missionaries asked me why I was so happy, and I told him about everything that had happened. I said that I had tried to make this day “Make Myself Happy Day,” but somehow, other people caught on and, through their kindness, made my day so much better. He smiled at me and said, “Isn’t ‘Make Heather Happy Day’ a national holiday?” I laughed and smiled back at him. “It should be,” he said, “it definitely should be.”

Tomorrow is going to be a little different, and a little difficult. I’m glad I had the chance to save a lot of fresh happy memories, because tomorrow I’m having all of my wisdom teeth taken out at once. I’m not really sure what to expect, except that I know it won’t be too much fun. Hopefully I’ll find other ways to make sure it’s a happy day, regardless of the fact that I suspect it will hurt quite a lot. But I don’t care – today has been grand, thanks to kind, friendly people like Greg, Zora, Bush, Mike, and Elder Hoffman. The first annual National Make Heather Happy Day has been an absolute success, and there’s no way I could have done it on my own.