Life Lift - The Oprah Blog

Like most of us, I rely on well-defined rituals to express my support when people I love are dealing with life’s ups and downs. Your great-aunt Hilda passed away? I know to send a bouquet of white lilies to the funeral home. My sister got engaged? I know to start planning the bachelorette party, tiara optional. But when my friends experience smaller – yet still significant – events, like a breakup, it's not as clear how to help.

Recently I discovered Bummer Baskets, custom-designed care packages. The titles include the "Not So Bad Breakup," the "Kind of a Bad Day," and the "Unemployed (But Hated Your Job)" baskets – and even one for the unwitting victim of a bed bug infestation.

Each package is filled with shredded green paper. The contents are decadent (fudgy brownies and an emergency candy bar to save an unemployed chocoholic from splurging on Godiva), uplifting (a “be happy” sunflower planting kit and “here’s to happy endings” wine glass to offset a bad day), mischievous (pocket-sized flask, pack of candy cigarettes, and temporary tattoo for a rebellious pal), and even witty (extra-large chopsticks for eating out of the Chinese food carton, cookies that say “lose my number,” and a “no more nightmares” sleep mask for a girls’ night in with your newly-single friend). The sender’s note is on a card that capture life's little mishaps in images, like an iPod submerged underwater, a heart flattened by tire-tracks, a Scottie inspecting his collapsed doghouse, and a man diving off a sinking ship.

Maybe reaching out to friends in their minor moments of grief will become as much a tradition as putting on a hat made of bows and ribbons at a baby shower?

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Topics: Life Lifters, Happiness, Love That!

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At Last: A Song To Snore Along To

Posted: Thu 10/20/2011 05:16 PM | By: Leigh Newman

Photo: Think Stock

When my kids were really tiny, I gave each one their own lullaby as a kind of talisman. My first child's song was a French one I had learned a child about boat on a river. It's insanely repetitive—and became even more so as I sang over and over every time they looked remotely sleepy.

My idea was that babies were like Pavlovian guinea pigs. If they associated a song with sleep, they would fall asleep the minute they heard the first few phrases of music. I had a lot of ideas about babies at the time, most of the them exhausting, dopey, and just plain embarrassing, but the song one worked. I could make my baby fall asleep with one round of Bateau Sur L'Eau and I used to do for it pure sport during lunches with my friends, so that I would look like The Best Mother Ever as well as spooky mind-control master, when in fact, I just wanted the child to take a nap so I could eat my Cobb Salad.

Many a late night, when I have been up, unable to sleep, running through panic-inducing daydreams and to-do lists, I have tried to sing my children's old songs to myself—to no avail. They do nothing for me. Now, however, the British Telegraph has announced there is song that's been scientifically engineered to relax us adults—if not knock us out. The tune is called Weightless and it contains eight minutes and sixteen seconds of " carefully arranged harmonies, rhythms and bass lines help to slow the heart rate, reduce blood pressure and lower levels of the stress hormone cortisol."

A study by David Lewis of Mindlab International found that listening to Weightless caused a 65 per cent reduction in overall anxiety and made many women drowsy . "In fact," he said. "I would advise against driving while listening to the song because it could be dangerous." I agree. But I do have to wonder what would happen if the song was played in supermarkets and banks, replacing the traditional Muzak. Would we all fall asleep mid-errand? Or would we just move a little slower and behave a more pleasantly to each other? It's hard to be rude when you're relaxed—even artificially.