Joy and laughter

The Forget Me Not Flower

I went to a funeral today, and I had a great time. My siblings had an exciting life, at least from my vantage point. I watched them from afar – always wanting to know what they were doing, who they were with, etc. To a certain extent, my siblings were a mystery to me, much like the teacher’s lounge in school. You knew the teacher’s lounge was the coolest place, but it was forbidden for students to enter, so it remained a mystery.

5yrs younger than my closest sister (I have four sisters and one brother), the gap in age was big enough that I rarely played in their reindeer games. Though the age gap hasn’t changed, growing older seems to bring the gap a bit closer together. So now, I can laugh with them as they reflect on the fun they had. I can pretend I was with them, without all the side effects.

So, the funeral was for a great man. He was well known in our neighborhood, in part, because he was a broadcast journalist. Though, I am certain, this man would have been well known in our neighborhood even if it didn’t work in front of the camera. In some regards, he reminded me of my Dad. He was tall, well built and formidable. Though, underneath his intimidating exterior, he was kind and loving. (And today I learned, he was an excellent pool player.)

This man reminded me of my Dad. He also reminded me of our other neighbor. And now, these three men, all larger than life, have died. It is the end of an era. No, we didn’t see the families often as the years passed. And, aside from one family, no one lives in the neighborhood anymore. Still, in less than five minutes of chatting, it was as if no time had passed.

The kids of these great men laughed about the days long passed. And, though I didn’t participate in many of the memories they shared, I was able to laugh with them. I finally moved up from the kid table to the adult table. And, they weren’t whispering or trying to hide things from me. It was fun. Did I mention the laughter? So much laughter.

When I die, I hope there is a fun filled memorial service that includes tons of loud laughter. If any of my siblings are still alive, the loud part is a certainty. No one in my family is quiet. I hate that we miss our memorial services. I would enjoy being surrounded by people who love me and hearing their fun and happy memories. (Hopefully, they would keep their gripes about me on the down low.)

Going back to the man we remembered today, he was a star to me. As a kid, I wanted to be a broadcast journalist. Actually, I wanted to be a broadcast meteorologist. Virgina Gunn was a local weather broadcaster, and I wanted to be Virginia Gunn. (I wanted to be Joan Embery, too. She worked at the San Diego Zoo. But, I digress…) I was star struck. Just across the street from my house lived what I believed to be a celebrity. I once watched him do a news story in front of his house. I loved it.

I also loved New Year’s Eve. My family was invited to this man’s house several times for their New Year’s Eve parties. I don’t know how many parties my parents attended, but I remember attending some as a kid. And, I remember the parents gathering in the kitchen and singing for hours. Literally hours. I loved listening to them singing. So many fantastic voices singing great oldies. In fact, during the memorial service today, I swear the lady singing the hymns behind me was someone who attended the New Year’s Eve parties of the past. Did I mention I loved their New Year’s Eve parties?

When a loved one dies, it sucks. Pardon my language, but I believe the term ‘suck’ is an appropriate term. The opportunity to gather with friends and family and recall fun times with the lost loved one makes the bitter pill easier to swallow. And, I find talking about the death of the loved helps ease the pain, too. Though I like to talk about the sadness, I have observed that some people prefer not to talk about it. Whether or not you like to talk about the death of a loved one, I hope you are able to laugh. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to laugh that a person died. Silly. That would be rude. I do hope that you are able to remember some fun times that bring you to laughter.

Ellie the Elephant

My beloved 'Ellie the Elephant'

My boss is in the midst of Project Clean Sweep. She and her family are going through all their things, passing the good to charity and the bad to trash. I am helping with the project, recycling what can be recycled and taking the donations to the various organizations accepting what they have to offer.

Now, this may sound silly to some, but I am certain some of you will be able to relate to what I am about to discuss. You see, my boss has a 13yr old daughter. And, this girl has gathered quite a collection of stuffed animals over her 13yrs. But, she has also come to a point where she is ready to let go of some of her animals. Getting to the point of being ready to let go wasn’t easy for her. A few tears were shed, when she realized she had to literally pick the ones to send away. And, she really felt like she was sending them away. Because, to this 13yr old girl, these were more than stuffed animals. These animals were her friends.

She would talk to the animals; and, in her mind, the animals would talk to her. As far as she was concerned, she was Andy from Toy Story. Unlike Andy, however, she knew her animals were alive. She wanted to make sure her animals were going to be loved as much as she loved them. She remembered the Goodwill scene in Toy Story II, where Jessie sits on the shelves, lonely and sad. This 13yr old girl didn’t want her animals to be sad.

When my boss shared this story with me, she asked me if I thought that was silly. I think I surprised my boss when I said I didn’t find it silly. In fact, I shared a story of my own with my boss. Because, like her daughter, I believed my animals were alive. ‘I LeMutt adore you’, ‘Winston’, ‘Elliot – Pete’s Dragon’, the Snuggle bear from the Snuggle Fabric Softner commercial and of course, ‘Ellie the Elephant’. I have others, but those five meant the most to me. One day I left the house without Ellie, that was not a good day.

With absolutely no embarrassment I share the following story: My parents spent the Summers in Amherst, Nova Scotia. My mom would drive from GA to Amherst and stay the full Summer. In August, my Dad would fly up and drive back with us. During the Summer of 1982, I was 13. My Mom and I left the house and headed North. I remember driving through a city in South Carolina when I realized what I had done. I was frozen. My heart sank, and I didn’t know how I was going to manage. Then a song came on the radio, “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” by Chicago. I sobbed. Sobbed. Why? Because I realized I left Ellie – my prized Ellie the Elephant at home. Ellie and I would be separated for over two months. And, in my heart, I sang (and sobbed) the song ‘Hard to Say I’m Sorry’ to Ellie. A long distance dedication, if you will. (giggle) And, I believed that Ellie was sad, too.

I am happy to say I made it through the Summer without Ellie. And, I am thankful I had younger cousins, so I could borrow one of their stuffed animals to get me through. [Insert Barry Manilow’s ‘Made it Through the Rain’ Here]  And, when I got home, you bet your bottom dollar, I hugged Ellie for a very long time.

My boys have their favorite stuffed animals, and I suspect they will keep them close for years to come. I will certainly encourage my boys to give to charity, especially if  their zoo of stuff animals ever becomes overcrowded. And, I don’t know that my boys will still be clinging to their stuffed animals when they reach the age of 13. But, I do know I will let them cling to their special friend as long as they want.

Where is ‘Ellie the Elephant’, you ask? He’s on my bed.

Predictable Patterns

It’s that time of the month again. And, yes, I am writing about it. I am fairly certain I am not the only blogger going down this road. And, if writing about it makes me happy and less cranky, I’m guessing my husband would love for me to write about it every day. (Especially, if it keeps me from hounding him about the water ring on the counter, the socks on the floor, the radio blaring, the shoes … well, you get my drift.)

I am not here to tell you WHY we women get so ding-dang moody once a month; I’m just here to tell you that I am one of many. And, I am going to use this here blog to release the hormones that can ruin the moods of my family or increase the size of my waist. Seriously. Why do I crave ice cream more towards the start of things vs. any other time? It is crazy people, crazy.

Last night, while eating supper as a family (which we do every night), I was laughing with the boys. We were being very silly, giggling and telling knock-knock jokes. [Note: Knock-knock jokes with the boys (ages 3 and 5) are made-up and rarely make sense. Example: ‘Knock-knock. Who’s there? Tree. Tree who? Tree blah blah bloo’.] The three of us were having a blast. My husband was just smiling and watching us be crazy. Suddenly. The hormones hit.

Out of nowhere, I yelled at the boys and told them to be quiet and calm down. Ok. I didn’t really yell, but I did become a distant cousin to the chick from The Exorcist. PMS overcame me, and I was done. I couldn’t get the table cleared and the boys off to the tub fast enough. And by ‘off to the tub’ I mean, I passed – ok – threw them to my husband. He is in charge of bathing the boys. He lets them play more than I do; which means he lets them splash to the point that it looks like the toilet has overflowed. Ok. Maybe I am exaggerating a bit, but the floor is definitely wet after they take their bath.

So, the boys were in the tub, my husband was with the boys and I was left alone in the kitchen. I was able to clean the dishes, etc., losing myself with the running of water. “La La La La PMS! I can’t hear you with the water running!” I was able to keep the raging hormones at bay, though I admit I grumbled under my breath a few times as I had to wipe the table and place mats. ‘Grrr…. why are they so messy at meal time? Don’t they know to push their chair under the table when they leave? Seriously. Can you not take your cup to the sink . . .’

Once the kitchen was tidy and dishes were cleaned, I could hear the mayhem in the bathroom. Can you hear the chilling music building in the background?! It is ridiculous how quick irritability can take over during the monthly patterns. I knew it was coming, and I did my best to keep the little monster in the cage. I knew the boys were having fun, and I knew my husband had things under control. And suddenly, (because it is always suddenly, isn’t it?) I heard whining. UGH! Whining and crying while battling PMS? Yeah, um, that’s not a good mix.

I counted to 10. I counted to 10 again. I counted to 50. I counted backwards. I did the hokey pokey and I turned myself around . . .  And then I went in to the bathroom and demanded everyone get out of the tub. My husband was sad. It was his turn with the boat, and he was about to sink it. (Ha. Kidding. He wasn’t in the tub. And, I must tell you, it cracks me up to write about how I lost it last night. I know it is ridiculous when it happens. Still, PMS is a boogah of a boogah.) So, the boys got out of the tub, got dressed and brushed teeth. And, peace was restored in the village. I sat down with the boys and read two books. My oldest asked for a 3rd book and I said – are you ready? – I said, “Sure.” Take THAT, PMS!