UNFAILING HUMOR

               

        My parents just celebrated their 89th and 90th birthdays and they both exhibit great humor and a joy of living that infects everyone in their path. They are the ones who taught me to look at life with humor and joy. Last week as they sat visiting with family members after dinner in a restaurant, my father reflected, "Maybe I SHOULD consider Assisted Living..." My nurturing and quiet mother quickly replied, "You've had assisted living all your life!" The most humorous statements always carry an element of truth. I laughed hysterically at this one!
          You have to understand, my parents are not normal and I am well aware of that. It would never even occur to them to get depressed. They are way too busy spreading joy and laughter.  At joyous times they are quick to keep all of us (their children and our families) focused on all of the good and from whom it came.  Then when things are tense, my father can be counted on to raise our spirits. 
          For example, when my daughter was undergoing her 47 hour childbirth experience. I may have neglected to tell you that I was more than a little nervous for her health (after all, I saw the last season of Downton Abbey). After more than a day of waiting for his latest great-grandchild's birth my father finally asked me, "When this baby is born, how old will it be?" Instant comic relief! (at least for me, I'm pretty sure my daughter wasn't laughing yet). 
        They have been known to exit a nice restaurant after eating dinner and encourage those waiting in line with these words, "There's nothing left, but ya'll go ahead, enjoy!"  These kinds of comments bring smiles to total strangers.  The atmosphere just lightens up.  He gets a similar reaction on hot Texas days when he walks into an air conditioned building and confides to those he sees, "I don't believe the air conditioning is working out there."  

          So what happens when a man of such humor makes a public mistake?  Usually we share a public laugh.  I love remembering the time my father was the guest preacher at one of his best friend's church.  I happened to be a member there and my friend, Darlyne (the pastor's daughter and consequently also a long time friend who was like family) sang the special music before the message.  The song was so beautiful and worshipful. My father led the congregation in a prayer immediately after the music and thanked God for the church, and his dear, dear friend (the pastor) and the beautiful music sung by.....(extremely long pause) "The one whose name you know better than I".  In our denomination we don't typically laugh during the prayer.  But on this occasion, there was heartfelt, all-inclusive laughter right in the middle of the prayer. You should probably know that Darlyne eventually married my brother, David, and is an actual family member now. 
          I just wanted to let the world know what a blessing my parents are...to me and to everyone they meet. I wish them Happy Birthday!
           

OVERCOMING THE TOXIC CLOUD

I have a friend, let’s call her Debbye.  She marvels that everywhere she goes, she witnesses proposals of marriage.  She goes to a concert…the man in front of her drops to his knee and proposes to the woman by his side.   She eats out at a lovely restaurant…the couple next to her pledge their undying love and gets engaged.  My friend must go through life with a cloud of hearts and flowers hovering over her head at all times.

I have a cloud over my head too.  It does not contain hearts and flowers.  Whatever toxic substance it does contain produces an invisible target that can only be seen by an element of society that used to be called “perverts”.  I don’t know what they call them now (Probably political advisers).  I’m talking about those “strangers” who are reputed to wear trench coats and lurk in bushes waiting for an opportunity to play “Show and Tell.”  I refuse to get any more graphic than that.  I know what you are thinking…”She’s exaggerating.  She has never even encountered one of those weirdos!”  Well, I am NOT exaggerating.  I have endured this experience not once…not twice…but FOUR times in my life.

Let’s review the circumstances of these events to glean all the possible precautions that your loved ones should employ in order to avoid Mr. Exposure in the future.  I want you to learn from my mistakes!

Incident #1:  I was an innocent 9^th grader sitting under the Willow tree of my front yard in Texas one Saturday morning reading a book. Mmmm…I wouldn't think that the location or activity would be especially enticing to Mr. “I Left My Clothes At Home”.  But apparently that must be a big no-no. What seemed to be a casual activity for this pea-brained exhibitionist was traumatic to the young me.   Be sure to warn the 9^th grade girls in your life to never, ever engage in such risky behavior! (by risky, I mean reading outdoors in broad daylight)

            Incident #2: About seven years passed and this time I was a College Student visiting Italy for a mission trip in the summer.  Two friends and I were so careless as to walk on a sidewalk surrounding the Coliseum in Rome on our day off.  Senor “Trench Coat In the Bushes” was busily trying to greet us in his own special way. Now, I’m just baffled.  Again it was broad daylight and I have spoken to many friends over the years that did precisely what we did.  None of the others had the same encounter.

            Incident #3:  Fast forward another five years (see how these sneaky low-life’s wait until your guard is down?).  My husband and I lived in Florida and I was working very hard cleaning the windows of a house he was building.  If only I had not made a run to Publix for more Windex.  That must have been my wrong move.  Walking through the parking lot it took an embarrassingly long time to notice the little sports car that was rolling slowly forward, keeping pace with me. When I finally did, I could not help but notice the goofy grin on the driver’s face. It took a little bit longer to see the activity that inspired his expression.  May I mention that by this time in my life I was fast becoming a connoisseur of perverts, and frankly, I was just annoyed.

            Incident #4:  The final incident (Please, God, let it be the final one) occurred at least 20 years after the previous one.  I wrongly assumed that I had passed the age where the invisible target would entice the proudly perverted. This time the encounter occurred on the Interstate, yes, that is correct folks. Exposure at 70 miles per hour.  Again it took a long time for me to comprehend that the SUV that insisted  on keeping pace with me on the Interstate was doing so for a reason.  This time I looked directly in his eyes with my most bored and unimpressed expression, (noting his all to familiar goofy grin) and casually picked up my cell phone and dialed 911.   Suddenly, the vehicle that

wouldn’t leave me alone, all but disappeared, exiting the Interstate at his very first opportunity.

            So what have we learned about avoiding this degenerate element of society?  Apparently I am not smart enough to figure it out.  Perhaps you can help me come to a conclusion. But I did learn that the best possible reaction to such an event is not horror or panic, but bored disinterest.  I hope you never have to employ this response personally, but consider it expert advice from someone with experience!

THE ACCIDENTAL DRUNK

      
  Part of growing up at our house was participating in Summertime mission trips and choir tours.  Our four children, though not entirely angels (Okay, church friends, stop laughing), had many wonderful and fulfilling experiences through these spiritual opportunities.  As they got older, I was able to go with them as a mature chaperon... a voice of reason...a godly example.  This worked pretty well until I accidentally got my youngest daughter drunk on a mission trip. Oops.
      Since she is living out of state as a fine example of a grown up, I feel I can now admit this little error.  It was a completely honest mistake.  It all started when I tried to assist her in the midst of a panic attack.  You have to understand that although she is an incredible "Over-Achiever", who can do anything she sets her mind to, she had one little bitty weakness. She did not like boats. Not at all. Not any size or shape.  (It might have had something to do with not being in control, but I would never say that). Imagine her surprise when she discovered that the mission trip to the Bahamas for which she had committed, required that she travel on a rather sizable vessel over water. Yikes!  
        Her worries (and mine) diminished when she made the voyage from Ft. Lauderdale to the Bahamas without incident, and barely a ripple.  She was nervous, but handled it remarkably well.  She did not even need the motion-sickness medicine I brought along.  I had the forethought to get the kind that makes one drowsy knowing that if she had to take it she would fare better if she could at least doze off.  But the trip was so smooth she was fine.
         She spent most of the week (Spring Break) doing back-breaking construction work by day, and singing and worship in the evenings.
 

 She accompanied the group with her Djembe and sweet spirit all week long. 

       The day for the return journey was a bit breezy and overcast.   That factor alone had her anxious.  It was obvious the moment the ship cast off that my little girl would definitely need the medicine this time.  She was so caught up in her anxiety that she needed the drowsiness effect even more than the motion-sickness aspect of the medicine.  Our intrepid group got tables in a large entertainment/lounge arena.      I'm sure the comedian who was performing believed the large crowds were there to hear his routine, but the truth is that the weather was deteriorating and everyone was seeking refuge from the big fat rain drops that were now falling.  Most of the group was happy for the chance to relax after a week of enjoyable, but grueling labor.  But my poor baby was falling deeper and deeper into a full blown panic attack, and I was at a complete loss as to how I could help.  That's when I had my most brilliant idea.  I remembered that I had a prescribed bottle of a sleeping aid in my purse (to help me sleep on the floor of the church that week).  Of course, if my child took one of these tiny pills, she would fall fast asleep in one of the cushioned chairs of the lounge.  I confidently encouraged her to take one and waited for the magic to happen.
      The magic didn't seem like it would ever happen.  I noticed that my daughter's fingernails were gouging the skin of her arms where she had grabbed them so tightly. Finally I thought I would walk with her on the deck above and let her get some fresh air.  Surely that would help.  I put my arm around her (I noticed that her steps were not terribly even) and helped her up the little stairs leading to the deck. I pushed the resisting door open and almost got knocked over by the fresh air.  Yes, the winds had picked up, and the view of the horizon that I thought might be helpful was more like 
an out of control see saw.  (and wasn't it nice of National Geographic to capture it on film?)

  When her whimpering subsided, she began to show signs of sleepiness so I urged her to go back into the sanctuary of the ship's lounge.  We left the howling winds of the deck and carefully made our way down the pitching staircase.  It was becoming more noticeable that my child was having some trouble placing one foot in front of another.  Surely that was due to her tiredness and the ship's pitching movement?  We sat back down in our seats. 
       Almost immediately my daughter's head rested on my shoulder.  Ahh, success!  But strangely, as the crowd would laugh or respond to the performer on the stage, her head would rise up, and she would say things like, "Who let those frogs in here?"  And of course, being a supportive group, her
friends quickly learned that she was far more entertaining than the "comic" on the stage.   After several incidences of completely bizarre statements bursting forth from my daughter's mouth, I had to face the truth.  My daughter was drunk!  And I did it to her!  Apparently you have to be careful about the kinds of drugs you mix together.  Who knew? 
       It is ironic that my sweet little girl who would never knowingly put herself in an "out of control" situation, nevertheless experienced a drunken stupor...instigated by her mother...on a mission trip. Oh dear.  Please don't tell anyone!

THE OBNOXIOUS FACTOR: What they don't tell you

     

     You can't tell me it hasn't ever happened to you.  There you are, minding your own business and suddenly you are accosted by a proud grandparent. They whip out their accordion-pleated photo collection and proceed to describe what is right in front of your eyes, as though your feeble brain cannot comprehend the gloriousness of their offspring! Perhaps you have silently vowed (as I have) never to behave so blatantly braggadociosly. If you believe you are immune to such behavior, you need to be aware that you have never been told the entire truth.  Something very important has been withheld from you your entire life.  I am going to right this wrong, remove this veil of deception, and open your eyes to the truth of a condition that is undeniable, yet remains unnamed!  (Until today)

      Perhaps I can explain this phenomenon by describing how the symptoms first occurred in my own experience. My youngest daughter just gave birth to our first grandchild this week. (By this week, I mean ALL WEEK) She was in labor for 47 hours. No, this is not a misprint...47.  That is not relevant to the story, but I believe you should know this anyway!  When our sweet little granddaughter was born, an inexplicable change began to transform my husband and me. Do not think that this condition is a result of our proximity to this perfect little creation...it is not!  Sandra and Mark live in California (that is on the left side of the map for those of you who are geographically challenged) and Steve and I live in South Carolina (that is on the right side of the map)  We have not gotten our grubby paws on our little preciousness yet. So this condition is not dependent on proximity. The first symptom of this new, un-named condition was a re-calibration of our brain's compasses.  True north became our new granddaughter. I have named this symptom "Decedent Lunacy".  So whether driving in the car, or cooking at the stove, or even selling high tech sewing-embroidery machines,  my mind begins to pull irresistibly in the direction of this new paragon of perfection.  

      The second symptom of this condition introduces involuntary movement. I call this an "Image Spasm".  I first experienced this in the most embarrassing of situations.  I was showing a sweet young customer a $2,000 sewing/embroidery machine. The picture of professionalism and education.  Suddenly, I had the most compelling urge to pull my phone out of my pocket and show this customer (a complete stranger) pictures of my granddaughter!  I was appalled, and resisted the urge.  But with the realization of an addict facing his slavery for the first time, I discovered that this condition I had observed for many years was in fact, inevitable and completely involuntary!  Finally, I laughed and apologized, confessing my ailment to her.  But deep in my heart I accepted the fact that I had transformed into the thing I was certain I would never be...and had done so in less than 24 hours (less time than my daughter's labor, I might add).

      I have moved into a new phase of the condition that morphed from acceptance to enthusiastic cooperation. This is the most dangerous phase, accounting for such disasters as   major traffic jams and grocery store tie-ups when

grandparents completely disregard their surroundings and insist on displaying the images of their offspring. This is no longer an innocent "image spasm".  This has progressed into what I like to call "Grandiose Progeny Spectacle". 

        Unless an intervention occurs, my condition is unlikely to change.  But lucky for everyone around me, my granddaughter truly is the prettiest, most brilliant child ever produced, so I'm sure no one minds!