My brother, John, has turned out to be one of the most intelligent, likable, complicated people I have ever met. He says I am the only one who will laugh at all his crazy jokes. I find that very hard to believe. He has the most natural, sarcastic - verging on the sardonic - sense of humor I have ever run across, and with just his incredible mind, he could have been a comical contender, the real "Marlon Brando On the Waterfront" kind of contender. His timing is perfect, sweet and flawless, with little glints of double entendre salted in to make you think, "Does he really know what he just said?" Heck yeah, he knows what he just said, but he leaves it where it falls.
John, with all his talents and strengths is a prism hider. You can only see what he allows to be reflected in the bright white of the glass. That's okay. I love prisms. I think they're beautiful.
I, on the other hand, am an old fashioned Black '62 Chevy Impala with button controls for the local AM radio stations. If I think of a memory or a moment that I just can't bear to focus on, I pretend I am in that Chevy and I imagine pressing a radio button, any radio button to make what is on my mind forget and quickly switch to a new "station." It works for me.
My little brother and I have learned to function in dysfunctional ways. One day when John's prism chandelier breaks and my car radio won't run anymore, we'll have to come to grips with what's left. And we will too. I'll bet I can find all kinds of ways to slip in and out of a memory, and John is smart enough to grind up glass and make a new prism.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The Horizontal Hostess
I realized, as I typed this title, that it sounds way more provocative than it was originally intended to be. My girl friend was trying to encourage me to continue inviting people over to my home, even if I wasn't able to get up and be the hostess I would prefer to be. I could be the "Horizontal Hostess." I like it! Heck, Franklin Roosevelt didn't get up much for folks at his gatherings, and I'm not better than FDR. You work with what you've got.
My gorgeous niece, Jill, (I always think of her as my gorgeous niece) said one day they would all get down here, and I could cook my heart out for them. Oh, what bliss! By then, though, I may be buying all the goodies from Salem Kitchen, and lying that I cooked it myself, but who would care. I could direct the buffet from my couch like the Grand Dame that I am.
I am not good with change, and there are so many changes in my life right now that I can't imagine what is in the future. I am the girl who hasn't moved her furniture in five years, and that was only because we bought a new home. If I liked something in the first place, why would I move it? Some changes will happen to me and some changes I will effect for myself. For instance, I needed a new picture of me in my head, so I recently colored my mousy gray hair to "happy strawberry blond." Still wondering about this change. I can't decide if it's warm and welcoming, or if it reminds people of an "I LOVE LUCY" spin off. (A warning to all previous red-heads that are now gray, I have personally learned that if you mix red with white, you often get pink.) I am the cool GDAWG, but pink hair is still in a galaxy far, far away for me.
Today was a very rough day for me, but I learned, as it went on, that I have family and friends who really love me, encourage me and stand up for me. No changes there! I am blessed beyond all measure. Tonight I hear the song, "Joy Unspeakable and Full of Glory" racing through my music hall of a brain. Horizontal or semi-vertical, I have a life ahead and many doors to go through. The best part of this journey is that I won't go through it alone.
My gorgeous niece, Jill, (I always think of her as my gorgeous niece) said one day they would all get down here, and I could cook my heart out for them. Oh, what bliss! By then, though, I may be buying all the goodies from Salem Kitchen, and lying that I cooked it myself, but who would care. I could direct the buffet from my couch like the Grand Dame that I am.
I am not good with change, and there are so many changes in my life right now that I can't imagine what is in the future. I am the girl who hasn't moved her furniture in five years, and that was only because we bought a new home. If I liked something in the first place, why would I move it? Some changes will happen to me and some changes I will effect for myself. For instance, I needed a new picture of me in my head, so I recently colored my mousy gray hair to "happy strawberry blond." Still wondering about this change. I can't decide if it's warm and welcoming, or if it reminds people of an "I LOVE LUCY" spin off. (A warning to all previous red-heads that are now gray, I have personally learned that if you mix red with white, you often get pink.) I am the cool GDAWG, but pink hair is still in a galaxy far, far away for me.
Today was a very rough day for me, but I learned, as it went on, that I have family and friends who really love me, encourage me and stand up for me. No changes there! I am blessed beyond all measure. Tonight I hear the song, "Joy Unspeakable and Full of Glory" racing through my music hall of a brain. Horizontal or semi-vertical, I have a life ahead and many doors to go through. The best part of this journey is that I won't go through it alone.
"I Hear Music and There's No One There"
If it isn't Bach's "Brandenburg Concerto #4," it's "Blame It On the BosaNova," or it's "Down At The Boardwalk," or it's "How Great Thou Art". There is never a time in my head that I don't hear a tune or a beat. I just assumed everyone was like this until I mentioned it to a girlfriend and then my daughter. Shannan asked, "You mean you never a time of just quiet?" No, I never do, unless I'm asleep or listening to the radio or a CD of music. I think that's why I want to dance a lot.
One of the most annoying parts of this audio phenomenon is when I am trying to think through a problem or concentrate on a project. Out of nowhere, comes the theme to "Driving Miss Daisy," - doodee, doodee doo doo! Hindrance, to say the least. The worst of it is when I really want to pray about something silently. My heart is deep with praise and interest, and then my foot starts tapping. I hate this! It's not always convenient or appropriate to pray out loud.
There are upsides to this quirk. I memorize a lot of tunes, and I know most of the words to songs older than my parents could remember and they were born 100 years ago. It's hard not to when you hear songs all day long. I'll bet there's a psychological diagnosis to this peculiarity, but having a label for this problem wouldn't change it, and it wouldn't be the worst thing that could be said about me. I always mean to ask my brother, John, if he has the same eccentricity, but every time we talk on the phone, he makes me laugh so much I never remember what I was thinking about.
I only hope, as I get older and closer to my second childhood, I don't become one of those crazy old ladies who forgets everyone and every thing but they sing old hymns at the top of their lungs. I could see this happening. No fun for my kids. Maybe I'll learn some contemporary songs by then and it won't be so bad.
One of the most annoying parts of this audio phenomenon is when I am trying to think through a problem or concentrate on a project. Out of nowhere, comes the theme to "Driving Miss Daisy," - doodee, doodee doo doo! Hindrance, to say the least. The worst of it is when I really want to pray about something silently. My heart is deep with praise and interest, and then my foot starts tapping. I hate this! It's not always convenient or appropriate to pray out loud.
There are upsides to this quirk. I memorize a lot of tunes, and I know most of the words to songs older than my parents could remember and they were born 100 years ago. It's hard not to when you hear songs all day long. I'll bet there's a psychological diagnosis to this peculiarity, but having a label for this problem wouldn't change it, and it wouldn't be the worst thing that could be said about me. I always mean to ask my brother, John, if he has the same eccentricity, but every time we talk on the phone, he makes me laugh so much I never remember what I was thinking about.
I only hope, as I get older and closer to my second childhood, I don't become one of those crazy old ladies who forgets everyone and every thing but they sing old hymns at the top of their lungs. I could see this happening. No fun for my kids. Maybe I'll learn some contemporary songs by then and it won't be so bad.
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