It's a Tie!

           It looks like Joniopolis is contagious. At least for Richie, our eldest son. Yep, he definitely stepped into my realm of crazy when he decided to wear this tie to church:

          I complimented him on it, and he said, “Thanks. I got it in Scotland.” Wow—that makes it even cooler, right?  But then he sat down and noticed the upholstery on the pews blended right in with his tie. 

Nicole and I tried to muffle our laughter, but the bench was shaking and our faces were turning red. Richie was not amused. And, of course, this made it even funnier.

So I thought I’d point out that Richie is not alone in this clothing-matching-your-surroundings thing.  Here are five more pictures of other people with similar predicaments:

           This used to happen to me in restaurants-- for years it seemed I always chose clothes that matched the tablecloths and napkins,  and I would wipe my mouth with my own shirt. But now I'm not alone. So welcome to Joniopolis, all of you. And may the farce be with you.

Hey, I wonder if any of my books will match your curtains or walls. There's only one way to find out--  go to this link.

Can You Give Me a Hand?

           Confession: I have never successfully high-fived anyone. This may seem a simple task, but I lack the hand-to-eye coordination to make this work. I usually swipe through the air, missing the other person’s hand entirely.

          The same thing happens when I try to hit a golf or tennis ball. In fact, there is literally no sport involving a ball where I add value to the team. And, of course there is an explanation.

                                                                        

          I have dyspraxia (formerly called Clumsy Child Syndrome until they realized how judgey that sounded). One of my sons has it as well, and when invited to dance at a wedding or someplace, he simply explains that dance is a language he cannot speak.

          It isn’t that we don’t try (although we do learn pretty early on that it’s wasted effort, so yeah, we stop trying). It’s that we cannot coordinate our body like other folks. I marvel at dancers who can make their bodies into artwork. And athletes who can throw, catch, spin around, and leap.

          How I wish I could go back in time, explain this to my P.E. teachers, and then get a pass to go to the library instead. Okay, I worked that out anyhow by not putting on my gym suit, and then getting sent to the library as punishment. But I would rather have gone from compassionate understanding on their part, than being thought a defiant rebel.

          Luckily I didn’t have to ride my bike there. I still can’t put my left foot on the closest pedal, balance as the bike takes off, and then swing my right leg around. Nope. I do it 5-year-old style by sitting on the seat, putting one foot on the far pedal, and then hoping I don’t fall over anyway.

          Can’t we just play a board game, instead?

Or read a good book? Find all of mine here.

Embracing Crazy

          The whole world is crazy, you know. And I’ve decided to embrace it. Here’s proof: Every October, everyone in the U.S. buys pumpkins. We turn them about to select the right shape, get excited about taking them home, and we see them in someone else’s cart and gush, “Oh, pumpkins!” the way some might say, “Oh, puppies!”

          Then we decorate with them. Same with gourds. We don’t consider eating these items of produce. Nope, they must be displayed for Halloween and then Thanksgiving. Sometimes we paint or carve them into jack-o-lanterns, adhering to this ritual as if it’s a religion. Not to have pumpkins on our porches makes us feel we’re committing a felony.

          The same is true of decorating eggs for Easter, and wearing green for St. Patrick’s Day. Many of us follow these rules more rigidly than we obey speed limit signs. We’ve grown up doing it, and no matter how much a rebel you are, casting off old traditions, you will still feel the urge to talk about groundhogs, pull April Fools pranks, ask kids what Santa is bringing them, and sing along with Christmas music. Our holidays have wriggled into our DNA.

          Imagine if, instead of pumpkins, we celebrated with, say, heads of cabbage. We would stack them up, carve them, admire them—because we would know no different. Millions of dollars would be spent for Cabbage Day decorations, and little kids would draw pictures of cabbages. No one would question this because it’s just what we do.

          And I’m on board. No matter how ridiculous a holiday is when you stop and think about it, I like these times because they unite us. Your politics, your faith, your age, your gender, your race—none of it matters. We gather to run through the same pumpkin patch mazes, we hand out candy to little kids in witch costumes, and we put scarecrows up-- even if we have no gardens to protect or crows to worry about. This is how we belong. We’re part of our culture, we’re team players, we have fun looking forward to the next excuse for candy. It gives us sameness for a little while, and a mutual goal. Happy Halloween, my fellow Americans. 

Check out my Youtube Mom channel for great pumpkin ideas!

Where Am I and How Did I Get Here?

           I've always told my writing students to avoid using dream sequences, evil  twins, and amnesia. These devices are, well, cheap. Plus, virtually nobody gets real amnesia, not the kind you see on soap operas. 

         And then I got one of the kinds. It’s temporary, resolves in 24 hours, and about 5 out of 100,000 people experience it. It’s called Transient Global Amnesia—and of course I had to get something with TRANSIENT in the name. And something you can only get if you’re over 40, so thanks for that.

          We had just picked Nicole up at the airport; she came in to be here for Bob’s ordination as 1^st Counselor in the bishopric of our church. Richie was also in the car.

          But on the way home I noticed my head was swimming. I was super dizzy, my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t seem to process anything. By the time we were home, I was asking, “Am I having a stroke?” and the family was considering taking me to the Emergency Room. I kept asking the same things and couldn’t remember the answers. My brain kept flashing to other scenes, just like a movie. And no way could I stand or walk by myself. I knew my family and I knew me, but I couldn't stay in the here and now.

          Richie started looking up symptoms. We were able to rule out stroke, dehydration, epilepsy, migraines, head injury, hypertension, and drug or alcohol use. See, in Joniopolis you can just catch things out of the blue with no reasonable explanation.

          So we’re sitting around the kitchen island and Richie tells us there’s this thing called Transient Global Amnesia (TGA)-- your recall of recent events simply vanishes, so you can't remember where you are or how you got there.  Yet, despite feeling disoriented, patients are otherwise alert, attentive and have normal thinking abilities. (Well that’s the first time I’ve been accused of normal thinking).

          I was scared I’d be admitted to the hospital and miss Bob’s ordination. Plus I kept looking at Nicole and thinking, “She just got here—what a horrible way to spend a vacation.” Then I said we were supposed to be playing Rook, a favorite family game.  St. Bob—make that just Bob—then said, “Well I don’t want you for my partner!”  And the kids busted up laughing.

          We called a nurse hotline and put her on speaker. “What does your current husband weigh?” she asked.

          Are you kidding me?  I looked over at Nicole. “Is she seriously asking for the weight of my current husband?” Now we both began laughing—uncontrollably in my case—and Bob had to take over the phone call. Apparently she had said, “What’s your current height and weight?”

          Finally it was decided to let me go to bed, especially since it was late and I’d probably fall asleep in the ER if we went there. How can you test someone’s cognitive abilities if they’re asleep?

          And the next morning I was fine. Well, Joni fine. So it appears Richie had pinpointed the problem. But I think if you have a global condition you should be able to take a global vacation.

          Here we are after the ordination:

Have you watched any of my short Youtube Mom videos? Just think—if you get TGA you can watch them over and over and enjoy them all over again!