These words, or the lack of reading them and what followed, almost made me the next candidate for the infamous Darwin Awards. Let's go back to the beginning, shall we.
We have a newly remodeled house with gleaming glass shower doors. Recently I noticed that nasty cloudy buildup slowly taking shape, that if not subdued requires a jackhammer to remove from the glass. Concurrently I bought some toilet bowl cleaner on sale that claimed to clean calcium deposits from the porcelain. Worked like a charm under the rim, so I thought to myself, Self, you should try that on the shower door glass.
I had a red flag wave before my eyes with the words "Read the DIRECTIONS FOR USE before proceeding." Well, that was a few days before the incident. But instead of reading the directions, I opted to make my adventure a reality. I talked myself into getting into the shower and beginning the big dig as soon as possible because I just felt like it would be a great idea. I didn't know for sure for I had not done my due diligence before proceeding. [Almost] famous last words.
I began by methodically measuring 1/4 cup of blue goo into an old plastic measuring cup. I then added 3/4 cup water. Gingerly stepping into the shower I used an old toothbrush to "paint" the areas of interest on the shower door with my magic potion.
I then had a thought as I was humming and brushing away, What if this stuff gets on my toes? Will it make them disappear the way it did the cement-like stuff in the toilet bowl? At the same time I began feeling as if I had been put into a large jar of mint mouthwash like one of those old 1960s TV shows where normal sized people end up in the land of giants and find telephones the size of their beds and gigantic drinking glasses that might be used to imprison the tiny intruder. My eyes started tingling and the tip of my tongue felt funny. The common sense that I had suppressed slowly emerged and I quickly jumped out of the shower.
Grabbing the toilet bowl cleaner I fumbled for my reading glasses. "DANGER: CORROSIVE," and then a little further down, "Contains hydrochloric acid." Okay, Houston, we've had a problem here! I then saw a second red flag billowing at the words, "FIRST AID," list. When there is more than one category under First Aid, one should run from the product. But one should definitely make haste out of the house when there are four categories; "For Eyes, If on Skin or Clothing, If Swallowed, If Inhaled."
Let me summarize the horrors. For Eyes, rinse eyes for 15-20 minutes and "Call a Poison Control Center or doctor for treatment advice." For Skin and Clothing, shed everything and burn*, but since you can't shed your skin, "Call a Poison Control Center or doctor for treatment advice." If Swallowed, "Call a Poison Control Center or doctor for treatment advice," was the first line followed by advice if one could still swallow. Last but not least, If Inhaled, run outside if you can still breathe deeply and, yes, "Call a Poison Control Center or doctor for treatment advice."
I turned on the shower full force and shot it towards the door. I had visions of John coming in and finding me passed out next to the unclean shower.
After 30 minutes of rinsing and scrubbing the shower with common soap and water and knowing I was miraculously spared from having my family accept my dubious award on behalf of my posthumous self, I breathed a sigh of relief. No sooner had I caught my breath I heard John walking through the front door.
I met him at the door and apprised him of the near tragedy. I got a big hug from my understanding mate as if I had discovered gold upon pushing the "flush" button. I think he was just happy not to have to cook dinner that night, to be honest with you. We walked straight to the bathroom to forensically inspect the scene of the crime.
John stepped inside, sniffed and looked toward the shower door, "Wow," he exclaimed with Christmas-like excitement, "What a great looking shower door!"
*Paraphrase, not actual quote
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Perfect Perspective of an Improper Puppy
I live surrounded by comfort.
I am fed and get new toys from time to time.
The people I live with are good to me.
One has a deep voice, and one has a light voice.
They left me a new toy on the floor today.
It had hard parts that felt good on my teeth.
There were long things that tickled my nose.
Then there is the fuzz…oh the fuzz!
I pulled it out and it just kept coming.
There is no end to the fun and pleasure in this new toy!
The person with the light voice came in.
She does not sound happy.
I wish I knew what she meant when she said,
“silly puppy, you chewed my favorite cat slippers!”
I am fed and get new toys from time to time.
The people I live with are good to me.
One has a deep voice, and one has a light voice.
They left me a new toy on the floor today.
It had hard parts that felt good on my teeth.
There were long things that tickled my nose.
Then there is the fuzz…oh the fuzz!
I pulled it out and it just kept coming.
There is no end to the fun and pleasure in this new toy!
The person with the light voice came in.
She does not sound happy.
I wish I knew what she meant when she said,
“silly puppy, you chewed my favorite cat slippers!”
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Poem: I Once Ate and Eggshell
I Once Ate and Eggshell
By Denise H. McEwen
I once ate an eggshell,
How silly of me.
I cracked it and peeled it,
An egg I set free.
It glowed and it glimmered
In the light by the sink.
Slick as the ice
You'd find on a rink.
So perfectly boiled
I held it awhile.
Then I took my first bite
My face felt a smile.
Crack was the sound
That shot from my mouth.
Would I swallow the eggshell?
Would my health go south?
What happened next
I cannot explain.
I munched and I crunched
‘till the sound grew faint.
“Now why did I do that?”
I asked myself.
The eggshell was powder,
And all ended well.
I swallowed what once
Was an egg and a shell.
Too bad I’m grown up,
It’d be good for Show and Tell.
By Denise H. McEwen
I once ate an eggshell,
How silly of me.
I cracked it and peeled it,
An egg I set free.
It glowed and it glimmered
In the light by the sink.
Slick as the ice
You'd find on a rink.
So perfectly boiled
I held it awhile.
Then I took my first bite
My face felt a smile.
Crack was the sound
That shot from my mouth.
Would I swallow the eggshell?
Would my health go south?
What happened next
I cannot explain.
I munched and I crunched
‘till the sound grew faint.
“Now why did I do that?”
I asked myself.
The eggshell was powder,
And all ended well.
I swallowed what once
Was an egg and a shell.
Too bad I’m grown up,
It’d be good for Show and Tell.
Monday, August 20, 2007
A Short Story: A Stranger's Somebody
From her parking space at the drive-in she saw him, the lead in a movie playing on her personal screen through the windshield.
What would possess a man of that age to still grease his peppered white hair, cigarette in hand leaning on a passenger car door like he was James Dean? In another time and place she wouldn't give him a second look, but Julie kept watching while she awaited the order of fries and cherry limeade that would show up any minute. The man made no sudden moves, casually observing the person seated in the passenger side of the car.
He nods his head like he's still in high school, like he's trying to impress someone. And that stance, for Pete's sake, who stands like that anymore after age 25? She was transfixed on his profile, hip cocked above a straight leg, and the farthest leg presumably bent as he leaned on the car door slightly hidden from her view.
He looks rather pleasant. A smile made its way to her pursed lips when she saw him give a short backward nod, a laugh pushing up his salty pepper mustache to reveal a missing tooth.
Did he get in a fight? Maybe he's too poor to afford dental care. Compassion whelled for a moment. But then came more judgment, And where are my fries? They're usually quick here. The man took another drag of his cigarette, lowered his hand slowly flicking ashes to the ground, nodding in agreement to the mystery person in the car.
And who's in the car? I haven't had a cherry limeade in so long I can almost taste it. I'll bet smoking ruins your taste buds for cherry limeade. She imagined the acrid smoke stinging her nose, scraping her tongue against the back of her front teeth to rid itself of the perceived taste.
The man dropped his cigarette to the ground and rolled his heel on it. Leaning into the car, he helped the person out.
White hair, a bit overweight, she straightened her dress and stood beside the car while the man shut the door. He then turned to the woman and offered his arm to her revealing the hidden leg to the undisclosed audience, Julie the judge-righteous, across the parking lot. Something odd caught Julie's attention, suspended between worlds, waiting for her fries and curious as the movie played on through her windshield.
A sudden knock at the window jolted Julie from her sleuthing. The car hop held up a bag of fries flashing a Barbie pink smile.
She's got great teeth. I wonder if she uses those strips or did she do the machine thing?
Fumbling for the window button with one hand, the other hand feeling for her purse, Julie got a slight retina ache from the strain of keeping the "afternoon special" in her periphery.
"That will be a dollar-ninety-eight for an order of small fries and a medium cherry limeade," mumbled the brunette in blue and yellow cap balancing on her roller blades as she handed Julie the receipt.
The change couldn't be found fast enough, Julie wanted to catch the end of the movie.
"Keep the change," Julie quickly dropped a handful of quarters, 10 to be exact, into the car hop's hand. She almost spilled the cherry limeade while blindly searching for the cup holder, Julie positioned her purse in the passenger seat keeping the hot bag of fries in her lap.
"Have a great day," the car hop's voice trailed as she turned on one wheel and rolled away.
The featurette was coming to a close. The couple was still making their way to the front door of the restaurant across the parking lot, which so happened to be at the furthest end of the building from where they parked. A stiff leg lifted the man every other step.
They didn't use the handicap spot, wow! I wonder why? Her heart swelled a size or two like Dr. Seuss' Grinch upon feeling the love from Whoville.
He has one fake leg. How did he lose it? In an accident, in a war, how? She would never know. Lifting her cherry limeade to her lips, the straw missed the intended target finding its way up her nose. Instead of limeade joy she felt pain, lots of pain.
"Ouch," pulling the cup down and wondering if she might have a bleeder. Who knew a straw could do so much damage. But back to the movie, one so intense she ignored the grease vapor that made every effort to lure her taste buds. She gently pressed her fingers against the outer part of her nose soothing the sting.
Focus! Learn! Be gone inner-judge!
In 10 seconds it would be over. Julie witnessed a slow walking woman and man, possibly in their late 70s who looked as happy as any couple on their first date. He opened the restaurant door for the woman and gave another James Dean nod, cracking a slight smile.
He was probably the coolest guy in his high school, and she might have been his sweet heart even back then.
How sweet the love of a man and a woman, possibly after untold years; strangers to most, but somebody to each other.
Julie smiled and slowly pulled her car out of the drive-in slip, blindly fingering a fry out of the bag and popping it in her mouth, only to burn her tongue.
What would possess a man of that age to still grease his peppered white hair, cigarette in hand leaning on a passenger car door like he was James Dean? In another time and place she wouldn't give him a second look, but Julie kept watching while she awaited the order of fries and cherry limeade that would show up any minute. The man made no sudden moves, casually observing the person seated in the passenger side of the car.
He nods his head like he's still in high school, like he's trying to impress someone. And that stance, for Pete's sake, who stands like that anymore after age 25? She was transfixed on his profile, hip cocked above a straight leg, and the farthest leg presumably bent as he leaned on the car door slightly hidden from her view.
He looks rather pleasant. A smile made its way to her pursed lips when she saw him give a short backward nod, a laugh pushing up his salty pepper mustache to reveal a missing tooth.
Did he get in a fight? Maybe he's too poor to afford dental care. Compassion whelled for a moment. But then came more judgment, And where are my fries? They're usually quick here. The man took another drag of his cigarette, lowered his hand slowly flicking ashes to the ground, nodding in agreement to the mystery person in the car.
And who's in the car? I haven't had a cherry limeade in so long I can almost taste it. I'll bet smoking ruins your taste buds for cherry limeade. She imagined the acrid smoke stinging her nose, scraping her tongue against the back of her front teeth to rid itself of the perceived taste.
The man dropped his cigarette to the ground and rolled his heel on it. Leaning into the car, he helped the person out.
White hair, a bit overweight, she straightened her dress and stood beside the car while the man shut the door. He then turned to the woman and offered his arm to her revealing the hidden leg to the undisclosed audience, Julie the judge-righteous, across the parking lot. Something odd caught Julie's attention, suspended between worlds, waiting for her fries and curious as the movie played on through her windshield.
A sudden knock at the window jolted Julie from her sleuthing. The car hop held up a bag of fries flashing a Barbie pink smile.
She's got great teeth. I wonder if she uses those strips or did she do the machine thing?
Fumbling for the window button with one hand, the other hand feeling for her purse, Julie got a slight retina ache from the strain of keeping the "afternoon special" in her periphery.
"That will be a dollar-ninety-eight for an order of small fries and a medium cherry limeade," mumbled the brunette in blue and yellow cap balancing on her roller blades as she handed Julie the receipt.
The change couldn't be found fast enough, Julie wanted to catch the end of the movie.
"Keep the change," Julie quickly dropped a handful of quarters, 10 to be exact, into the car hop's hand. She almost spilled the cherry limeade while blindly searching for the cup holder, Julie positioned her purse in the passenger seat keeping the hot bag of fries in her lap.
"Have a great day," the car hop's voice trailed as she turned on one wheel and rolled away.
The featurette was coming to a close. The couple was still making their way to the front door of the restaurant across the parking lot, which so happened to be at the furthest end of the building from where they parked. A stiff leg lifted the man every other step.
They didn't use the handicap spot, wow! I wonder why? Her heart swelled a size or two like Dr. Seuss' Grinch upon feeling the love from Whoville.
He has one fake leg. How did he lose it? In an accident, in a war, how? She would never know. Lifting her cherry limeade to her lips, the straw missed the intended target finding its way up her nose. Instead of limeade joy she felt pain, lots of pain.
"Ouch," pulling the cup down and wondering if she might have a bleeder. Who knew a straw could do so much damage. But back to the movie, one so intense she ignored the grease vapor that made every effort to lure her taste buds. She gently pressed her fingers against the outer part of her nose soothing the sting.
Focus! Learn! Be gone inner-judge!
In 10 seconds it would be over. Julie witnessed a slow walking woman and man, possibly in their late 70s who looked as happy as any couple on their first date. He opened the restaurant door for the woman and gave another James Dean nod, cracking a slight smile.
He was probably the coolest guy in his high school, and she might have been his sweet heart even back then.
How sweet the love of a man and a woman, possibly after untold years; strangers to most, but somebody to each other.
Julie smiled and slowly pulled her car out of the drive-in slip, blindly fingering a fry out of the bag and popping it in her mouth, only to burn her tongue.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Poem: The Sick and the Restless
The Sick and the Restless
Ode to any active person laden with bronchitis
[Dancers: sit on one back heal, the other leg crossed in front leaning over as if in pain]
“Doctor, I’m sick,” said she
“You must rest, no activity.”
The doctor demanded of her
as she sat on the table.
“But can I exercise?”
“No,” quothe the doctor.
“But can I stroll?”
“No,” quothe the doctor.
“But can I do light weights?”
“No,” quothe the doctor.
“But then what can I do?”
Asked the patient with much on her list
“Nothing,” saith the medically trained,
“You’re job is to get well.”
With tongue depressor in hand
The doctor walked to the garbage can
To discard the germ-covered stick
But only after a quick flourish.
Restless at home sat she,
Burning lungs and tired eyes.
She read and wrote and emailed
Til she couldn't take it any more.
A hot bath [dancers: flail as if bathing]
A stretch or two [dancers: light freeform movements]
And the patient panted in frustration. [dancers: panting with graceful arm movements]
“The doctor is right.”
So she gathered her strength to sit [dancers: sit]
And sit, and sit.
She read and wrote and emailed
Til she couldn’t take it any more.
Shuffling in her house shoes
She longed to breathe deeply again
The cool air without the burn
without worry she would become worse.
She is still sitting and sitting,
Waiting to get better.
Oh sad bronchitis,
Go away to never return.
[dancers: return to first pose]
-March 23, 2006
Ode to any active person laden with bronchitis
[Dancers: sit on one back heal, the other leg crossed in front leaning over as if in pain]
“Doctor, I’m sick,” said she
“You must rest, no activity.”
The doctor demanded of her
as she sat on the table.
“But can I exercise?”
“No,” quothe the doctor.
“But can I stroll?”
“No,” quothe the doctor.
“But can I do light weights?”
“No,” quothe the doctor.
“But then what can I do?”
Asked the patient with much on her list
“Nothing,” saith the medically trained,
“You’re job is to get well.”
With tongue depressor in hand
The doctor walked to the garbage can
To discard the germ-covered stick
But only after a quick flourish.
Restless at home sat she,
Burning lungs and tired eyes.
She read and wrote and emailed
Til she couldn't take it any more.
A hot bath [dancers: flail as if bathing]
A stretch or two [dancers: light freeform movements]
And the patient panted in frustration. [dancers: panting with graceful arm movements]
“The doctor is right.”
So she gathered her strength to sit [dancers: sit]
And sit, and sit.
She read and wrote and emailed
Til she couldn’t take it any more.
Shuffling in her house shoes
She longed to breathe deeply again
The cool air without the burn
without worry she would become worse.
She is still sitting and sitting,
Waiting to get better.
Oh sad bronchitis,
Go away to never return.
[dancers: return to first pose]
-March 23, 2006
Monday, July 30, 2007
Sweet Moments in Life
This past week I had several opportunities to be with children. John and I don't have kids, but enjoy them all the same. First of all we enjoy our three nephews and four nieces when we get to be with them. They are each unique and bring so much joy to us.
I had the five youngest a week ago. They are 11, 10, 6, 5 and 3. The house was mowed down with all the fun and gusto they could muster. Dress up clothes, game pieces, toys and books were strewn in almost every corner, and even when they picked everything up, there were tiny items imbedded in the carpet and behind the cushion covers.
But did we ever have fun, and I think my sister and her husband, and my sister-in-law, my brother's widow deserve a round of applause for raising such a fun yet obedient group of kids.
Next, John and I joined our church in a back to school night for an inner city church (http://www.impacthouston.org/), who send children our way to shop for school supplies and clothes. John and I had two young girls, 11 and 12 who thanked us at various times in the evening.
When we returned to the building there were the following reports: one boy wanted to get athletic shoes for his younger brother because his own shoes were still fairly new. Another family had a very shy girl who couldn't ask for much but was so grateful for her goodies by the end of the evening, quietly saying thank you.
Later in the week my best friend, her three daughters and I went to out to eat hamburgers and see the movie "Hairspray," all teen/pre-teen age. We ate lunch at a diner and Cathleen, the youngest and I were the only two to put away the oversized burgers, but we did so with no regrets.
The waiter flirted with the girls and they kindly blew him off gaining us free cokes by the end of the meal for his confessed ill-behavior. Go girls! You three behaved with grace in a very awkward situation. But I'm not surprised, Lisa was the friend whom the boys gravitated to when we were growing up. Her girls, while individual, have the gift of charm and beauty in every good way that would attract young men.
The movie got mixed reviews, but we had a great time. Those of us who liked it liked the energy and dancing, and those of us who didn't like it found it annoying (my word), for the same reasons. However, Lisa was just plain (a Texas expression) grossed out by John Travolta in drag; she gets points for trying to like him as a woman, but it just didn't work for her. I can't say I blame her, but somehow his big momma character grew on me.
By Thursday it was round two of the niece/nephew brigade, this time with the 6, 5 and 3 year olds returning. There was no tearing up of the house as they were tired. We watched a movie, went out to Burger King and got meals with "The Simpson's Movie" talking toys. I plotted to secrectly bury the toys somewhere, but stuck it out while the 3-year old, Audrey, held her finger on the button of one of the toys, the words and voice are emblazoned on my mind, "call me, call me, call me..."
The following day on the trip to deliver them to my sister, we had a talk about Heaven with the 5-year old, Jackson, painting pictures of a place of fun and beauty, all run by God Himself in eager expectation of our arrival. I think he went on for 5 or 10 minutes, and all the while I was enthralled at the now colorful canvas and couldn't dispute any of it; and even if I wanted to, why disturb his little peace when he is only at the beginning of understanding the greatest reality ever.
Finally we had dinner with two couples last night, and five kids total. I got to talk to each kid and enjoyed them very much, but by mid evening, they were tired and wired. We conversed with the couples against a back drop of running tikes, crying and drama dotting time and space. But the evening was a success; an evening of goodbyes with one couple departing in a couple of months and the other couple introduced to us for the first time last night.
So is life, a series of changes, children getting older, friends coming and going; all sweet moments that if too busy can be missed.
I had the five youngest a week ago. They are 11, 10, 6, 5 and 3. The house was mowed down with all the fun and gusto they could muster. Dress up clothes, game pieces, toys and books were strewn in almost every corner, and even when they picked everything up, there were tiny items imbedded in the carpet and behind the cushion covers.
But did we ever have fun, and I think my sister and her husband, and my sister-in-law, my brother's widow deserve a round of applause for raising such a fun yet obedient group of kids.
Next, John and I joined our church in a back to school night for an inner city church (http://www.impacthouston.org/), who send children our way to shop for school supplies and clothes. John and I had two young girls, 11 and 12 who thanked us at various times in the evening.
When we returned to the building there were the following reports: one boy wanted to get athletic shoes for his younger brother because his own shoes were still fairly new. Another family had a very shy girl who couldn't ask for much but was so grateful for her goodies by the end of the evening, quietly saying thank you.
Later in the week my best friend, her three daughters and I went to out to eat hamburgers and see the movie "Hairspray," all teen/pre-teen age. We ate lunch at a diner and Cathleen, the youngest and I were the only two to put away the oversized burgers, but we did so with no regrets.
The waiter flirted with the girls and they kindly blew him off gaining us free cokes by the end of the meal for his confessed ill-behavior. Go girls! You three behaved with grace in a very awkward situation. But I'm not surprised, Lisa was the friend whom the boys gravitated to when we were growing up. Her girls, while individual, have the gift of charm and beauty in every good way that would attract young men.
The movie got mixed reviews, but we had a great time. Those of us who liked it liked the energy and dancing, and those of us who didn't like it found it annoying (my word), for the same reasons. However, Lisa was just plain (a Texas expression) grossed out by John Travolta in drag; she gets points for trying to like him as a woman, but it just didn't work for her. I can't say I blame her, but somehow his big momma character grew on me.
By Thursday it was round two of the niece/nephew brigade, this time with the 6, 5 and 3 year olds returning. There was no tearing up of the house as they were tired. We watched a movie, went out to Burger King and got meals with "The Simpson's Movie" talking toys. I plotted to secrectly bury the toys somewhere, but stuck it out while the 3-year old, Audrey, held her finger on the button of one of the toys, the words and voice are emblazoned on my mind, "call me, call me, call me..."
The following day on the trip to deliver them to my sister, we had a talk about Heaven with the 5-year old, Jackson, painting pictures of a place of fun and beauty, all run by God Himself in eager expectation of our arrival. I think he went on for 5 or 10 minutes, and all the while I was enthralled at the now colorful canvas and couldn't dispute any of it; and even if I wanted to, why disturb his little peace when he is only at the beginning of understanding the greatest reality ever.
Finally we had dinner with two couples last night, and five kids total. I got to talk to each kid and enjoyed them very much, but by mid evening, they were tired and wired. We conversed with the couples against a back drop of running tikes, crying and drama dotting time and space. But the evening was a success; an evening of goodbyes with one couple departing in a couple of months and the other couple introduced to us for the first time last night.
So is life, a series of changes, children getting older, friends coming and going; all sweet moments that if too busy can be missed.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Irrational Happiness
Princess our lively 5-year old boxer runt thinks she's human. We don't help matters in the way we treat her, and that's all I'll confess to. But she is quite bright if we say so. When we take her somewhere, we use the words "let's go" and she jumps at our heels all the way to the car. When we don't take her with us we ask for "sugars and kisses," and she promptly gives us a peck then jumps on the big blue chair, her chin resting on her front paws and eyebrows furrowed in sadness.
Today I gave the correct code word, "let's go," but then I said, "sugars and kisses to daddy," and she usually complies. But today she was so overjoyed that she couldn't control her little body. She flopped on the tile running up to John but not quite making the kissing connection. We tried a few more times then gave up because I thought she'd hurt herself. I diagnosed her as being irrationally happy.
I can remember my own bouts with irrational happiness and being injured in the process.
There was the time when I was about 5 years old. I was playing with my neighbor, which was a rarity. I was so caught up in the moment having a friend over that when it was my turn to chase Linda, I ignored the door she was closing behind her and ran smack into the square door knob leaving a pronounced L-shape in my delicate forehead. I thought I'd at least get stitches to brag about, but instead I got a patch of invisible fake skin tape. It was very anti-climactic to show my friends the patch of wrinkled skin with the L-shape scab showing through. Stitches would have validated my brave attempt to run through the door or at least a band-aid would have covered up the minor event. But there it was, the naked L-shaped tribute to irrational happiness which cost me dear collateral in the world of stitches-comparison with my friends.
Many moons later as a mature 10-year old, I got a new pekinese puppy and in silly celebration of this most unusual event in my life, for it was my first puppy ever, I decided to twirl and jump around barefoot in the lush green grass. The only problem was that I kicked a pile of dirt in the crecendo part of my homemade musical tribute to the new puppy, and the next thing I remember was pain, lot's of pain. The good news is that irrational happiness can bring with it redeeming qualities like wisdom, for it was then that I learned that fire ants lived in those neat cone-shaped piles of dirt that crop up unannounced from one day to the next.
Oh, there have been so many life-lessons learned from irrational happiness and I'm proud to say I'm still in school.
Recently I made reservations to fly to Boston for work. I was looking forward to seeing old friends and meeting new co-workers. I was precise in all my calculations in making air fare and car rental reservations. It took a few phone calls to finalize the dates, but I was all set. The day before boarding I anxiously awaited my e-boarding pass. I got online to see why it hadn't been sent, and to my horror the flight had been booked exactly 4 weeks earlier. So I went to the folder where I saved all my confirmations and reminders and got a second shock, I overlooked the date on the first confirmation, and then when I got the e-boarding e-mail 4 weeks earlier, instead of reading it in detail I thought to myself, "no wonder I like this airline, they're always figuring out ways to keep my business." Well, they got my cake and ate it too as I lost the airfare due to not responding according to their cancellation rules. My bank account screamed "Ouch"! Luckily I had air miles and the trip was back on again. The good news is I saved 5 times that amount last year in coupons and realized that some stuff is just going to happen and it's better to move on and have a laugh than to stew over it.
Irrational happiness is a gift to the courageously un-cool; while we may suffer an injury in the process, it never fails to amuse when enough time passes.
Today I gave the correct code word, "let's go," but then I said, "sugars and kisses to daddy," and she usually complies. But today she was so overjoyed that she couldn't control her little body. She flopped on the tile running up to John but not quite making the kissing connection. We tried a few more times then gave up because I thought she'd hurt herself. I diagnosed her as being irrationally happy.
I can remember my own bouts with irrational happiness and being injured in the process.
There was the time when I was about 5 years old. I was playing with my neighbor, which was a rarity. I was so caught up in the moment having a friend over that when it was my turn to chase Linda, I ignored the door she was closing behind her and ran smack into the square door knob leaving a pronounced L-shape in my delicate forehead. I thought I'd at least get stitches to brag about, but instead I got a patch of invisible fake skin tape. It was very anti-climactic to show my friends the patch of wrinkled skin with the L-shape scab showing through. Stitches would have validated my brave attempt to run through the door or at least a band-aid would have covered up the minor event. But there it was, the naked L-shaped tribute to irrational happiness which cost me dear collateral in the world of stitches-comparison with my friends.
Many moons later as a mature 10-year old, I got a new pekinese puppy and in silly celebration of this most unusual event in my life, for it was my first puppy ever, I decided to twirl and jump around barefoot in the lush green grass. The only problem was that I kicked a pile of dirt in the crecendo part of my homemade musical tribute to the new puppy, and the next thing I remember was pain, lot's of pain. The good news is that irrational happiness can bring with it redeeming qualities like wisdom, for it was then that I learned that fire ants lived in those neat cone-shaped piles of dirt that crop up unannounced from one day to the next.
Oh, there have been so many life-lessons learned from irrational happiness and I'm proud to say I'm still in school.
Recently I made reservations to fly to Boston for work. I was looking forward to seeing old friends and meeting new co-workers. I was precise in all my calculations in making air fare and car rental reservations. It took a few phone calls to finalize the dates, but I was all set. The day before boarding I anxiously awaited my e-boarding pass. I got online to see why it hadn't been sent, and to my horror the flight had been booked exactly 4 weeks earlier. So I went to the folder where I saved all my confirmations and reminders and got a second shock, I overlooked the date on the first confirmation, and then when I got the e-boarding e-mail 4 weeks earlier, instead of reading it in detail I thought to myself, "no wonder I like this airline, they're always figuring out ways to keep my business." Well, they got my cake and ate it too as I lost the airfare due to not responding according to their cancellation rules. My bank account screamed "Ouch"! Luckily I had air miles and the trip was back on again. The good news is I saved 5 times that amount last year in coupons and realized that some stuff is just going to happen and it's better to move on and have a laugh than to stew over it.
Irrational happiness is a gift to the courageously un-cool; while we may suffer an injury in the process, it never fails to amuse when enough time passes.
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