Where's a doctor when you need one?
Ever think you have managed to find a new medical condition that has yet to be officially recognized by anybody with a doctorate? Even if you're not a hypochondriac, I bet you've had a couple. I've started to name the ones I've noticed.
C.S.D.S. - "
Congenital
Snoring and
Drooling
Syndrome" - luckily, this one only occurs when I'm sleeping. However, each member of my family is happy to point out that I've been doing it whenever I fall asleep while they're still awake. The stigma mostly prevents mid-day napping.
P.M.I.N. - Not "pre-menstrual" anything - this one stands for "
Psychosomatic
Meeting-
Induced
Narcolepsy". Lately I've been attending a lot more meetings than has been the case at any other time in my career. If these meetings extend beyond an hour, I'm guaranteed to start to nod off, especially if the content being discussed is less than interesting. Since I also have C.S.D.S., the potential for embarrassment around the office is high.
P.O.M.F. - Can't take the credit for HAVING this one, just noticing it. It's a phenomenon around my house, but I'm sure it extends beyond our home as well. Any male (choice of three, sometimes four) in the family who happen to have the occasional eruption of gas find it to be either a) funny, b) an achievement, or, sadly, c) both. It's excusable in my 2-year-old son Adam, who learned to say "poopie fart" soon after "Mama", and possibly even in my 13-year-old son, who has some room for refinement in his sense of humor. However, my husband takes it to a new level - if he's sitting down, he'll shift so that the gas can escape as loudly and noticeably as possible - and just in case there's anybody around who may not have heard it, he'll make some announcement, even if it's just "Wooo! Pewies!" to Adam, who invariably giggles and shouts "Poopie fart!" in tones one might use after finding out they'd just won the Lotto. So I'll just say that "P.O.M.F." stands for "
Proud
of
my
Farts", and leave it at that.
F.D.A.G. - The converse to "P.M.O.F" - girls don't have the love of bodily sound effects that men do. If totally unable to control it (a rare condition for anybody with estrogen), we will usually attempt to either apologize and excuse ourselves, or pretend it was the guy next to us who let one go.
Females just
Don't
Appreciate
Gas.
These conditions, and others like them, deserve recognition, so that a search for a cure can follow. I'll keep my eye out for more...at least until my burgeoning T.B.T.N. ("
Too
Busy
to
Notice") erupts into a full-blown case of such significantly reduced vision that I don't spot any details less severe than somebody actually being on fire.
Let me know about any others you may have experienced - there may be a reward associated with finding new diseases for the medical community to research!
Watching the grass grow
I think sometimes that I'm missing a lot of life as it goes on around me, although occasionally something will catch my attention. For instance, one day recently on my commute home, at the end of a rainy day, a giant rainbow spanned the highway. I spent a few seconds admiring the colors; the full spectrum was visible, and had a brief thought of "Wow, that'll reaffirm life", before my natural cynicism cut back in - mere nanoseconds later - and I thought, "Come on, it's just a trick of the light." Even a rainbow can only momentarily jar me out of my normal thought patterns, but maybe it's a good sign that SOMETHING can.
I remember my mother was a big fan of people-watching whenever we were in public. I found that hobby incomprehensible as a kid, and then found that I enjoyed it myself when I was older - mid-twenties or so - but now I don't seem to have the time. If I'm out in public, I'm either moving in a hurry to finish shopping, or too busy watching my own kids to sit and relax long enough to watch OTHER people. And even in those rare moments I can do that (when, say, I'm out to dinner with all four kids, and they're occupied by eating), I don't seem to enjoy it much lately. It might just be that I'm not all that good at it anymore - there's a trick to timing and using peripheral vision that I seem to have lost, and I can tell they think I'm staring, although I don't mean to.
Maybe it's stress. Maybe I'm just so busy working (between my money-earning job and my house-job) and doing all the things that take time. Even after I get home from a full day on the job, there's the bathing of the smaller kids, helping with homework, doing laundry and distributing it amongst the family, washing dishes, and trying to get to the gym - I am just OUT of time. I miss being able to use the phrase "quality of life" the way it's meant to be used, instead of in the abstract, or the more concrete realization of its lack. And I'm not the only one feeling the crunch - the kids do too.
Maybe I never actually watched the grass grow ... but I used to be able to spend some time lying on it and deciding which cloud looked like a dragon.
The decline of civility
I have a romanticized notion of how things were in bygone years. Pick an era, any era. Growing up overseas, I thought it would be great to be Marie Antoinette, for instance - well, right up until her last day, at least. Queen of France, big palaces, gorgeous dresses...thought the whole thing was great until I learned about the lack of showers, modern medicine, TV, etc.
Ok, forget that. Let's face facts, it all came to a bad end for the monarchy anyway. So how about something more modern? The old West, for instance? Those "Little House on the Prairie" books, all of which I read voraciously, made it sound sort of attractive. Still no showers, but medicine wasn't far off, and at least they bathed on a schedule. Plus they had horses and lots of chances at free land. However, since after several moments of thought I'm unable to come up with anything else I would have liked, that may not be the right idea either.
Well, let's look at the early 20th century. By now, there was a lot of medicine to combat some fairly bad illnesses. Plus cars, and if not TV, at least radio. Also one of my personal faves, the indoor toilet. Yes, there were world wars, but except for the infamous attack on Hawaii, they mostly weren't fought in our country. And from the general impression I've got of the period, there was still plenty of what's missing nowadays, despite our thoroughly modern conveniences - common courtesy.
Here's an example. My children, whom I've tried to raise with at least the bare minimum standards of politeness, enjoy holding doors for people - not just their own family members, but total strangers - whenever we're out and about. About 70% of the time, these people sail through without a word as if it's the kids' function in life to open doors on demand. The kids are rightfully indignant about this behavior, and have lately started to not bother, unless they're doing it for me. Note that they will politely thank anybody holding doors for THEM.
And here's another one. My new hobby is playing online poker. In most games, there's invariably some loser (literally and figuratively) who not only whines when losing a hand, but will also spout a variety of four- and more letter words. Although naturally I've heard all of these words before, some quite close to home (sorry to say), I find this extremely offensive. For one thing, sore losers gripe my butt. One of the most competitive people I know is my sister, and she wins regularly at a variety of games, and I might pretend I'm mad, but the fact is, whatever we're playing is just a game, and so is poker. In addition, when playing an online game where the use of "handles" instead of actual names gives no indication as to the gender, age, nationality, ethnic origin, or religious bent of the players around you, it's easy to offend quite a cross-section of society while anonymously typing epithets from the safety of one's personal computer.
This happened recently, in fact, and when at one point in the game I mentioned that I was female (thinking longingly of days when men still tipped their hats when a lady appeared), he blamed his behavior on his age - 21. I responded by saying that at 21, he can drink in bars, go to war, and endanger other drivers - certainly old enough to learn some manners. But I miss the days, at least those in my impression of the past, where that kind of conversation would not have been necessary. Granted, I'd have had to find a different hobby, but at least I wouldn't have known what I'd be missing.
There's been a lot of articles recently about the sprawl of rude behavior through society. Many of them focus on the very modern conveniences we enjoy - for instance, the use of cell phones in public. However, people have had loud conversations in public since the first caveman uttered an opinionated grunt. If the only difference nowadays is that the person on the other end of the conversation is not physically present, then that should just cut the noise level in half, from my point of view. The average line-cutter at the supermarket, though, will send me through the roof.
Maybe it's just a personal standards thing, but I wish that more people felt that manners were a lesson that should still be taught while the brain is forming. My kids and I can't bear the burden alone.
Libido, Lust and other L-words
Lately (not one of the L-words I was thinking of), I've been reading romance novels. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it, having to date been a scoffer of the whole theme. I've read fantasy, horror, fiction - unfortunately all elements of my own romantic experience. Mostly, though, I stick with anything that's been written by authors I've read before, who have a good command of the language and who can grab my attention in the first 5 pages of a book, and I especially love anything that can make me laugh. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I need a laugh just about as much as I need air.
However, on a recent trip through the supermarket, I decided to check out the book aisle, having re-read just about every book I own several times. Something caught my attention, and I picked up...wait for it...a romance novel; read a few pages, and decided to buy not only that book, but the others available by the same author. After bringing them home, I read all three within a three day span, and I was hooked.
These are not the "bodice-ripper"-type stories with which I associated all romance novels up to that day. No Fabio on the cover; as a matter of fact, no cover art to speak of at all. The style of the author, Jennifer Crusie, reminds me of Jamie Harrison, who wrote an excellent four-book series focusing on a sheriff in Montana - great phraseology (not sure if that's a word, but remember it from "The Music Man", and it certainly applies), and a dry sense of humor that had me laughing out loud often through each book. At this point, I've read all of her books at least twice (thanks to trips to bookstores and Amazon.com), and am anxiously anticipating the release of the latest, due next month.
Which brings me to my point, relating to the title of this blog edition - due to recent and historical blips in my marriage which have resulted in a lack of certain activity, I've noticed that my libido and lust factors have elevated to previously unfelt levels. I am craving - well, we'll call it "companionship", but more than that, I feel I deserve a romantic relationship that includes several aspects I am currently not experiencing, most of them having to do with another adult being involved. These romance novels, in short, despite being funny and great reads, are serving to highlight what's missing in my life...having lost my ability to be scornful of the genre thanks to Ms. Crusie, I'm now thinking I should avoid them on principle, since the net effect is that they're just making me depressed, despite the truly amusing plot points in each of them.
Maybe I should find my laughs somewhere else...or maybe I should find a way to use these books as inspiration for a potential positive upturn in my own life. In the meantime, though, at least SOMEBODY's having fun, and when I'm laughing, I know it's still me.
Only the good die young
The news of Dana Reeve's death on 3/6 is depressing from a variety of angles.
First, speaking as the child of two parents who both died far before their time, I feel terrible for Max, the Reeves' son. It's gotta be just horrible to have not one, but BOTH of your parents die from wasting diseases, watching their health slowly decline and beginning to understand that your whole life as you knew it up to that point is over, waiting until the end and being unable to a damn thing to slow it down or stop it.
Second, both of the Reeves were huge advocates for change in areas that are important to all humans, not just Americans, not based on some moronic idea of racial or national superiority, just those who live on this planet. Anyone can get cancer. Anyone can suffer paralysis from any number of causes. They spent years working to facilitate the search for cures, and remained publicly upbeat and positive despite their own illnesses.
Third, I feel badly for both of the Reeves - Christopher, beloved by the movie-going public, will be remembered not only for his paralysis but for his large body of work, especially, of course, for the Superman movies - I remember seeing the first one as a kid and thinking how cute he was (kid, remember) and how the suit really looked good on him. He was a great Superman, although I liked him in other movies as well. To see him brought down by a stupid accident, reduced to smiling from a wheelchair from which he could never rise, was very sad. And Dana, who lost the love of her life after having been lucky enough to find him, then had her own disease to deal with, and the knowledge that she'd be leaving her son to live in a world in which he wouldn't have his parents to help with all the questions and experiences he'd be having in life - that's almost worse. I can understand that one as a mother - I'd be afraid to die for its own sake, but the idea that my children wouldn't have me around would make me far more neurotic.
I feel like I haven't lived enough, and I know I haven't made enough of a difference, and yet here I sit, writing this blog as people like the Reeves are dropping dead around us while we obsess over Jennifer Aniston's new relationship with Vince Vaughn and her reaction to Angelina Jolie's pregnancy. I know in the long run it won't change anything, that I'll keep doing what I do now, working, taking care of my children, fantasizing over winning the lottery so I can quit my job, buy a house, and ship my husband to a nice shack on the coast of some 3rd world country; that I, who know myself pretty darn well, would like to be more involved and proactive and do something, anything to be a positive influence to people, but most likely won't because my own personal life is weighing me down - but I can take a minute to recognize that there are others who are far less apathetic, who use their time, no matter how short they may know it is, to improve the human condition - for all of us.
