I know some folks, including my wonderful hubby, who believe that blogging is, at best...odd.
"Why would you write personal stuff and put it out there for everyone to see?" hubby has asked rationally, well aware I am the more introverted of the two of us.
"I like to write," has been my stock reply. "Not state secrets. Nothing pertaining to personal finances or what we do in the privacy of our own home. Just stories. Things I observe."
This most patient man looks at me as if I'm a candidate for a straight jacket. He has been complaining that he doesn't know what to get me for Christmas. Perhaps he was trying to figure out what size jacket would do. :)
Truth is, my blog is the only place in my life I can finish a sentence without being interrupted. :)
Blogging has brought me a world of "invisible friends" whom I can converse with around the world. There is not enough money on earth to buy the comfort they bring by reminding me that human is human, no matter where you live. No one is happy ALL the time. We all fail, succeed, hurt, laugh and love, but at different times. It's the different times part which helps the most. Especially today.
I have bookmarked blogs which I consider a daily must read across the top of my computer. A creature of habit, I click on them from left to right until I'm done. Today, because it was Monday and I'd lost a filling, I started at the end. McDanger saluted me for living up to the name "hope". I laughed because I felt anything but hopeful when I got up, but laughter is always a step in the right direction. Then on to Radge, who was not exactly thrilled at Monday's arrival either. But he gamely drew us in with a mention about Hollywood leading men. I felt his pain. Not wanting him to feel bad all alone, I upped the ante. My root canal tooth had jettisoned a filling yesterday, leaving me with 3/4 of a tooth with really sharp edges and tongue lacerations. I jokingly added a song from a horrible [least from a teenage girl's point of view] television show my Dad had watched called "Hee Haw". Yep. Think country music and blondes in short shorts. There was, however, a silly tune they sang each week which stuck in my head, never to leave. I call it the "Bad Day Theme Song".
"Doom, despair and agony on me. Deep dark depression, excessive misery. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. Doom, despair and agony on me."
Just remembering that song made me laugh. Okay, first I winced at Dad's taste in programming, then laughed. Radge had a bad day, yet managed to make mine better.
I left him to visit Susan. Interestingly her post was about telling stories and appreciating that happy is basically where you find it. True. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful, warm day for November. Poetikat reminded me that Veteran's Day is tomorrow with her deeply moving tribute. A soldier's job is most definitely more life challenging than mine. Ken gave me a laugh about cats and a chance to agree with Matthew that those critters are just not my cup of tea...without feeling guilty. On to Rachel to hear about her upcoming poetry outing, then to Hugh, with whom she'll share a billing. [I mean on stage, not at the bar..well, that would be their call, wouldn't it?]. Hugh was inviting one and all to attend. I wish I could. What a cool thing it would be to meet two of my invisible friends...in the same room, at the same time! I had to save Dave for reading at home because it was time to leave Blog World to go see the dentist and have him smack my unruly tooth into submission.
My dentist is a character, all five foot six of him. Five years younger than me, he went to the Citadel, which is a highly respected military school. Everyone calls him "Gee", which is short for some family name I suppose he didn't care to use. He's the kind of southern man who addresses his elders by "Sir" or "Ma'am" as he enters the room. With me? He gives my shoulder a squeeze and asks jovially, "Girl, how are you?"
I joked today that I feared becoming addicted to Novocaine and dental x-rays. [I've had enough x-rays in the past 2 months to make me wonder if I'll soon possess the super hero power to glow in the dark]. Gee smiled at me and said, "I swear girl, you really have had a horrible time with that one little tooth. Don't worry. I'll fix that." And then, as he reached for the Novocaine he began to sing, "Doom, despair and agony on me."
I kid you not. :)
So the world will be better soon...especially when I can feel my face again. Takes Novocaine twice as long to vacate my system as other folks. Is it any wonder I don't drink? Radge, feel free to raise a glass in my name.
When I got home, I had an e-mail from my best friend since college. I swear she's psychic and knows when I've had a bad day. This is funnier because in college she was the newspaper Editor to my reporter. Yes, she gave me the "less than 500 word" speech as well. After reading this, you might be amazed that anyone even attempts to speak the English language. [Um, we won't get into spelling quirks or "s" and "z" this time out.] For those of you who write, it may give you a giggle. And happy is where you find it, right?
English idiosyncrasies: Author unknown
We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!
Why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing,
grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be
committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.
In what other language do people
recite at a play and play at a recital?
We ship by truck but send cargo by ship.
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the
same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house
can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out,
and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
And, in closing, if Father is Pop, how come Mother's not Mop?