The Humor Vaccine

 

It was more than a year ago that we found ourselves in a peculiar lockdown with many unknowns.

A colleague at my office reached out to me with a suggestion we send words of encouragement to the now-disjointed staff.

And so it began: The Daily Jab.

Now pared down to a less frequent occurrence, the “jab” has made attempts to soften the edges of a scary and long pandemic.

I looked back on the jabs from a year ago and thought you might like to read the one on humor.

With some fine-tuning and a few updates, here we go.

Humor is the antitoxin to sadness – and we’ve all had more than our share of grief.

Please, let’s not go it alone.

With over a year of restrictions, cancelled events and masking up, we’ve all become travelers on a journey we never signed up for.

So many detours, too many roadblocks. Our resilience has been tested and found stronger, yet we are a bit bedraggled and road-weary.

Laughter, however, knows no boundaries; it refuses to be contained or dispersed in measured doses.

Laughter spills out everywhere, with little regard for policy and procedure.

How lovely is that?

Humor is an audacious display of endurance.

Laughter is the music of saying, “I care, and I want to see your smile.”

Laughter is a generous glass of mineral water: bubbly, effervescent and delightfully hydrating!

The memes and jokes floating around are surely a healthy antidote to boredom: a ripple of laughter becomes a hug of affirmation; a giddy embrace of joy.

Someone once said laughter is “jogging on the inside”. That’s a good strategy as we continue figuring out how to keep ourselves healthy while leaning toward normal days.

What we need most these days is a hug.

Recently I listened to a podcast about a woman who just wanted to be held. It broke my heart.

Until we can go back to our social norms of meaningful connection, let’s continue sending ripples of humor into the unknown.

Let’s stay connected in playful, childlike ways.

 

 

A good belly laugh releases endorphins, and those are natural inhibitors of pain.

Even a quiet chuckle gives you an upswing of wellbeing for the moment.

Moment by moment – that’s how we’ll continue navigating this foggy voyage, this weird interval in history.

Because, you know what?

We are pathfinders. We’re doing this together, this off-kilter Covid dance, and we will emerge strong. We’ll gather like superheroes at a comic con jubilee: caped up, compassionate and absolutely intrepid.

Infectious humor is the vaccine. Laughter inoculates against despair.

It’s available in unlimited supply. Organically dispatched through real time, Zoom, phone calls, texts and other passageways toward human beings.

Including elbow bumps and rogue hugs. Especially the hugs.

We’re all in need of a boost.

“Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.” 

>Victor Borge, comedian/pianist

 

 

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Please learn more about my newly published children's book, Will You Hold My Story? - a story about listening, for kids of all ages. You can read customer reviews by visiting https://www.amazon.com/Will-You-Hold-My-Story/

 

 

 

 

 

Take a Minute

 

Some of the most persuasive people I know are the quiet ones.

Quiet people are a stabilizing influence in a world jangling with noise.

A Spanish proverb says it like this:

abre la boca solo si lo que vas a decir es más hermoso que el silencio

(“Open your mouth only if what you are going to say is more beautiful than the silence.”)

Silence helps us understand ourselves. We can be fully present and connect with others.

When we are stuck or confused, silence brings us little epiphanies.

Silence can be a life-long friend. But we need to pay attention to it.

For some of us, solitude is water to a parched soul; we must have it.

For others, solitude is too deep, too sad, too isolating.

But it can be a shared place for hunkering down and listening.

“Perhaps the most important thing we bring to another person is the silence in us, not the sort of silence that is filled with unspoken criticism or hard withdrawal. The sort of silence that is a place of refuge, of rest, of acceptance of someone as they are. We are all hungry for this other silence.”

RACHEL NAOMI REMEN, author Silence is a patient friend. Waiting always, watching over your comings and your goings, hoping you will join the hush and wonder. Here’s what happens during just one minute while you remain quiet: >> 255 babies will be born >> Your Heart will pump 83 Gallons Of Blood >> A hummingbird will flap its wings 4,000 times >> 31,600 tons of water will flow over Niagara Falls >> 1,800 stars will explode >> 4,500 McDonald’s burgers will be eaten >> UPS will deliver 11,319 packages >> 243,000 photos will be uploaded to Facebook >> Americans will Eat 21,000 Slices of Pizza >> 4,310 people will visit Amazon >> Twitter users will send 347,222 tweets >> Uber passengers will take 694 rides **Research from Pawan Patar www.https://artplusmarketing.com/   If this much happens inside the space of 60-seconds, then maybe you can take a little break. It’s pretty obvious the world will keep churning if you step away from it.   Take a pause for you. Notice your own breathing. Consider the hummingbird, who flaps and grabs the nectar. We, too, can join that dance. We, too, can taste the wonder and the sweetness and come back for more.   We, too, can rest a minute and enjoy the quiet. Photo credits to Claudia Ricci  mystorylives.blogspot.com This blog supports https://booksforbondinghearts.com/ Please visit the link to join my book launch tour, Will You Hold My Story? - a story about listening, for kids of all ages. https://booksforbondinghearts.com/book-launch-tours/

Bidet Shopping for Dummies

On a bright winter Saturday, I got in my car and headed to Lowe's. I welcomed the prospect of shopping in a real store versus online. A freshly laundered mask gave me a little boost of confidence. The sun was shining and it was the weekend. Possibilities seemed endless.

I was on a mission to find a bidet and install it myself. In less than ten minutes, like the website promised. "A luxury you can afford!" the ad said. "Try the Tushy Classic" advised another consumer blurb.

I'd just celebrated a 60-something birthday and wanted to mark the occasion with a toilet accessory. I'd been mildly curious about the virtues of the bidet and now I wanted to unravel the mystery. 

It was time.

Today was The Day.

What I didn't bargain for, though, was the ordeal I would have finding the doggone gadget. 

Head for Plumbing, I reasoned, steering my cart like I actually knew my way around the big box store of All Things Hardware.

Finding the toilets and all the accoutrements, I felt sure I could locate the bidet section. The hunt, however, proved elusive. 

I'd have to ask for help.

Discreetly.

Before I could go searching for a red-vested associate, a red-vested associate approached me. A bearded one, with a helpful smile and a booming voice: "May I help you, ma'am?" he thundered. 

I wanted to disappear. 

How could I tell a man I was shopping for a bidet?

I hadn't figured in the plethora of red-vested men for my plumbing safari.

"Just browsing, thanks!" I breezily replied.

Oh, great.

I'd need a woman for this. A woman would understand these things.

Steering my cart through the aisle with a million PVC pipes, I persevered until I saw the Customer Service Desk. I waited in line, standing dutifully on the six-feet-apart-X, rehearsing what I would say.

"Where do you keep the bidets?" I'd say. Like I was asking for cabinet knobs, or area rugs. I'd say it calmly, casually.

Finally it was my turn at the counter and thankfully, a woman greeted me behind the Covid-issue plastic.

"Where do you keep the bidets?" I asked. Only, through the cloth mask I wore, it sounded more like, "Whar do you sheep the Big A's".

"WHAT?" she said through the muffle of her mask, "The filets?"

I hadn't counted on this.  My plans to casually whisper were thwarted. 

WHERE DO YOU KEEP THE BIDETS? I repeated. DO YOU HAVE BIDETS? I shouted through my mask, through the plastic barrier, to the Entire Universe.

"Oh," she said. 

And then, turning to another female associate, she hollered, "WHERE DO WE KEEP THE BIDETS!"

This was going downhill fast. I considered disappearing through the floor. Instead, I felt my ears turning red, burning with shame and regret.

Before I could plan my escape, I heard the female associate tap-tap-tapping her computer screen, determined to hook me up with my very own toilet seat attachment.

"Aisle 40-B, look for the end cap. We have a couple of different styles."

Great. 

Pushing my cart through a ridiculous amount of light switches and dimmers, I felt my shopping savvy ebbing away. Now everybody knew why I was there. 

When I finally located my quarry, it was a disappointing selection of hand-held sprayers. I wanted a button system, preferably with temperature control. 

They didn't have the one I wanted.

Defeated and deflated, I pulled my mask down for a quick breath of air. Inhaling a combo of sawdust, oil, paint and testosterone, I headed for the garden department. I just wanted to leave the store with some of my dignity intact.

I selected a small succulent for my desk at the office.

At the checkout, I noticed the irony of my huge red cart with just one small plant in the child seat. 

Walking to my car, I promised myself all future bidet-hunting would take place online. 

Thank you very much and have a nice Bid-Day.

https://myfreebookgift.com/558/will_you_hold_my_story_landing_page/index.html

This blog supports https://booksforbondinghearts.com/

Please visit the link to see my latest book launch, Will You Hold My Story? - a book for reading out loud for kids of all ages. 

Coffee Rings and Comfort Zones

 “Your living room is arranged exactly the way you like it. Now suppose a guest drops in, moves your favorite chair, sits in it, and puts a damp glass on your favorite wooden table without even bothering to use a coaster. You might be taken aback, even though you had invited your friend to make himself at home.

A similar thing can happen in conversation. Your precious notions are moved across the room. Someone carelessly leaves a ring on your wooden beliefs. You find this maddening, even though a conversation is an invitation to rearrange one’s mental furniture. If a home is perfectly arranged with no blemish and nothing out of place, it’s probably a show home. No one lives there.”

Beryl Barclay, Daily Scoldings, copyright 2010

I discovered this salty little book of gentle chastisements at a friend’s house and immediately went out to buy one for myself. If you can take the occasional pang of uncomfortable truth, it’s great for your bedside table. Or maybe a conversation starter, on display in your living room.

Now isn’t this a revealing glance into our internal dialogue? We have a schematic view of how the room should look. Of whom should believe what, and why. Of where everybody should stand. Of how we insist on the most attractive pairing of color and texture; the exchange of surface pleasantries, no discord and thank-you-very-much-for-stopping-in.

When that visitor leaves, the room looks quite the same. How much more interesting would it be then, if we invited wild polka dots into a beige living room? How disarming if we allowed shabby chic throw pillows against a palette of unwrinkled monotony?

It’s possible – someone may leave a coffee ring on your polished opinions. 

Let that be an invitation to an honest conversation.

Listen now. Rearrange later.

Bring the cream, stir, and relax.

Or you may decide to keep the room in its more cluttered state -- the look is more lived-in, and the welcome is real. Shoes are kicked off; feet are propped comfortably on the sofa.

How many of us have tip-toed into an immaculate house, unsure of where to put our things or how best to vanish into the woodwork?

We want to avoid rearranging the space with our messy ideas, our unique impressions of life. We become beige, conforming to what’s already in the room.

We depart unchallenged and unheard, blending into the vanilla-flavored world outside. Conversations are safe but brittle. Predictable but dull. Pleasant but sadly lacking in spice and flavor.

Recently I enjoyed the generous hospitality of friends around a table of plenty. By “plenty” I mean tasty food, thoughtful discussion and raucous laughter. Our words blended and spilled, mixing themselves into affirmations of life: what we think matters and what we say is worthy of hearing.

Instead of comparing this boisterous exchange to my ultra-quiet life in my tiny apartment, I choose something else: I will opt into hosting more, holing up less. I choose hospitality over perfection, invitations over hesitation, spontaneity over well-executed planning. The menu will be simple, and I hope our blended words will be the tastiest of morsels.

In this new year of blank pages waiting to be filled, I hope I will color outside the lines.

I hope you will, too.

Trust your tribe – your pod – your friends. They already welcome you with open arms. Speak your truth.

In less familiar situations and more structured rooms, try scooting the furniture around a bit. The results will be refreshing.

Coffee with Kathy

Inspired by Messy, Meaningful Conversation

https://myfreebookgift.com/558/will_you_hold_my_story_landing_page/index.html

This blog supports https://booksforbondinghearts.com/

Please visit the link to see my latest book launch, Will You Hold My Story? - a book for reading out loud for kids of all ages. 

The Trouble with Dogs

The gift of connection is fraught with the grief of separation.

Simply put, we outlive our dogs, and it’s just not fair.

When I met my dog for the first time and knew she would become my companion, there was an element of loss in the joyful mix; I did not feel it, could not have identified it at the time. But there was a wiggly layer of sadness inside our first meeting, and that niggling thread would follow us through the five years I had her.

The grief would grow more insistent the day the vet told me my girl had Canine Degenerative Myelopathy, a condition which would cause some pain and possible paralysis in her hindquarters.

The sting of losing her this way, in slow dribbles, tracked us like a cold shadow. Our walks became shorter. She accepted my help getting into the car, out of the car, up the steps, into the apartment.

Many things were the same, but even the familiar rituals felt short-lived, more precious.

Brief walks along the lakeshore, lurching along like a couple of mellowed oldsters, just sniffing the breeze and hoping for polished beach glass along the way.

Lots of treats. More than necessary.

Head pats, ear scratches, belly rubs. Little luxuries to ease the pain.

Small affirmations whispered into a world of

gifts and goodbyes,

homecomings and heartaches,

rescuing and relinquishing,

mending and mourning.

I lost her in February.

In March, the world shut down.

The emptiness in my apartment became a thundering silence; a constant reminder of she’s-not-here-anymore.

The sequester was deeply solitary for me.

It’s been good to return to the office. The place is far from “normal days”, but still there are ripples of laughter. There is kindness. A sense of endurance, of pulling together.

It’s been a strange journey this year. I’m doubly sorry I’ve had to traverse it without my sweet girl, Reina.

“Reina”