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Month: January 2023

Funambulism

Funambulism

I have written before about my “word of the day” that comes in my email every day.  One day last week the word was Funambulism.

Okay so I admit I had no idea what this word meant, but it looked like a really fun word.

Right?

Fun…ambulism.

So, I knew what “fun” was…I mean I do, I can be fun sometimes.

And then I looked up “ambulism,” and learned that meant “a disorder involving walking.”

Ah okay, I thought, having trouble walking after having too much fun, that makes sense to me.

Fun-ambulism.

Even I may have funambulated once or twice before in my life.

 

But then, to my disappointment, I got deeper into my email and learned the word wasn’t funambulism at all, it was funambulism pronounced fyoo-NAM-byə-lizm.

And this funambulism meant “the art of walking on a tightrope.”

 

Back in November, I was repairing a picnic table the kids used on the playground at the church by replacing the top and benches with pressure-treated wood after the original plastic parts had broken.

During the process of attaching one of the boards, I hit my left thumb with my hammer just below the thumbnail.

Even though I was at church, I reacted pretty much as you might expect anyone who has hit their left thumb with a hammer to react.

Only I asked for forgiveness after.

Anyway, I finished the table and after the pain went away, I forgot about the incident with my thumb and the hammer.

Until one day, as my thumbnail began to grow, the blood blistery kind of thing that shows up under your nail after you hit it with a hammer began to take shape.

Sitting at the bar of the Hard Rock Café at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor on New Year’s Day as we ate dinner while preparing to go watch the Steelers versus the Ravens game at M & T Bank Stadium, I realized I had something very unusual looking on my thumb.

“Kim,” I said,  “look at my thumb…who does that look like to you?

“Oh my gosh,” she said, “Donald Trump!  You have Donald Trump on your thumb!”

I did.

I had a caricature of Donald Trump, blood blistered tattooed on my thumbnail!

Not that there is anything wrong with that.

But I realized that to share this remarkable occurrence, was kind of like funambulism!

Because let’s face it, there are a lot of people out there I am sure, and some might even be reading this, that would probably like to tell me where to stick that thumb with the Donald Trump image on it!

But I would have to decline because that’s not nice and I need that thumb, and in fact, that might cause some of that ambulism I was discussing earlier since it would be hard to walk like that.

And the sad thing is, trying to write something that mentions Donald Trump, or anything political, or anything that might mention the differences we might have with one another really is kind of like funambulism.

It is like the art of walking a tightrope.

And that’s too bad.

 

 

Here is the table
Happy New Year

Happy New Year

Though the holidays were officially over, with the weekend coming and a couple more loved ones still to visit, she dipped into a Harris Teeter to pick up a few things.  She took her place in line at the self-checkout behind an older woman who was already scanning her groceries.  With the help of a young clerk the old woman carefully took her items out of her handbasket and slid them over the scanner and into her bag.

She watched as the old lady, barely skin and bones and looking disheveled in a tassel cap, an old sweater, and baggy sweatpants continued slowly processing her groceries.

Three tomatoes, not even in a bag and all on one stem, half a loaf of bread, lunch meat, and a half gallon of ice cream.  When the total approached twenty-five dollars, the old woman told the young clerk “tell me when I get to thirty dollars.”

Soon after, the clerk put the lunch meat aside because it was going to put her over her thirty-dollar limit.

The woman in line observing all this thought back to a time when she was younger and a struggling single mom of a couple of young kids.  She would take her calculator with her when she would go grocery shopping to stay within her budget.

“Ma’am, can I just pay for your groceries?” she asked the old woman.

Hearing the offer and turning towards the voice, a bit surprised she replied “Would you? I am 90 years old, and things are getting harder.”

“Ma’am I am blessed, and I would like to help you,” and with all the old women’s groceries now scanned and in the bags, she swiped her card and paid the bill.

After checking out her own items and leaving the store, she looked for the old woman, but she was gone.

 

Yesterday was January 10th.

I have come to realize January 10th is the real New Year’s Day in my house.

It’s not always obvious, you can’t always feel it, and sometimes for short periods maybe even you forget it exists.  It seems to surface when you least expect it and sadly and sometimes inexcusably, it might even go unnoticed.

And it’s particularly ugly and insidious starting sometime before Thanksgiving and ending in early January where it lives deep in your expectations of joy and happiness, and the inner peace we search for in the story of the birth of a child, then in the anticipation of the new beginnings and opportunities of a new year.

And as hard as you try to deny its effects, no amount of wine or eggnog, happy or sentimental seasonal movie binging, or decorations and holiday celebrations are going to keep that thing under wraps.

It’s called grief.

And it doesn’t matter how many awesome sons-in-law, grandchildren, or kids you are blessed with, there is still always going to be one missing.

And sometimes even a bonehead husband and father like me who should know better doesn’t always read the signs at the right times or know when it’s time to take a step back; because sometimes it takes me until January 10th to realize that was the reason that the joy schedules didn’t always match up, that the attempt at the special moment fell flat, and mentioning that Santa Claus had come didn’t quite have the impact expected.

 

On Monday, January 9, on what would have been Donny’s 36th birthday, Kim put up a nice post on her Facebook page remembering Donny.  She received many nice comments, many of those coming from others who had also lost children.

I have read them all, several times really.

Comments like “Thinking of you Kim.  Donny was one of a kind.  Much love to you and your family.”

Donny was one of a kind.

And like the good person who helped the old lady in the Harris Teeter that day by paying for her groceries, Donny was a good person too.

And though situations like this always bring to mind the old adage “why do bad things happen to good people,” the truth is, bad things can happen to anyone.

But there really are good people we know or have known, in our lives.

And that brings to mind another old adage and just goes to show you, sometimes…

The apple doesn’t always fall far from the tree.

 

 

Postscript:

I have referenced this before and Kim mentioned it in her Facebook post, these words were sent to us twenty years ago and remain displayed in our kitchen:

“no matter how tough life gets, if you can see the shore of heaven, and draw strength from Christ, you’ll make it”.

On January 10th we made a nice dinner, poured some champagne in our year 2000 anniversary flutes, and toasted Happy New Year.

Let the new year now begin.

Happy New Year!