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SUBMIT A SOUND OFF - Click here
Go to Opinion page - Click hereSeeing the end of the
world as we know it
Published Thursday, Sept. 24, 2009
By L.A. Story
Staff Writer
The world as we know it has suddenly changed and shifted. Technology has officially gone too far and things are not right with society. I sit dazed, confused and feeling strangely emotional. The reason? (You may want to ask.)
My parents just got Blackberry cell phones. (Insert scream here.)
Whats worse ... their phones are better than my phone — which is a purty nifty gadget, if I do say so myself.
Until the past year or so, my mother could barely open a text message much less send one. I remember when I received my first text message from her, I called my sisters, who each in turn exclaimed how proud they were. They didn't even know Mom knew how to send one! None of us knew ... Oh, for the days of ignorance.
Dad, on the other hand, has been a lot more computer and phone savvy for many years. He has enjoyed learning about the gadgets with much enthusiasm. However, it still surprises me every time I get a text from him. It just doesn't seem right.
So, please understand my shock when my mother announced to me that she and Dad had gotten new Blackberries. Hers is a Blackberry Curve. She proudly listed all the things she can do with her new phone.
"I can check e-mail with this phone, I can browse The Web with it, I can text message with it ... " said Mom. She named some other items, but I was so dazed at this point that I could not absorb any other reality than the fact that Mom owned a fancy cell phone.
I called her the next day, after receiving a text message from her, and asked how she was enjoying the new phone. She was very excited. She had actually been reading the instruction manual and had been putting phone numbers into it.
I could not believe it! I attribute much of her studious efforts to the recent weather — all the heavy rain. Normally, she would have been out in her garden, working around the yard, communing with nature, talking with the animals and arguing with the flowers ... or something like that. Yep. That's it. She is bored, I told myself. However, it sounded to me like she was kind of enjoying the process. Surely, my ears deceived me.
My world tilted on its axis.
Perhaps the worst shock to my system — regarding the antiquated image I have of my much beloved parents — came recently when I received a "friend invite" from my fathers facebook account!
"Dad has a Facebook page," I muttered the words aloud, trying to wrap my mind around the reality.
Unfortunately, I was at work and a co-worker, Brant Sappington, overheard my personal dialog and laughed out loud. He said his parents have a Facebook page — a fact he likened as to one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.
I could see that he understood what I was going through. We are currently forming a support group.
A Facebook page! Can you believe it?
Now, I could have taken a moment and thought about the shock that my own personal children got when they received friend invites from me when I got a facebook page, but that would have been silly. Right? I mean, I am far more hip than my parents. Or ... am I? Gasp! (Insert image of gloriously bright epiphany light bulb flashing above my head here.)
If I am truthful, I will admit that I enjoy getting text messages from my parents. I enjoy the modern ways we have of keeping our
connectedness. In fact, facebook has been a wonderful tool for me to
keep up with my extended family: Aunts, uncles and cousins. (I still
can't believe Aunt Brenda or my Uncle Glen have facebook pages.)
So the benefits are wonderful even if they don't suit my image of my parents. At least they're not "tweeting" ... yet ... or are they?
(Note to self: Check Twitter account immediately!)
Watching the relentless
wheels of time
Published Thursday, August 20
By L.A. Story
Staff Writer
Well, it has happened. It happened sooner than I expected. It happened
when my back was turned and time slipped up behind me to make silly
faces behind my back while I was working, studying, eating, sleeping,
working, studying, eating, sleeping and so on. I ate some Count
Chocula, I gave myself a pedicure, I watched a movie then I turned
around and it was done. Life had somehow gotten away from me.
My oldest child, Amber, 23, is engaged to be married this winter.
Amber has grown up - overnight it seems. All of my children have gone
and betrayed me this way! I’ve managed to remain about 30 (or so)
years old and they all kept moving the old wheel of time relentlessly
forward in some great machination I cannot even begin to conceive of.
My mother’s birthday was Wednesday ... and she cannot be much more
than like 45 (or so), right? I’m pretty sure I had Amber when I was in
kindergarten. That is my story and I am sticking to it. I think my
mother gave birth to me during a high school history class. That is a
story and I am sticking to it.
(Disclaimer: Any and all tall tales regarding Joe and Betty Story, my
parents, are my own invention and not theirs. It is I who will need to
be on any and all congregational prayer lists for my gift/curse of
story telling. They are good people who tried to raise me right. They
love me anyway.)
I cannot help but reminisce as Amber and I begin early wedding
planning discussions. I remember the day she was born. I remember her,
my first child. Hearing her newborn cry seemed like the first
startlingly real sound I had ever heard in my life. The weight of her
as she was placed in my arms was surprisingly satisfying. I looked
into her eyes for the first time - hers adjusting to light and
eyedrops, and mine being misty with tears.
“Hi, Amber,” I whispered, to my squeaking infant, who was not happy
about being introduced this world so rudely. “Happy birthday. I’m your
mom.”
I had only turned 20 less than a month before she was born. Hardly
more than a child myself. The look on her father’s face when he held
her was something I’ll never forget. We were kids, but we were
parents. Amber changed our lives forever. She got us ready for the
next three miracles that God graced us with - one by one.
There are many things I will admit to having gotten wrong in this life
and many things I regret. But, despite all of it, I was blessed with
the smartest, brightest, most beautiful children any mother could hope
for. I have not been perfect, but I have tried and am still trying. I
am not perfect, but they cannot have been more loved.
Now, my oldest daughter stands on the brink of establishing a home and
a full life of her own with her fiance´, Logan. (An awesome young man,
but don’t tell him I said so. His parents did a great job.)
So, my question comes back around as I stand back and look at this
situation with all the awe of someone gazing at the Grand Canyon or
the Eiffel Tower for the first time: When did the wheel of time roll
us here? Where did all that time go?
Personally, I think it ended up in the void where I will eventually
find all my extra, missing socks.
I am sure I will be keeping a closer watch on that wheel from here on out.
Savoring every sultry
summer moment
Published Wednesday, July 22
By L.A. Story
Staff Writer
I have found a real summer in the midst of work. I have experienced a
precious few moments of true summer fun, which is something I have not
had in a very long time.
I think I am not alone in the fact that the summers of my childhood
make up the yardstick I measure the current season by. I recall hot,
hazy days spent at the local swimming hole — a creek near my
grandmother’s house. This was a highly anticipated event. My sisters
and I would hardly be able to sleep the night before.
I remember the smell of the grill as Dad would cook hamburgers, hot
dogs (and occasionally steaks, if company was coming over, and we had
the funds) and Mom would make baked beans and her famous potato salad.
My sisters and I would make popcicles with Kool-aid, ice cube trays
and toothpicks. Of course, there was homemade ice cream and
watermelon.
I remember playing in the sun with friends and riding bikes to the
local gas station — where we would pool our meager change to buy a
cold drink to share.
I recall Vacation Bible School, summer camp and church potlucks. My
family and I could not afford many family vacations, but there were
trips to see relatives, which we counted as dearly as vacations.
These days, my older children are grown and have plans of their own
most of the time. My youngest child, Jordan, is now a teenager and has
his own activities he wants to participate in. Although, he has joined
me for a few moments of summer fun this year.
Over the past few years, I have worked too many hours and been too
busy to enjoy as much of the summer season as I would have liked to.
There are so many things I want to do, but can’t seem to synch my
schedule to.
However, over the past month or so, I have been able to cull a few
real moments that have made me feel like I have truly been enjoying
summer 2009, and not merely existing through another season, as I wait
for some distant future time when I can slow down and enjoy life.
I have gone twice to the lake where I have splashed in the water and
soaked up a little sun with my family members. The second time, we
even brought a picnic lunch with us. I have enjoyed a nice grill out
meal with my family. I was inspired by a summer concert. I stood
outside and looked up at the stars. I hand washed my car in the
backyard, fought off the flying critters and rocked out to awesome
music blaring from the speakers as I finished up the details.
I enjoyed a company barbecue with my coworkers, I actually got up
early enough to go the Green Market and I stayed up late to cook food
for a church potluck.
I am not a truly “outdoorsy” person and summer activities usually were
something I avoided if the weather were too hot. However, as I get
older, I realize just how beautiful each season is and these hot,
lazy, dreamy days by the water, or with family and friends, are
precious gems I will add to my memory’s treasure chest.
My life has had some interesting – if not always pleasant — twists and
turns over the past few years. I find I have a growing need to stop
and enjoy these moments that are as fleeting as water through my
hands. I cannot go back and re-live the long gone summers of my
childhood, or my childrens’ childhoods, and make sure those days were
properly loved and revered for every moment, but I can take a moment
today. I can go for a walk after work, a visit to my parents’ house or
a trip to the lake and savor every second.
This is the stuff a life is made of — our work, our fun and our loved
ones. These things are not something to be gotten through. They are to
be enjoyed and it is up to each of us to decide the best way to enjoy
each moment.
For now, I raise a glass of cold lemonade in honor of summer and I
will race you to the next bowl of homemade ice cream.
(L.A. Story is a poet, fiction writer and editor, and a staff writer
for the Daily Corinthian. She is a resident of Glen, where summers are
about gardens, critters, family and neighbors. Her columns — when she
has the time these days — can be found on Wednesday.)
Getting caught car dancing
Published Wednesday, June 10
By L.A. Story
Staff WriterOne of the joys of living in a smaller town is the fact that you see so many people you know. One of the pains of living in a small town is the fact that so many people you know see YOU!
I love music. I make no apologies that every morning when I get ready for work, or when I am doing housework or whenever I am driving, I am having my own personal concert. And, my musical tastes are eclectic, too. One might hear absolutely anything blaring from my speakers from Bob Marley, John Mayer, Jason Mraz, Norah Jones, to Godsmack, Skillet, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, to Dixie Chicks and Keith Urban, to a haunting Celtic medley, French acoustical or African dance music.
The only problem with this is when my personal concert is witnessed by those who would find it all too amusing.
After church this past Sunday morning, my parents invited me to join them for lunch at a local restaurant. My dad is a preacher out at a church in Acton, Tenn., and we were driving separate cars. My parents left ahead of me. Once I was traveling through Corinth on Harper Road, I found that the post-church-ravenously-hungry crowd was out in en masse. It took forever to get from the light at Poplar to the light at Highway 72.
However, I didn’t mind. I was jamming to Everlast. I cranked up the music and decided to experience a little joy. My own personal concert. Well, the beat was just to compelling. Had I been doing housework, I would have been singing into the end of a broom and dancing around the house, making my cat run and hide under the bed.
Obviously, there is no dance space in my car. (Although I have seriously considered adding flashing neon and a disco ball, but the police do not seem to think these kind of distracting and flashy accessories are quite as nifty as I do.)
Even sans disco ball, I still cannot resist dancing in my seat, tapping the seat beside me and bopping my head to the beat.
This past Sunday, my uninhibited expression of happy time was witnessed by Acton’s youth minister. Daniel. And, his wife, Melissa.
I was waiting at the stop light for what seemed like forever and I did notice a couple of times that the driver of the car ahead of me looked up into the rearview mirror a few times. I thought he was merely admiring my fine 1998 Saturn.
I noticed the driver turned to the woman next to him and spoke and then looked into his rearview mirror again ... and gave a little wave. It was then I know this was someone I know. Turns out that it was Daniel. Apparently, Daniel found the spectacle of my concert performance so entertainment he felt the need to call my dad, who was a couple of cars ahead of us.
When I reached the restaurant, Dad was grinning. He already knew.
“So, what were you doing back there?” Dad asked.
“What do you mean?” I replied, innocently.
“Well, Daniel was in the car ahead of you and he said you were dancing all around and having a good old time. He said the car was even bouncing around because you were getting into it,” Dad said. He raised his eyebrows, obviously expecting a good response.
“I was having a personal concert,” I said, sheepishly. I am 43 years old, this was a funny situation.
Dad couldn’t stop there, he was having too much fun: “Daniel said, ‘Joe, haven’t you told her daughter dancing is a sin?’ and I told him, ‘I tried but you can’t tell her anything ... she doesn’t listen.’”
Dad and Daniel both appeared to get a big kick out the incident.
As for me, I don’t care who is watching. I enjoy my life and my music and I think there’s nothing wrong with a little expression of happy every once in a while.
Now, excuse me while I go get in my car and get down with it. (I know, I know ... try not to hate me because I am so hip! Not everyone can be me.)
(L.A. Story is a poet, fiction writer and staff writer for the Daily Corinthian. She is a resident of Glen, where the neighbors do not complain because they know she will get tired and turn the music off sooner or later. Her column appears on Wednesdays.)
Hanging out for reasons and seasons
Published Wednesday, May 20, 2009
By L.A. Story
Staff WriterI have often heard the phrase used that many people come into our lives for a reason and a season. Some people only stay for a season and some people stay in our lives for the rest of our lives.
I am having a hard time this week. By the weekend, one of my best friends is moving away to Dallas.
Shanan and I have seen each other through some really hard times. I won’t go into her personal difficulties. That is for her to share. But, I can talk about mine. She deserves credit where credit is due.
She and I have taken numerous road trips -- Memphis, Tupelo and Louisiana for the renaissance festival. We have watched movies and gone to parties and even worked together for a while. We went on double dates, we have eaten dinner together on countless occasions and spent a ka-jillion hours on the phone together.
When I decided to marry again, Shanan offered her home for a pretty and personal little ceremony and one of the happiest days I could ever imagine. She knocked herself out decorating and helping me cook. She was determined to make the day special. She did this for me.
When my brand new marriage ended after only two months, I was devastated, publicly humiliated and heartbroken. Guess who showed up at my house at midnight with snacks and tissues? She held me. She cried with me. She prayed with me. More than once. More than twice. As many times as it took. And, it took a lot.
A few short years ago, another of my very best friends -- Cinnamon -- moved off to Tallahassee, Fla. Another friend who -- even from a distance --
continues to pray with me, cry with me, laugh with me and share her life with me. But, I feel her physical absence and miss her every day. Still. Every single day.About 14 years ago, I moved away from Fayetteville, N.C. to come to Corinth. I left my friend Kathy there. She was the one who encouraged me to make my "hobby" -- my writing -- public. She made me believe in myself. If it were not for her, I don’t know if I would ever have had the courage to show my work to anyone. She is one of my "sisters from another mother."
In high school, my best friend, Kathi, and I had so many great times together. We shared secrets, we got into trouble (harmless trouble), we shared a family vacation and got each other through the traumatic experience called high school. She is still my friend. She drove all the way from Illinois to attend my tiny wedding. She brought food. She brought flowers. She worried with me about my parents' health. My dad's battle with cancer, and then my mother's. She encouraged me when the marriage ended.
From the middle of fourth grade until junior high, my friend Angie and I shared our own little world. She has remained my friend into adulthood. We rarely see each other, but she is so precious to me.
And, recently, my very first best friend, Janet, has come back into my life. I've known her since the second grade. When I moved away from Elgin, Illinois, in the middle of the school year in the fourth grade, she walked a block in knee deep snow to say good bye to me as my family loaded the moving truck. I can still see her shrinking figure, standing in the snow, waving to me as we drove away.
I can name so many other wonderful friends who have shown up for a moment just in time when I needed them. -- Amy, Tresa, all three of my sisters -- Tammy, Cressy and Betty Jo -- and my own mother, Betty. Kim, Carol, Terri and Terrie, Val, Sue, Patricia, Lynn and so many others who have shared a hug -- even if it was via phone or e-mail -- when I needed one.
Does any one person deserve such a bounty of love? Surely, I could not have done anything so amazing to deserve these incredible women in my life.'
Obviously, distance does not end a friendship with me. However, I do get so tired of seeing people walk away from me or vice-versa.
But, I know that is life and we must all go where God or destiny leads us on our personal journey.
Now, I have to say good-bye to the opportunity to see Shanan every day. I thank her for hanging out with me for a season. I know the reason. I'm so glad for the season.
Go with God, my friend. I thank Him for adding you to the rich bounty of beautiful, loving gracious and generous friends that I have been blessed to know. My gratitude is infinite.
Peace.
Why is all the world a-Twitter?
Published Wednesday, May 6
By L.A. Story
Staff Writer
I have not done it yet. I have resisted the urge so far ... but I fear I will not be able to fight the pull of this new concept.
The name of the new obsession is "Twitter."
Up until about 2005 or so, I had avoided social networking sites. I had a good understanding of computers, but living in a rural area, I had virtually no experience on the Internet and places like myspace upset and confused me.
... Until my sister, Betty Jo, said myspace seemed like something I would really enjoy. Let's face it - she knows how much I like to talk ... and talk ... and talk ... and talk. If I had to shut up, I think I would explode. Blogging is a great place for those of us who love the sound of our own voice.
Beej was right. I joined myspace and have had a blast. (I've also fought off a few freaks, but every rose has its thorns ...) Once I got used to the way it was set up (which took a while and a whole lot of "what does this button do?" type of experimentation), I posted lots of blogs where I could share my writing, my poetry, my fiction and my random thoughts ... my pearls of wisdom I bestow on all one of my fans.
I love posting pictures. Every time I get a good picture, I have been known to immediately announce, "Oh yes! This one is going on myspace!" Now, I also have a facebook account. While I do not post blogs of facebook the way I do my myspace account, I have found it is a fun way to keep track of people I do not talk to everyday. I find it fun and interesting to see what other people are up to. I'm nosey like that.
Recently, I had a conversation with a friend of mine. He was all a-Twitter about Twitter. A new concept in social networking where one can subscribe and keep up with people's whose lives are of personal interest. One can learn what certain people are thinking or reading about, or simply what someone else is doing at any given moment. It is like a blog, but brief. Twitter announcements are only about 140 words long -- a stream of consciousness type of thing.
Sounds like just the thing. I have resisted getting an account so far, but I think it will not be much longer before I succumb to the lure.
Someone I was very close to once remarked that he did not understand the whole social networking thing. I've thought a lot about that. I think our modern world has changed drastically. Technology and a changing culture has altered the way we connect to people socially.
Some of these alterations are drastic. However, a changing social culture has not changed our basic human nature or need for contact with each other.
Our modern world is a busy, busy place. Lives are packed full to overflowing and it is exhausting. Long gone are those days on the front porch, having dessert and coffee with the neighbors, along with a long talk. Interaction has become brief -- so brief that we can actually come to crave it more when we slow down enough to think about it.
My friend who talked to me about Twitter, talked about sociologists who have a specialty -- futurists -- people who predict what social behaviors and trends are on the horizon. I don't know what the experts predict, but I do know what I worry about.
I am concerned that there may be a development of some major social/emotional disorders from a lack of socialization -- a lack of real, person-to-person socialization. However, I do wonder if social networking devices like Twitter or facebook might fill some of that human need for connection ... for contact. Perhaps it can.
Spring has arrived and summer is waiting in the wings ... and I cannot help but wish for a slower pace. I cannot help a wistful longing for some old fashioned front porch conversation -- replete with sweet tea and dessert -- and a complete disregard for the clock.
The conversation goes on until it is finished and not any sooner. Good-byes are sealed with hugs.
Hugs are one thing a social network can never replace. I love modern technology. I really do. But ... sometimes the old ways are best.
L.A. Story is a poet, fiction writer and a staff writer for the Daily Corinthian. She is a resident of Glen, where porches are holy ground -- as sacred as a confessional. Her column appears on Wednesdays.
Hairdresser issues are
no laughing matter
Published Wednesday, April 1
The Story Hour by L.A. Story
Staff WriterI overheard a conversation recently and I identified with the subject matter so completely that I could not stop myself from commenting (as if I ever stop myself from commenting).
I had noticed that a co-worker of mine had been having some fabulous hair days. I asked her, “Who does your hair and how much do they charge?”
(*Note: When a woman asks another woman “who does your hair,” it is a high compliment to both the woman and her hairdresser. Women like to look good and want to find out what scissor wizard worked such mystical hair magic. There will probably soon be an appointment made with the new hairdresser. On the flip side of this, if a woman gets a new hairdo and sees that people glance at her hair, but do not comment on it, then she can bet she pretty much looks like an animal chewed on her hair during a wind storm the day before and everyone is too polite to tell her.)
My beautiful-haired co-worker (I will call her “Angela”) told me that her hairdresser was so popular now that she had to make sure to keep her hair appointments. If she didn’t keep the appointment, then it would be another six weeks before she could get in. This goddess of a hairdresser had gotten to be in high demand.
However, Angela noted that she knew of another hairdresser who was extremely talented, but new and thus undiscovered. Angela wanted to make an appointment to try this new hairdresser, but was afraid her regular hairdresser would find out. I told her to wear sunglasses and make the appointment under an assumed name. Perhaps, they could meet somewhere discreet and he/she could cut Angela’s tresses where no one else would find out.
This is a serious issue. I have also had this problem. My hairdresser also became super popular because that is what happens when someone has talent. She worked such magic ... when I left her chair, my hair shimmered like the dewy mist on a sunny spring morning, my smile was 50 watts brighter and my thighs looked five sizes smaller. She was amazing!
Sadly, her popularity has made it difficult for a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda gal like myself. I tend to make appointments when I need to and not way ahead of time. One can rest assured that if I am making a hair appointment, then I probably resemble “Cousin It” by the time I do.
To make matters worse, I am picky. It is hard to find a hairdresser who can make me look good and not take too much off. Just like there are talented hairdressers -- there are also hairdressers who need to go into another line of work. I have left a hairdresser’s chair with my lip quivering ... and burst into tears in my car because the “animal chewing on my hair in a windstorm” look is just not how I roll.
So, when one finds a good hairdresser, one tends to be faithful. However, when it becomes difficult to get in with that hairdresser, and they are too distracted, then one’s eye begins to wander. A gal can long for the attention of a good, undiscovered hairdresser. I find myself driving by other salons, (properly disguised, of course) just to see how the clients look as they emerge.
Thus far, I have not seen any relationship counseling offered for a woman and her hairdresser, but I think it could be the permanent wave of the future. Honest communication is needed for this relationship to work! It can be difficult to stay in a relationship with one hairdresser, but the rewards are plentiful.
In the meantime, hairdresser issues are no laughing matter. I will now don my ball cap, giant sunglasses and drive by a salon or two on my way home.
L.A. Story is a poet, fiction writer and staff writer for the Daily Corinthian. She is a resident of Glen, where luscious locks are in demand. Her column -- when she is not doing hair salon drive-bys -- appears on Wednesday.
Learning to deal with
drive-through stress
Published Thursday, March 5
The Story Hour by L.A. Story
Staff Writer
I think I am going to need therapy for it ... the stress is awful! I
have a love/hate relationship with drive-through windows and I am
learning how to deal with it. I love the convenience of not having to
get out of my car when I am in a hurry, but I hate the “hurry the
herd” feeling that puts pressure on me and makes me nervous.With a high strung personality like mine, added pressure is not a good thing.
Recently, I was thinking about this as I went through the
drive-through at a local restaurant on my lunch hour. First, I have
manual windows, which means I have to physically roll the window down
to order. It was raining on this particular day. The wind was blowing
the rain straight into my face as I fought near drowning to place my
order. I gurgled out the order -- spitting water at the speaker. I was
given my total and told to “go to the first window, please.”I rolled up my window with my left hand, as I simultaneously tried to
urge the car forward and dig in my purse for the money required before
I got to the “first window.”I made it to the first window. The restaurant building blocked the
rain by that time, so I rolled down the window for the waiting
cashier. I handed her the money. She handed me a receipt along with my
change, and instructed me to “go to the next window, please.”I struggled to put the change away. This is true pressure! Trying to
put the change in the “change” part of my wallet, the bills in the
“bills” part of my wallet, and drive forward at the same time. There
is the pressure of knowing there are cars waiting behind me.Have I mentioned that rushing makes me even more fumbly and clumsier than usual?
I was still trying to cram money into my wallet as I reached the
second window. I felt like a failure because I was too slow to meet
the allotted time between the first window and the second window to
properly get myself together. I needed at least two more minutes! Oh,
the agony of defeat!The server at the window had my meal and drink ready as I pulled up to
the second window. I cursed his cheerful efficiency! I finished
putting my money away and took the drink and the bag.I put my drink in the drink holder and my bag on the seat. It takes a
moment to get adjusted and I could feel the irritation of hungry,
rushed drivers behind me.I moved past the second window and was soon hit in the face with a
torrent of water! Argh! I had forgotten to roll the window up! I
hurriedly roll the window up and am pretty sure I nearly threw my
shoulder out. I needed a break from my lunch hour.I am currently looking out for self-help books on how to deal with
drive-through stress. I figure it will be next to other significant
titles along similar subjects such as: “Recovering from Christmas
Shopping Crowds - Stories of Bravery;” “Getting Past Crowds - No,
Everyone is Not Looking At You” .... and one of my personal favorites
-- “Dilemma! How to Make a Final Breakfast Cereal Choice.”L.A. Story is a poet, fiction writer/editor, and staff writer for the Daily Corinthian. She is a resident of Glen where there are currently no drive-through windows that she knows of ... yet. Her column appears on Wednesdays. Go to the next window, please.
The keys to
salvation and sanity
Published Wednesday, Feb. 18
The Story Hour by L.A. Story
Staff Writer
Although most people would not expect to hear about this, but my mother's battle with cancer has led to some moments of extreme humor.The words "cancer" and "hilarity" are generally not considered synonymous ... except in my family. We are a strange lot, but we're happy, so I suppose that makes it all ok.
Currently, my mom has been given a good report after completing eight chemotherapy treatments. She is in remission and we are so grateful. Perhaps that, more than any other reason, is how we are able to make
jokes. (However, I will note that we made jokes, even during the worst
of it.) Now, Mom is recovering from the chemo and gaining more
strength every day. It is in her recovery, that we find more funny
moments than ever.First, there is the strength level. On a bad day, Mom has more energy
than anyone else I have ever known. It is no surprise that when cancer
brought her low, she was frustrated beyond words at not being
physically able to do what she used to do. After a chemo treatment, it
was a day's chore for her to get up and get a shower -- the words
"weak as a kitten" was an apt turn of phrase.I knew when she started cooking again that she was feeling better.
Between chemo treatments, it was usually a sign that she was feeling a
little better, when she would call and surprise me with dinner. "Hey,
Honey, when you get off from work, come on down here. I've made
dinner," she would say.I found it funny the other day, when Mom called me to come down for
dinner after work. So, my son, Jordan, and I, headed down there after
I got home. I was exhausted and had been fighting a headache all day.
Mom chatted with us as we ate. She talked about how she had stripped
beds, and did some sewing, done a little vacuuming and made supper and
that was "all she could manage.""I wish I had energy like I used to," she said, with a sigh.
With raised eyebrows, I said, "If this is what you're like with no
energy, I think you'd be frightening once you had energy!"She laughed. But, I was serious. I named off the things I had done
that day: Get up. Getting up was exhausting, so I made coffee. The
coffee gave me the energy to make a light breakfast. I got ready and
went to work, but I went to work tired after putting clothes on -- all
that bending and arm-raising and stuff.Then, I worked a full day. Of course, Jordan and I had come to eat
dinner down at Mom and Dad's. I told her that when I get home, there
will be no housework. I'll just have to knock things out of the way
and get comfortable. I had homework to do for my college classes and
it would take every bit of energy I had left to do that. Hearing all
her physical activity made me tired!There are also byproducts of Mom's illness that ended up with funny
situations. Due to hair loss, my mom has a few wigs, that sit on
stands in her room. She refers to the wigs as "her girls." During a
recent visit from my sister, Cressy, and her kids, the family all got
together. My daughters, Whitney and Samantha, were wandering through
my parent's room and "the girls" caught their notice.They both wandered into the dining room -- each wearing a wig!! Both
girls have long hair and the wigs are short, so the difference in
length and style were funny."They look like they just walked off the set of a late 70s television
show!" I exclaimed.Everyone laughed, but it only got worse when they began to act out
scenes from "Charlie's Angels," complete with fake guns and dramatic
moments of throwing themselves down on the floor to avoid gunfire ...
all with the occasional, sexy head toss. We laughed until it hurt!In a more somber moment, we must realize that if Mom had not had
cancer, that funny moment would never have happened. Leave it to our
strange-but-fun family to make hilarity out of cancer.Still ... even in the darkest moments, faith and laughter are the key
to our strength and salvation. I think we have all come to understand
this more than ever. It is easy for our family to have a sense of
humor. It comes as naturally as breath. My father is one of the
funniest people I know. However, it has been the fact that we find
humor in dark times, that we find small particles of an unquenchable
joy that simple must bubble up and be seen in order to make bad times
bearable.Faith and laughter. Here's to the keys to salvation ... and sanity.
L.A. Story is a poet, fiction writer, editor and staff writer for the
Daily Corinthian. She is a resident of Glen, where strange forms of
family entertainment rule! Her column appears on Wednesdays, when she has energy.
Working out the kinks of
modern technology
Published Wednesday, Feb. 11
The Story Hour by L.A. Story
Staff WriterI got a new cell phone to replace the one that finally gave out on me
a couple of months ago. Now, anyone who knows anything about cell
phones will understand when I say that getting to know my new phone
has been rough on me. I did not get the same kind of phone that I had
before, and I am having to learn an entirely different way of doing
everything.
Of course, as it is normally with me, nothing is ever easy -- but at
least it is entertaining.
My first challenge was to figure out how to answer it. It is a
"slider." This means a flick of the thumb will slide the phone open
and then I can answer the call. I was afraid of breaking the device so
I fumbled with the phone and accidentally hung up on several people
before I figured out I didn't necessarily even have to slide the phone
open to answer it.
It took me two days to figure that out.
My next challenge was to figure out how to silence the thing. For the
record, my co-workers do not appreciate nifty ringtones as much as I
do. Apparently, they think my "It's Raining Men" ringtone is
obnoxious. I changed it to "Everybody Dance," but I was the only one
dancing, so I picked "Spiderpig" and then everyone wanted me to
Bluetooth it -- which I do not know how to do on this phone yet -- so
I picked a generic rock song and left it there.
Obviously, I figured out how to change my ringtone, but not how to
silence the phone. I still don't know if I am doing it correctly, but
I figured out a way to put the phone on vibrate.
It took me a week to figure that out.
Next, I had to learn how to text message and add new contacts to my
address book. I don't know how many times I sent half a text message
to someone because I hit the "send" button too soon. (It is in a weird
spot.) That can make for an alarming message. Think about it. "Hi,
Mom. I've been really down today ... I think I need to" and the
message is sent and there is a worried call from Mom.
The rest of the message was supposed to say, "I think I'll go get some
chocolate and I'll feel better."
I also sent messages to people I didn't mean to send messages to.
Normally, that could make for some embarrassing situations, but I like
to think I now feel more closely bonded with the people in my address
book.
Bonding with the people in one's life is just too precious. Especially
when I sent an "I love you, Sweetheart" message meant for my daughter
to a co-worker at my part time job. I loved the uncomfortable, "Ummmm
.... okay ... " that I got back. I noticed that person is avoiding me
now. Oh, well. We cannot all be completely comfortable with our
emotions. I finally figured out how to be relatively competent at
texting.
It took me two weeks of accidentally bonding with various individuals
to figure that out.
My phone takes terrific digital pictures -- it even has a flash -- and
it also will makes short videos. It has Internet capability and I am
pretty sure it can hug me, make me soup and sing me lullabies every
night.
But, I am still figuring out how to do that. I miss my old phone. I
wish it had not died. RIP my old friend. This new cell phone
relationship is complex and high maintenance, but I am determined to
make it work!L.A. Story is a fiction writer, editor, poet and staff writer for the
Daily Corinthian. She is a resident of Glen, where a class in cell
phone technology will soon be offered by someone other than her. Her column appears on Wednesdays.SUBMIT A SOUND OFF - Click here
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The Story Hour
by L.A. Story
L.A. Story is a poet, fiction writer, editor and staff writer for the
Daily Corinthian.
