Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The Lighter Side of...Life

“They say such nice things about people at their funerals that it makes me sad that I’m going to miss mine by just a few days.”

- Garrison Kielor.

 
The Smiling Angel - Notre-Dame de l'Epine basilica, Reims, France
Photo by Kent St. John 


Do you know how hard it is to find a depiction of a happy angel? I must have searched a thousand images before I found one. Why do we insist on portraying them as such solemn, "un-fun" beings? I think they enjoy a good laugh as much as the next person...er, angel. Don't you?

The adorable angel depicted above is happy as a clam. Of course, I would be, too, if I resided in the town of Reims, France, for all eternity.  Reims is known as the city where most of the Kings of France were crowned, but that's not likely to make the angels smile.  But Reims is also known as the home to most of the best champagne houses in all the world, Veuve Clicquot and Chateau Les Crayeres among them.  That is happy-making news to anyone...er, any angel.

Angels have a sense of humor, too, right? I think they must. Heaven only knows what they've seen going on between us ridiculous humans on occasion. I'm sure they've laughed at us behind our backs more times than I can count. I know they must have guffawed as they observed Eleanor Floyd's offspring as they so earnestly tried to help her navigate her way to the next realm.

I'm sure they were quite amused when...

1) Elly's two daughters would try valiantly but hopelessly to change her gown and adjust her position, struggling to use the techniqes they'd been shown by the staff of Beautiful Professionals. Just as we were about to give up in frustration, two Beautiful Professionals would enter as if by magic and give us both a tolerant, sweet, sympathetic smile. "Why don't you ladies go for a cup of coffee and let us handle this?" they would say.

When we'd return to the room just minutes later, there our mother would be, pretty as a picture, resting peacefully, clean, neat, and cozy. The nurses, techs, and hospice workers made it look so easy. It kind of made us crazy, but I can still hear the angels chuckling at the two amateurs.

2) My Twin, after a sleepless and harrowing night, tried to help Elly onto a bedpan, and somehow ended up splayed across the bed under her with Elly meekly crying out, "help! help!". At that moment, again as if by magic, Beautiful Professional appeared at the door and exclaimed, "Well, well, what do we have here?" Oh, the angels loved that one.

3) A little while after this little episode, Sis-In-Law walked into the room, where, by this time, My Twin was trying to recover some modicum of self-respect. Unfortunately for My Twin, Elly opened her eyes, and upon recognizing Sis-In-Law, proclaimed, "Thank God you're here!"  My Twin burst into tears and forgot about any remaining self respect, and Sis-In-Law was left to decide whom to hug first. I think the angels smiled and appreciated Mom's prayer of thanksgiving.

4) Elly recounted to a room full of visitors (during that treasured "Golden Hour" that the hospice workers had told us about) great memories of the past, including one of the fire that had burned down the house next door to ours in our old neighborhood of Ruskin Heights one night. The family that lived there was um...well...different. (Think Drunken Beverly Hillbillies without the money or the mansion)They were not our favorite people, but my father, a can-do U.S.Marine and good Samaritan to the core, ran over to the burning house to see if anyone needed help. He found the lord of the manor alone in the house, drunk as a skunk and naked as a jaybird. Dad pulled the man out onto the front lawn to safety, just before the Fire Department arrived, with my loving mother calling out in into the night, "Don't you dare bring him over here!"

Upon relating the story again, she added, "Yeah, I kind of regretted saying that a few times over the years." Everyone howled, and I'm sure the angels did, too. 

5) Younger Brother would deliver a cooler each afternoon filled with Kahlua (or was it Bailey's?) minis as a nightcap to "the night shift," (those of us who were staying all night at Elly's bedside). The problem was that alcohol was prohibited by the Mormon-run institution, but seeing as how we weren't Mormon, we simply considered it an oversight on their part.

Not wanting Elly to be evicted because of her children, though, we thought it wise to pour our nightcaps into mugs each evening, disguising them as the ubiquitous hospital coffee. Each morning the empties were then smuggled out in a backpack carried by our niece, whom we nicknamed "Agent Theunemann." The angels probably thought that was hilarious, and most likely knew that we weren't fooling the staff of Beautiful Professionals at all.

6) I came into the room one day, gave Elly a kiss, stroked her face, and said brightly, "Hi Mom, it's Jo. I'm here. I love you."

She opened her eyes, smiled, and replied slowly and clearly, "Well, I always was partial to Dave [my husband]."  That one brought down the house. It brought me down, too.

These are just a few of the good-natured chuckles Eleanor's brood provided the angels. We seemed to laugh even a little more than we cried as we all progressed through the experience. What a miracle it was to experience it together.

A well developed sense of humor is important to the human species. Why is that? Do other species have it? I suppose that it somehow helps us to overcome many difficult situations. All I know it that it's a prerequisite for membership into my family. It's like a divine gift from the angels, and I am so grateful for it.

Today, I hope you see the lighter side of life.

Here is Garrison Keillor, Emmylou Harris, and Kate McKenzie singing "The Sweetest Gift." Enjoy.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Taking the Tundra Lightly


Snegúrochka, the Snow Maiden

Alright. I suppose it's time for me to stop complaining. After all, it does nothing to change the temperature or stop the precipitation, or remove the layers of pewter colors masking the sunshine. For goodness sake, it's not as if we live in the tundra.

Missouri is lucky to have a good winter. It's a real winter with snow and cold wind and ice and sleet and the problems that go along with it. But it doesn't last forever, does it?

Now, Russia...there's a winter! The Russian culture has coped with harsh winters for centuries upon centuries...incredible snowfall amounts, subzero temperatures, and dark skies that last for weeks and weeks. They'd be happy to see the sun, even swathed in layers of gray as it is here today. Tsk. And I complain.

As humans do when we want to understand and learn to cope with our surroundings, the Russian culture created fairy tales and legends about their harsh winters.  The Snow Maiden is one of these, a story of  a beautiful young maiden created from the longing of an elderly couple for a daughter to love...springing from the snow. It's not hard to predict that the tale doesn't end well, for as much as they loved their precious daughter, Snegúrochka was destined to disappear when the warmth of spring returned.

Nesting dolls, enameled music boxes, jewelry, paintings, and postage stamps have been created to commemorate the Snow Maiden. The great Russian composer, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, created an opera for her,  and the Bolshoi Ballet transformed it into a ballet, both of which are still performed today.

For me, the legend of the Snow Maiden serves to illustrate the need to appreciate the beauty of winter when it comes around and hold it dear to our hearts, knowing that it won't last forever.

With that knowledge, I vow to stop complaining about the weather...at least for today. After all, it's not the "endless endlessness" as described by the video below. A video which, I hope, lightens your day as it did mine.

I hope you have a really cool winter day.
,

Friday, January 14, 2011

CiCi and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

 
Portrait of the Infanta Margarita

 Diego Velázquez, c.1620
Oil on canvas
 What a beautiful little girl Miss Margarita appears to be. Look at her, dressed in her Sunday best, shining curls tamed, and posture perfect. She even knows not to lay her hands on the peplum of her silk dress, lest she soil it. Her face is a study in serenity.

Or is it? Upon closer examination, I believe I see a touch of weariness on little Maggie's face. I think she's about to lose her patience with all this posing nonsense, thinking about romping and running and getting back to the business of being a child. I'm pretty sure I see a tantrum on the horizon.

Maybe I'm just being influenced by the events of yesterday which may go down in history as the Worst Day in the World for my little granddaughter, CiCi.

What should have been a fine day of no preschool, hanging out with the Yia-Yia and enjoying the still-fresh bounty of Christmas, turned fairly ugly early on and never really recovered.

I'm glad to say I had little to do with the circumstances that occured, and I'm grateful for that. No grandmother wants to be remembered for being a disciplinarian (i.e., the "mean one") and I'm happy that it was my son who took on those duties yesterday. As for the inevitable lingering feelings of resentment? Better him than me, I say. 

Well at any rate, my perfectly sweet, charmingly beautiful and well-behaved Margarita...er, CiCi, evidently began the day by waking up on the wrong side of her princess bed. Way too early, I might add.

By the time breakfast for the two kids was over, I could tell that my son, their Daddy, was approaching his fill of whining, complaining, and fussing. "Oh no, don't mess with Daddy, CiCi," I thought. She didn't catch my drift.

Shortly after having that thought, Darling CiCi went upstairs to play. She was followed by Phoebe, the Most Tolerant Dog on Earth.  Phoebe is an English Bulldog, and is honestly the most docile animal I've ever known. I'm a dog lover, and have owned many dogs in my life, but Phoebe (who is really Tony & Cathy's dog) is THE sweetest dog I've ever known.

I was downstairs (minding my own business, I'm quick to point out), and my son was in his bedroom upstairs preparing to go to the bus stop with little Tony.  All was quiet for a minute or two, when suddenly the air was pierced with a combination yelp/growl that I had never heard before. 

"YYYEEEAOOOWgrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!," yelp/growled Phoebe. SILENCE.

In an instant, my son was at the doorway demanding to know what had just happened.

SILENCE.

"CiCi, I asked you what HAPPENED," he insisted.

I wish I could have seen the look on CiCi's face during this inquisition, because I'm fairly certain that I could have seen the wheels turning away in her head, wondering what might be the best tactic for getting out of this sticky situation (but of course, I was downstairs, minding my own business).  Evidently, she opted for the old "Cry and You Might Get Out of It" strategy, because her reply was both alarmingly real and disturbingly funny at the same time.

"Daaaaaaaad!" she wailed, "I was just playing with Phoebe and I accidentally stood on her."

"Waaaaaah," she added for effect.

"You ACCIDENTALLY stood on Phoebe?" probed Daddy, looking desperately for some way to believe his precious darling daughter.

"YEHHHHHS Daddy!" she wailed, obviously injured by her 'fall'. "I didn't MEAN to stand on her!"

Ooops. Wrong strategy, Ceese.

The dialog that followed was a contest of wills not equaled since King Arthur's struggle to remove Excalibur from the stone.

It was done on purpose. It was an accident. On purpose. On accident. Intentionally. ACCIDENTALLY!.

The ultimate punishment was exacted. CiCi was sent to her room until she could admit what she had done, and make ammends.

Oh, the tears! The injustice of it all! I had no idea a four year old could feel such despair. (And honestly...not being willing to admit you were wrong and apologize? I have absolutely NO idea where she got that unattractive trait.)

Well, being the wise old Yia-Yia that I am, I went on about my business, but heard my son periodically check on his daughter, who stubbornly maintained her innocence.  When it was eventually time for him to leave for work (by this time it was nearly 11 a.m.), I heard my son enter her room to check on her once more. As might have been predicted, CiCi had exhausted herself with her morning's activities and was fast asleep.

At two in the afternoon She-with-the-Sunny-Disposition Cecilia Rose made an appearance. She was hungry. She was smiling shyly. She was contrite. Whew. She hugged and petted Phoebe and promised she'd never stand on her again. While fixing her a grilled cheese sandwich, I congratulated her on behalf of all the animals of the world, since she wants to be an "animal doctor" when she grows up. I think they would appreciate it if she keeps that promise.

Good job, Daddy. Good job, CiCi. Great job, Phoebe.

And a personal pat on the back to myself, for knowing that Father Knows Best.


Portrait of the Infanta Cecilia, Jo Floyd Lucas
The day ended nicely with a good long bubble bath (which everyone knows cures all ills). In this portrait, the beautiful blond-haired child wears not silk and petticoats, but a "fur" hat of silky bubbles. So there, Margarita.

It is interesting to note that the portrait of "Infanta Margarita" was only recently found in the basement of Yale University (those wacky, disorganized Eli's). It took six years to determine whether the painting was an authentic Velázquez. The proof, as they say, is in the pigment, which was traced back to pigments used during the artist's time period - as early as 1617, when Velázquez was only 18 years old. Good job, Diego, too!

I must add a very special thank you to Janiece Senn for creating a digital vintage remix of her interpretation of this blog post. Janiece, you're amazing! Click on the print pic in the right border to go to Janiece's website for other great art from her incredibly fertile imagination. Really. Do it. Now.


CiCi and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Janiece Senn, Digital Vintage Remix, 2011