Wanted: laughter....

 March 27, 2024

Earlier this month, I set out on a bit of a personal quest. You see, it’s come to my attention that I need to laugh a bit more. Did I just write “a bit more”? Hell, I pride myself on being transparent in these essays. I need to laugh, period.

I used to laugh a great deal. Practically every single day, I would laugh at something silly or inane, or downright hilarious. Often, I would laugh at myself, and feel no shame in that whatsoever. Trust me, I can be a very funny person.

But lately—how lately I cannot really say because this has been a slowly evolving situation—I’ve noticed I don’t laugh much anymore.

Now, my husband, he laughs every day. Through the day, certainly, but mostly in the evenings after our shared TV time, when I am at my computer and he’s at his. And when I hear that laughter, I grin. The sound of David’s laughter is my favorite thing to hear in the entire world. And I know when I hear that laughter that he is listening to one comic or another online, and thoroughly enjoying the experience.

Well, I want to laugh, too! And it’s not as if I’m not trying. I, also, go online in the evenings in search of entertainment. I look for short compilation videos on YouTube that promise comedy, even hilarity! But I think I am simply not having much good luck finding the right ones. I have learned that just because the title of the video promises laughter, doesn’t mean it will deliver it. Oh sure, two out of fifty memes may arouse a titter within me. Some an almost giggle. And once in a long while there is one that makes me really, really laugh. I had one of those about five days ago. Or was it longer than that?

But it’s like that old saying, you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince. One really does have to watch a lot of those videos to find some honestly funny moments. The only question is whether or not the price of viewing so many stupid ones is worth having been paid when you find that one gem.

I’m probably just being greedy. Maybe I should feel content to experience one really good laugh once a week, or so. But I’m not. I feel as if my soul needs more. The chemicals in my body are likely out of balance, in need of those wondrous hormones that are released as a side effect to laughter. I do know that it is medically impossible to laugh and grow an ulcer at the same time.

My daughter was mentioning that she watches a few comics online, and they are a riot! My ears perked up and I asked her to name names. Now, perhaps it should have been a clue that she said she would think on it and then get back to me. But she did get back to me with a couple of names, which I immediately wrote down. And then, of course, I checked them out.

Le sigh. When I take time and think back, I realize that there have been times when daughter has thought something was funny as hell, and sadly, I did not. And vice versa. Nothing wrong with that because we do, each of us, possess different criteria when it comes to what makes us laugh. For example, I love puns—the cleverer, the better. Now for a lot of folks puns just make them roll their eyes and groan. But I find a really good pun not only funny but refreshing. My latest discovery that made me laugh out loud is this one: “Sweet dreams are made of cheese; who am I to diss a brie?”

I have some favorite old jokes that can still hit that internal funny bone of mine, and when I would crack up in the past, others around me would just shake their heads and look at me as if I had two of them. Heads, that is.

I am not one of those people who assumes that the problem must be those other people, that because if I think it’s a hoot, then a hoot must be! Nope, that thought would never inhabit my brain. And the fact that it wouldn’t is in itself a clue.

I have been so close, in the last few weeks, to wondering if I’ve somehow lost my sense of humor entirely. That was such a scary and horrid thought that it set me back on my pins.

Rather than to continue to mentally panic, I’ve taken a bit of time to think about the situation—my hunger for laughter and seeming inability to find same—and I’ve come to another conclusion altogether.

I know that to everything there is a season. And I know that our best personal growth comes in those times when we feel we’re lodged deeply and inexorably into a “valley” experience. I know that for fact, and y’all have read those very words from me over the years, and on more than one occasion.

Yes, I really do need a good laugh or ten. I will just have to hold onto my faith and be patient that I will get them, by and by.

Just as soon as the Good Lord finishes helping me to grow some more.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

https://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

 

 

An unwanted guest....

 March 20, 2024

A funny thing happened last week as I was preparing to compose my weekly essay. We had an unexpected visit, here in the Ashbury household, from a very nasty, unwanted guest: a tummy bug.

The visit was so unexpected and so sudden that at first, I didn’t even realize that a bug was the culprit. I thought, originally, that perhaps I had eaten something that was off. I looked up the symptoms of food poisoning, and I had most of them.

The only problem with that theory was that I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d eaten—and there really hadn’t been a lot I had eaten on Tuesday for lack of appetite—that it could have been. Or on Monday, the day before, for that matter.

It wasn’t until the next day, Wednesday, when I was in my recliner, eyes closed, trying not to whine about how icky I felt that my brain kind of started to work on the problem. In retracing my time, I recalled that I’d been out with Jenny the day before—Monday—and that we had gone to two grocery stores, one new to me. This trip was supposed to have happened on Sunday, but Jenny spent most of that day sleeping, because she hadn’t well. No appetite, a mild case of “plumbing problems”, and no energy whatsoever.

The pieces began to fall into place. Then when I roused myself enough to chat with a couple of friends online, I realized that what I had was not food poisoning, but a gastrointestinal bug. A bug that has been busily making the rounds lately and has hit a lot of foks.

Note to self: try not to self diagnose and stay away from Dr. Google.

Our daughter had at first believed that her own symptoms were thanks to her sometimes uncooperative cycle, because that has happened in the past. Her symptoms were not my symptoms at all—but they were her father’s, who awoke ill on Wednesday and told me to go away, because I had given “it” to him.

The major difference between David and me when we’re not feeling well, is that his first, second and third choice when he’s ill is to sleep. He doesn’t want to be checked on; he doesn’t want any fussing whatsoever. Just let him sleep, which over the years, and as rare as those occasions have been, I have learned to do.

I don’t require a lot of fussing either, but appreciate a bottle of cold water and can of ginger ale from time to time. And quiet. Please, just give me either complete and total quiet, or country music at a minimal level.

Today, as I write this essay, is day number Bug plus eight. I first felt not well on Tuesday just before the supper hour a week ago, followed minutes later by my “as mad a dash as I can manage” to the bathroom (where resides the toilet and the bucket). That first phase of being sick was the worst ever, but only lasted about three hours.

I am getting better; but mornings, which have always been my best times, have not been so these last few days. They’re actually when I feel the worst. I know that this will all soon be just a memory, so I’m not worried. Impatient, yes. Worried, no.

Yesterday, as I was sitting in the kitchen while my daughter, on a work break, had a snack, I mentioned that I was nearly, but not quite “there” yet, recovery wise.

She suggested that I should just push myself to do as much as possible; after all, that’s what she’d done, as she’d had to go to work on Tuesday (the day I fell ill) even though she didn’t want to because she didn’t feel good.

My friends, it was a moment. And there were so very many different ways I could have responded to this very expert-sounding advice.

I could have told her that the history of my working life, from the day I got married until I finally retired was a story of my pushing myself even when I didn’t want to because I didn’t feel good. I could have told her that there was a difference between us, her in her 46^th year and me in my 70^th. I could have raised my right eyebrow and skewered her with “the look”, the one that would remind her that I am her mother—if only my right eyebrow was capable of performing such a maneuver.

Instead, being older and wiser and, yes dare I say kinder, I simply made a sound that could have been agreement and took a small sip of my coffee.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

https://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury

It's the silly moments....

 March 6, 2024

We try, here at the Ashbury household, to be good stewards of the land we’re on, and to be kind to the critters who come to visit—to chirp or sing or just to take a rest on a branch or a roof edge. For the last several years—since just after we got our Mr. Tuffy, in fact—we have been putting out feed for the birds and the cute furry rodents. At first, we did that because of our little dog, who loved to bark at the squirrels and chippies. But then we had a couple of bad winters, and so it became just something that we do.

Of course, since we began planting our table gardens, our kindness may have come back to bite us in the butts a little. After all, a couple of years back, the critters saw David planting what looked like their food in the dirt and had to come and dig them all out again. But that’s not a bad thing, either. And we took a few protective measures after that incident so it didn’t happen again.

One of the things I love about being alive, is that there can be a cute surprise, or a silly moment right around the corner. Not every day, of course, because too many sweet or funny moments would really dull their value. But every once in a while, there will be something new, and I truly adore those moments.

The best thing about those moments, of course, is that you never know when they’re going to happen. There’s no warning at all. And no way that they can be predicted. And yes, dear friends, I know that same sense of…what shall I call it? Propinquity? Cosmic surprise? Kismet? Well, whatever we call it, I know that same mechanism or twist of fate can just as easily bring doom or gloom to tragedy.

But this morning, I choose to focus only on the good and the positive. The cute and the silly.

This morning, I’m at my computer, going through my morning routine, quite involved in my activity when I hear a fast, soft tapping on my office window.

Now, a necessary digression. My desk is directly in front of the only window in my office. It is a double window—two for the price of one. Of course, I sit in front of my desk—an antique-ish library desk I purchased years ago at a flea market. And on my desk, blocking my view out the wonderful window that is on the east side of my house overlooking the street, stands my computer monitor. I just measured the thing. It’s 28 inches side to side. I can see a bit of the outside around the edges of the monitor, but if I want to look out the window I have to stand up and scrunch in very close.

This morning, when I heard that fast, soft tapping on my window, I looked down and all I could see was grey fur.

My immediate first thought was, “Oh, no! The cat got outside!” That could be a tragedy because he is a house cat, not a field or a street cat. So I stood up to get a better look, and stared into the face of a impatient-looking squirrel.

Mr. (or Mrs.) Squirrel looked right at me for a long moment, then got down.

Did you know that squirrels can be extremely egocentric and become quite demanding if they perceive they are not getting their due? I did.  I recall my father-in-law once reporting out that very fact when one of the squirrels he regularly fed would sometimes come up to the door and natter at him.

So when I realized it had been a squirrel who had “knocked” on my window (being smart, he likely saw the Purolator and Amazon drivers do that to get my attention), I knew what to do. I left my office and headed straight to my husband. I told him what happened, and we both laughed. Then he got up to go and put some food into the feeder attached to the walnut tree.

I also texted my daughter because she enjoys a funny story, too. I finished my telling of the tale in that text to her by observing, “I guess there’s no speedy rating for this restaurant.”

And our daughter proved she has the same sense of humor as her parents. She replied, and I quote, “…and when the peanuts finally came, I had to take them out of the shell myself. 2 out of 5 stars. Would not recommend.”

Yes, indeed. I truly love life’s silly moments. They’re the seasonings that give everything flavor.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury