Posts tagged ‘funny’

Wherefore Art Thou Spring?

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My birthday usually ushers in the springtime. This year, it ushered in yet another snow storm. The picture above is what our little cabin in New Hampshire looked like when we arrived for a weekend visit Saturday, (MARCH 22!) There was so much snow that we spent almost 2 hours shoveling to get into the house. My adventuresome self wanted to just dig a tunnel through the snow, and crawl out the other side, but hubby thought it might be difficult to drag the suitcases through. Besides, he reasoned, it is good EXERCISE to shovel. (Yeah, right, like I’d go along with him on that one…)
Not since years ago when “I was a wee lass who had to crawl through four feet of snow for a mile in order to get to school” have I seen this much snow. It seems as though Global Warming passed us by this winter. I worry about the wild animals; with the snow so deep, how can they walk anywhere, let alone find something to eat? I can only hope that they have all joined their bear colleagues and started the new tradition of hibernating.
Of course, the weather will soon warm and the snow will melt, (hopefully not flooding the place.) Until then, I will reluctantly wait, looking like this:

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To read more about my interesting, amazing childhood, please read my book. Here is a link:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-apple-tree/id538572206?mt=11

The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane

I was Audited by the IRS and I Survived!

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Talking with a friend, the stress of completing her taxes was evident. I could not commiserate with her because I LOVE doing my taxes, especially with the newer computerized programs that submit on-line. I’ve always enjoyed working with numbers, and giggle with delight as I see the “refund” number grow in the corner…64 cents, $1.29, $2.15, the number climbs! My friend looked at me like I was crazy when I told her. “Aren’t you afraid of an audit?” she asked incredulously. “Nah,” was my answer, “I was audited by the IRS and it wasn’t so bad!” Or WAS it?????

It was many years ago and I was pregnant with our oldest son, Francis. About 8 and 29/30 months pregnant. I wore my favorite (i.e. only) maternity dress, a pretty baby blue color with a big bow hanging awkwardly over my belly. I had on flat shoes, and I waddled like a duck. The audit was downtown at the Federal Building, an imposing brick building towering over the parking lot next door. I went alone because my husband could not get the time out of work. I wasn’t scared…pregnant and waddling? Who would dare scare me?
The auditor was an older gentleman, someone who looked like he’d “been there, done that” a million times before. He wore a drab, puke green suit and even my most brilliant smile hello did not phase him. How could that be?? He only humphed “have a seat” and I sat in the metal chair, looking at the antiquated, drab office. Of course he was grumpy…look at his surroundings! He needed some large, colorful flowers on the walls, a candy jar with Hershey Kisses, some personal items from DisneyWorld on his desk, and maybe a serenity fountain. He seemed to have an attitude that said “Don’t mess with me,” which I assumed was a requirement for the job. (My apologies to any IRS auditors that might be reading this…I don’t generally like to generalize.) If figures that if you are trying to catch people who are dishonest on their taxes you need to have a stern exterior. Because I did NOT cheat on my taxes, and because I was sooooo pregnant with an infectious smile, I assumed he would warm up as he progressed through my tax return. I was wrong. I sat there as he went through my tax return, item by item. We got through all of the easy parts and moved onto the “long form” for deductions. This was where I excelled. All of the deductions had been itemized with care. One by one we went through them, and one by one I provided the receipt or back-up needed to document the authenticity. No problem, I thought…until he asked the question that struck fear in my heart…he inquired if my husband had taken a vacation that year. Vacation? What did a vacation have to do with anything?? I stammered a yes, and my ever present smile started to wane. “We took a 2 week vacation.” I could almost hear/see him jump up and say “AHA!!!!! I caught you!!!!” It seems that the receipt for the work uniforms for which my husband payed weekly was for 52 weeks. At first confused, it took a minute for this question to sink in. If my husband was on vacation, we could not count the $22 for that week he! Even though he did not have the option NOT to pay for them if he didn’t work, if they were not actually worn for work, we could not take the deduction for those 2 weeks! I finally saw a slight smile escape from the auditor’s lips. He had won! He “caught me”. I was quite the rebel tax cheater! The result was that $44 was added to our income and we therefore owed $14, plus $1.48 for interest!
My step was not quite so bouncy as I waddled out of that office. My ever present smile waned. The good news was I had survived, none the worse for the wear…and every year since then I have deducted the $44 from my husband’s uniform deduction!

Look For Me on the Game Show Network!!

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I babysat for my grandson last night, which was more of a “play date” than babysitting. Having a degree in psychology, it is always interesting to me how young children play with their character figures. We lined up Superman, Mario, Batman, Woody (from Toy Story,) a few Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, along with Mickey Mouse and Pluto. Alejandro starts right off with them fighting each other, which is what he has seen many of them do in movies and on tv. Being a pacifist nana, I soon had them all having a “party”, dancing to music to which he and I sang. We had to, of course, match up male character with male character, but I told him that was okay, (setting the stage, perhaps, for a non-homophobic adulthood?) They danced and we sang and he said it was the best party ever!

Well, all good things must come to an end, and he was escorted up to bed where he promptly fell asleep after a few nana enacted bedtime stories. (I do a mean big bad wolf imitation!) Meandering back downstairs to watch television, I was fascinated with the many television channels my daughter has. Stopping short with an open mouth gape, I came to “THE GAME SHOW NETWORK”…and on that channel was an old episode of “The Ten Thousand Dollar Pyramid”, followed by an old episode of “Match Game” and “The Newlyweds” where the term “whoopie” was used as a euphemism for, well, for WHOOPIE! (They were not allowed to say “sex” on television in those days.) It struck me how cheerful and vibrant the contestants were, dressed in the finest clothing and hair fashions from the 1960s and 70′s. It dawned on me that the contestants may not be aware that their participation on these old shows was again being shown for all to see and laugh at!

All of this brings me to a little known fact about myself. I was on a game show in the 70s! Yes! Little ole me! It was called “All Star Secrets” and was hosted by Bob Eubanks. There were five stars on the panel, but the only ones I can clearly remember were Jim Backus and Jed Allen, an actor in a daytime soap opera at the time. The show began with a reveal of the contestants. As Bob Eubanks introduced each of us, we were supposed to smile and wave. When my time came, inexplicably I mouthed the words “Hi, Mom!” (Oh!!!! The embarrassment!!!!) The game consisted of the host telling us a “secret” about one of the stars and we had to guess which one. One secret was “This star used to be a very awkward and unpopular teenager”. My guess was Jed Allen, an extremely handsome and popular star. Bob Eubanks looked in my direction and said “Linda, why did you pick Jed Allen?” Panic went from my head to my stomach; we were never informed of the possibility that we would have to SPEAK! I managed to squeak out the sentence “Because he was the least likely person.” Duh! Sounds stupid, but I knew these shows tried to be interesting. The statement couldn’t possibly have been made by Jim Backus, the actor who played Mr. McGoo, as the other contestants had guessed. My guess was correct, and I WON a 2 week trip to EUROPE and $1,500!! (A huge win in “those days”.) I was SOOO excited, I collapsed on top of the podium and cried and screamed! I made so much of a fuss that they had to actually come over and pull me off the stage because the commercial was over and they no longer wanted the contestants to be visible.

So, if you happen to be watching the game show network and “All Star Secrets” comes on, look for me…I’ll be the one making a fool of myself, but enjoying every minute of it!

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Is There a Cupboard for Cans of Food?

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Actual conversation overheard while I was driving children who are blind to activities during the summer program with which I have been working:

Her:   “What street do you live on?”

Him:  “Main Street”, (which is 5 miles long.)

Her:  “What color is your house?”

Him:  “Yellow”

Her:  “YELLOW?!?  I used to live on Main Street in a yellow house.”

Him:  “Wow!  Maybe it is the same one! Did it have two bedrooms upstairs and one bedroom downstairs right next to the bathroom?”

Her:  “YES!  That sounds just like the house I used to live in! Does it have a driveway on the side of the house with bushes by the front steps?”

Him:  “YES!  How about a dining room where it can fit a table that seats ten people?”

Her:  “Oh, my family used to get all together there on Thanksgiving.”

Him:  “MY family gets together there for Thanksgiving!  Did your bedroom have a closet door that got stuck?”

Her:  “YES!  That was my closet door!”

Him:  “And how about a creepy basement”?”

Her:  “YES! YES! I was always afraid to go into the basement.  How about…does it have a  cupboard in the kitchen where you could keep cans of food?”

Him:  “OH MY WORD!  YES!  That is too much of a coincidence!  I guess I really AM living in the same house you used to live in!”

Her:  That is sooooooo amazing!”

Him:  “Isn’t it!!!!!”

And while they were talking, I drove by at least another ten yellow houses on main street.  I wonder if they all have cupboards in the kitchen in which to keep canned foods???

“It Smells Like Flowers and Sunshine”

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Working this summer running an educational/recreational program for kiddos with disabilities, I have been giving my good ole, 12 passenger van with a wheelchair lift a run for its money.  Surprisingly, despite numerous past mechanical difficulties, it has become a war horse for transporting us throughout the state to many wonderful adventures!  Because it is an industrial type van, it supplies the children with a lot of extra bounces, creaking, twists and turns.  (It is good thing they are all snapped down into booster seats and seat belts or by now I would have many little dents in the ceiling from their bouncing heads.)  They laugh and screech and go “weeeeeeeeee” as though they are on a ride at an amusement park. (I dare say, some of the children have never experienced such excitement…)

Over the weeks, I have become somewhat lax in van cleanliness…food wrappers, discarded art projects, broken recreational items (such as water guns and deflated balls,) and, EWWWWWW, old clothing left by the children, litter the floor.  I KNOW it is not proper, but, somehow, I am so busy with the program arrangements, supervising the children and driving them back and forth from their homes that at the end of my 12 hour day, that I am too pooped to do anything but sit in my lounge chair at home and watch Judge Judy.  I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances…purchased a couple of cute, little, purple, sweet smelling air fresheners for the van.

The day after this ingenious addition, the children filed on one by one for a trip to the aquarium.  Many of them commented on the smell, including one little girl who is blind who remarked “Do you have flowers in the van?  It smells beautiful, like flowers and sunshine!”  Thus proving to me that those Febreeze commercials where people are put into smelly, messy enclosures really DO smell only the Febreeze!

Have You Ever Run out of Clean Underwear?

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My husband and I took a little “romantic trip for two” last weekend, so I did not get my usual laundry done. This week, being school vacation, saw me working 60 hours coordinating an educational and recreational program for children with disabilities.  It was an awesome, fun week, and the kiddos were a joy!  However,  by the time I dragged myself into the house in the early evening, I had no energy to do any type of cooking/cleaning/thinking/talking or moving. The only movement I could muster up was my index finger on the TV remote…

Getting dressed this morning, there was not a piece of clean underwear to be found. Not in my underwear drawer, in the dryer, under the bed, on the floor of the bathroom, in the puppies bed, or in the refrigerator. (You never know…)  What was I to do?  It briefly crossed my mind to not wear any, but that idea was quickly tossed aside.  In “my” generation, we just didn’t DO that.  So, I dug up the only pair of underwear left…the unworn g-string bikini bottom to a baby doll negligee I had brought on our romantic weekend. (I always optimistically pack several “outfits”…)  Slipping the bikini on, it was immediately apparent that it were not going to adequately cover all of my “private areas”, but it was either that pair or nothing, and nothing was not an option.  The thought of getting into an accident and having the paramedics see a woman my age wearing a g-string bikini did seem horrifying, so I promised myself I would drive very carefully and walk very slowly all day so as not to get into an accident or trip and fall…

Finding a bra was almost as difficult, but in the back corner of the drawer was  one bra that had eluded trash day.  The straps were so old and loose that it did not properly support my breasts in the manner to which they are accustomed.  Other than going braless, which would surely have traumatized a few people, I put on the saggy resemblance of a bra. To say that my breasts came within inches of my waistline is not an exaggeration.  But it was better than down to my knees…

Finding a shirt was almost as difficult, but way in the back of my closet was a “beautifully” flowered shirt that I used to wear when I was two sizes larger.  For some reason I’d always loved that shirt because it was “comfy”, so on it went.  At least with all of the bold flowers, my sagging breasts were not so apparent.

For pants, I wore the same pair of jeans I had worn earlier in the week.  Jeans seem to be the one item that do not have to be washed every time they are worn.  Of course, when you wear them a little more than you should, they DO get baggy in all the wrong places, which resulted in a bigger rear end than I would normally sport.  Fortunately, the flowered shirt was so large that it completely covered this area anyway.

The biggest challenge, even when I DO the laundry, was finding a pair of matching socks.  I looked ALL OVER….and I was thrilled when I finally found a pair of matching red and white striped socks.  Of course, the stripes were on candy canes, and  big red Santas graced the top band of the socks, but at least they matched!

My Dansko shoes, (the only type I can wear comfortably,) were on the porch where I had taken them off.  Unfortunately, Jody, our new puppy, had decided they made great chew toys, and she had chewed the decorative leather band  around the top of them.  Fortunately, she had chewed them both equally so they at least matched…

I quickly tried to fix my unruly hair, which can usually be coaxed into a semblance of curls and puffiness. Not today.  Today it refused to be tamed.  My hair is longer than usual because there has been no time to get a haircut, so it is super fluffy and frizzy, and standing on end all around my head like a wild lion mane.  Better than that….like Phil Spector…

Looking in the mirror, I assessed my appearance. Hair unruly enough to scare  Frankenstein.  Saggy breasts under a garden explosion of a shirt that was so large my daughter could have fit in it with me. Saggy jeans, which are somewhat of a relief because they do not fit tightly enough to force the bikini bottom to slide up into my butt. Shoes missing the decorative strap, but otherwise presentable.  And white and red striped socks…not too bad if you don’t look at the top of them.  I was “passable” as long as I stood up all day lest people see the Santas on the top of my socks. Then I would look REALLY ridicules….

 

 

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PS. I have recently been honored with a special award from http://lyricsonthelake.wordpress.com/2013/04/29/because-why-not/:

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I would love to come and speak for your group or at your conference.  I would do it for free, but would need the price of travel. For functions in the North East, that would be only gas money.  I do promise to dress properly…

Link to my book

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-apple-tree/id538572206?mt=11

The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane

Link to the Readers Digest review of my book:  http://www.rd.com/recommends/what-to-read-after-a-hurricane/

The Dance of the Snake Goddesses

Forgive me for re-posting this from a few years ago, but I thought you might enjoy it as it is a New Year’s Eve story…

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photo from Ophidiophobia – Fear of Snakes (Picture by Dev Khalsa)  honorslounge.com

A very conservative lawyer friend had a very conservative lawyer wife who had taken up belly dancing.  She and 2 friends were so skilled in this talent that they were chosen to be performers for a large audience for First Night, the annual New Year’s Eve celebration in the city.  For an added “twist” to their act, my lawyer friend asked if his wife could borrow one of my son’s 5 foot long boa constrictors for their dance.  I had plenty of reservations, but I said okay. (It is always good to keep a lawyer friend happy because you never know when you will need a lawyer’s help.)  The ladies came to our house, and practiced with the snake while my son, Steven, who is very familiar with snakes, supervised.  The practice went very well, and the ladies excitedly decided to bill their act as the “The Dance of the Snake Goddesses.”

Well, New Year’s Eve came and I reminded Steven that we had to take the snake to the performance hall for the act.  Steven, who has Asperger’s and an anxiety disorder, was mortified!  There was no way HE was going to go to a large hall where there were a lot of people!  He handed me a pillowcase to put the snake in, and a bottle of alcohol “in case it bit someone”. He promptly took off on his bike peddling away to destinations unknown to me, (but far away from  First Night appearance.)  I started to panic!  These excited dancers were billed as the “The Dance of the Snake Goddesses” and they would have no snake!  Feeling extremely obligated to provide them with a snake, I decided to bring the it myself.  I had not minded the snakes when they were locked in the glass tanks, but somehow I was going to have to get up the nerve to actually take the snake out and put it in the pillowcase.  My hands were shaking as I undid the lock and took the cover off of the tank.   It looked docile enough, just lying there.  I reached in and managed to push it into the pillowcase using a long sleeved pot holder, proud of myself for not having to touch it.  Maybe I’d be okay! I tentatively carried the pillowcase to the living room, but I had miscalculated by not securing the top of it.  The snake’s head popped out, I pushed it back down.  It popped out again, and I pushed it down again.  This time it was stronger and its head came our farther.  When I tried to push it back in, it wiggle away from me and the whole snake came slithering out of the bag, which I promptly dropped.  There, on the floor of our living room, was a slithering 5 foot long snake!  I screamed.  My husband came to see what was going on, and he jumped up on the couch and screamed.  Even though I was shaking and my first instinct was to smash the thing over the head with a broom, I remembered  my commitment to our lawyer friends.  I gathered up my courage and, using the broom gently, I nudged it back into the pillowcase, this time immediately tying the top into a knot.

I was still shaking from this experience as I drove to the city with the wriggling pillowcase on the seat next to me.  I was feeling tremendous relief that I had at least caught it and was on my way to the performance. I even felt a little sorry for it, and turned the heat all the way up in my car so it could be warm.  (It had started to snow outside, which would mean there would be a larger than usual audience for an inside performance as the outside First Night performances would involved standing around in wet snow.  Great!  A bigger audience for what was sure to be a Snake Goddess fiasco!)

When we got near the theater, I put the pillowcase inside my coat to keep it warm. (MY I was brave!)  There was a line around the building waiting to see the performance.  I went to the head of the line, and quietly said to the guard at the door, “I have the snake for the performance.”  In his loudest voice, he parted the crowd by saying “Make way for the snake handler.  Make way for the snake handler!”  I wanted to hide!  As a 55 year old shaking, nervous, dowdy woman, I no more resembled a snake handler than a chipmunk would resemble Santa Clause.

I managed to get back stage with the snake and the belly dancers were very excited.  They carefully took him (her?  I couldn’t tell the difference,) out of the bag and began to practice.  By now I was shaking so badly that my stomach was in knots.  I was holding the bottle of alcohol (“in case it bit someone”.)  I was on the verge of tears, both from relief that I’d delivered the snake in one piece, but also fear that it would bite and there would be blood and screams and lawsuits.

The audience in the large theater was packed, standing room only.  The music for the dancers began.  They dramatically began the act hidden behind veils, with the snake on one woman with the head at one hand, draped across her back, and the tail on the other hand.  They did a dramatic dance, dropping the veils at different intervals for the audience to get a glimpse of the snake.  I could hear  “ooooh”  and “aaaaaah” from the audience.  I was hoping the snake wasn’t going to slither down and into the audience causing mass panic,  emptying the audience out into the street, or, worse yet, go around biting audience members with me following along with my bottle of alcohol. (Then I’d really need a lawyer for the lawsuits!)

Then something strange happened. The dancers dropped their veils, and the snake actually seemed to join in the dance.  Soon its head was wriggling in time to the music, its tail was swaying around, and it seemed to be having a grand old time!  It began to slither in time to the music (a pure coincidence I’m sure,) from one dancer to the next.  It was an amazing sight, the graceful gyrating dancers and the graceful gyrating snake, all moving in time to the music.  Mesmerizing. Amazing.  The act finished to a standing ovation, and darn it if it didn’t seem as though the snake bowed his head in response to the clapping from the audience.

After the show, the dancers gave the snake a few affectionate pats and back into the pillowcase it went.  I tied it in a knot, put it under my coat, and carried it back to the car.  I felt as though I was going to cry, but this time it was tears of relief.  I don’t know how I get myself into these situations, but, again, I’d come through it unscathed, with a little more respect for the reptile in the pillowcase next to me!

 

Thanks for reading.  If you want to read more here is the link to my book:The Apple Tree: Raising 5 Kids With Disabilities and Remaining Sane

I Looked in the Mirror and I saw a Homeless Person…

My husband and I decided to go to our little cottage in New Hampshire for the weekend to rest up for the upcoming holiday festivities.  I filled the car with all of the Christmas present in order to wrap them in peace and quiet.

On Friday morning, we got up at 5AM so Raymond could spend a few hours working in a town a few hours from where our house is.  Those who know me or who have read my book know that I get carsick easily, so for the ride I generally spread out in the backseat with a few pillows and comfy blankets and snooze.  I was still snoozing when he got out to do his job, and, I’m embarrassed to say, I slept for another three hours!

When I woke up, I was desperately thirsty, and of course had to go to the bathroom.  I slowly sat up and looked out the windows, spotting a McDonald’s nearby.  I was joyous.  A hot cup of tea! A bathroom!  I maneuvered myself out of the backseat, threw on my husband’s old coat, (which looked to be warmer as it was snowing heavily outside,) and started walking toward the gleaming golden arches.  (Okay, that last part was a lie as they do not have golden arches anymore, but I was still half asleep, so I can’t be blamed…)

I have been suffering from an inner ear disorder lately; one which cause my balance to be “off”.  I wobble back and forth, and sometimes stumble and trip unless I have something to hold onto.  As I walked to McDonald’s, of course I was in open space, so my walking resembled someone who was drunk.   Embarrassed by my weaving, I snuck around the back of the restaurant and entered through that back door near the bathroom.  Once safely inside, I looked in the bathroom mirror, and I gasped.  A homeless person stared back at me, and it was ME! (And I mean no offense to the homeless…) One side of my head was flattened, complete with pillow marks on my face and a line of drool from my mouth.  The other side was fluffed straight out like half of a Bozo the Clown.  I wet my hair, and looked in the mirror again.  I looked like a drowned rat!  I also noticed that Raymond’s coat was way too big, had a pocket that was ripped, and had oil stains on it.  I was horrified!  Not so horrified, though, as to sneak out and go back to the car.   NO!  I wanted that caffeine too badly.  So, I wobbled out to the service counter, gathered all of my dignity, and ordered a hot tea.  It was poured and put on the counter, and I gave them my credit card to swipe.  (Isn’t crazy in this day and age that I always use my credit card for everything?)  The card was declined.  There I was, standing there at the counter, looking like a drunk homeless person, staring at the server like a deer in headlights.  What?  My charge is declined? I was mortified.  He was not going to budge.  No money….no tea.  With a huge sigh of relief I looked in my wallet and found that $20 bill hidden in that secret compartment in case of an emergency.  This definitely qualified…

I took my prize and wobbled back to the van, where I settled down again in the back seat, happily drinking my tea.

I Never Thought I’d be Thankful for Having Big Breasts…and I Don’t Mean the Ones on the Turkey!

I waitressed from the age of 15 to 27, and it was a great job to have during college and as I started my career as a social worker.  I learned how to balance eight plates on my arm, and carry another 3 more in my hand.  I could gather up 8 glasses of water and get them to the table without spilling a drop.  I enjoyed the customers and nothing on the job bothered me…if I can handle life with five kids with ridiculously difficult problems, I could handle a burnt meal or two, the Heimlich maneuver, and customers running out without paying their checks.  So, when the time came recently that we needed extra money, I obtained a job as a waitress at a well known local restaurant nearby. Of course, I haven’t done this job in 30 years, and I AM a little older, but I thought I could still do well (and use my Cheshire cat smile to charm the customers into leaving large tips.)  I have worked for a week at this job, and I DO like it, but age has a way of affecting how I do my job.  When I squat down to get something from a bottom shelf, I can’t get up without a helping hand.  I need glasses to read the orders.  At this restaurant, which is more “elegant” than where I worked before, we need to use trays on which to place the plates of food, not line them up our arms, (a technique which served me well so many years ago!)  The problem is, I have arthritis in my hands and elbows and my balance is a little off, so I have difficulty carrying a tray full of meals up on my shoulder using one hand.  I CAN carry the tray on my shoulder if I use 2 hands, but the problem then comes when I have to put it gracefully down.  The other waitresses deftly grab a tray stand with one hand while balancing the meals with the other.  That’s not gonna happen with me.

This is where my appreciation of large breasts comes in.  I had always hated them.  The bra straps hurt.  They poke out unattractively.  If I try to wear a necklace, it sits at an awkward angle.  I am forever collecting crumbs on them. And they have just generally been a pain in the neck to put up with.  Until now.  When waitressing, I have learned how to take the tray off of my shoulders with both hands, and, with one hand under the tray and the top part of the tray balanced solidly under my left breast, I use my other hand to serve the meals.  Mission accomplished!  I wonder how long I’ll be able to do this before the management notices the gravy stains on my apron!

Aside

I Saw the BEST MOVIE EVER with my Daughter…and It had Nothing to do with the Title of the Movie!!!

Yesterday my daughter, Marie, and I went to the movies.  The name of the movie isn’t important, (except to say it was  a Pixar film.)  The reason it was so great was because, for the first time since we adopted her nine years ago, I finally got to sit and relax and enjoy the movies!

Marie is profoundly deaf and communicates in American Sign Language.  The movies we tend to see are movies such as Shrek, Finding Nemo, Ice Age, Madagascar and so forth. The negative thing about these wonderful movies is that there is no way Marie can lip read what the characters are saying.  “I love you so much” can look like “Go jump in a dump.”  In order for her to enjoy the movies, we have long sat in the last row, underneath the single emergency light in the far left corner, and I have “signed” what the characters are saying.  Although my signing isn’t fluent, she laughs in all of the appropriate places, so I am happy.  (A happy child makes for a happy parent.)  The bad part of all of this is that I don’t get to really enjoy the movie.  I am so busy signing that I don’t get to see what is happening on screen. PLUS, (major disappointment…sob…sob….) I don’t ever get a break to eat any of the popcorn Marie happily munches away on.

Then came rear window captioning.  It sounds like a great idea. It is basically a screen of plexiglass that sits in the cup holder and it has to be positioned JUST RIGHT in order to reflect back the words that are coming off the projector at the far end of the auditorium.  The problem with Marie is that she also has ADHD.  She fiddles with it and fiddles with it until it is covered in popcorn butter and it is impossible to read the words. Plus, it must be damn annoying to the movie patrons sitting anywhere near us.

Well, yesterday the heavens opened up and dropped down a device only God could have made to relieve me of my signing duties…a small device that also sits in the cup holder but has closed captions.  Marie positioned it perfectly to fit her view of the screen the same as she watches closed captioning on television.  To her it was no miracle.  She’s used to closed captioning, and it probably didn’t mean all that much, because she gets to enjoy the movie either way.  But for me, it WAS a miracle. For the first time in NINE YEARS I finally got to enjoy that delicious (?) movie popcorn and I could watch the movie and actually enjoy it.  It was the BEST MOVIE EVER!!!!!

 

I’d be remiss if I didn’t remember to mention my e-book available on I-Books, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kindle, etc.  The Apple Tree:  Raising 5 Kids with Disabilities and Remaining Sane.

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