Humor and Me by Bonnie Le Hamilton

To start with, Konnie asked me to write something humorous this week.

My response: Excuse me?

“Well, you’ve done it before.”

“I have?” Really?

You see, I haven’t got a sense of humor. I never have.

 I am on the spectrum. Not that I knew that growing up. Clearly, I didn’t because when we were growing up Autism was something that only white BOYS got. Definitely, not me.

There were plenty of clues, and I know I’ve mentioned some of them that were dismissed because of other circumstances, like my being slow to speak English. Konnie and I used what is called twin speak for a long time.

Anyway, there were several clues that were explained away, and one clue was my lack of a sense of humor.

I have a clear memory of the first time I watched Star Trek, the original series. I was empathetic with Spock and his inability to comprehend jokes. He was totally literal and logical. I got that!

For a short while, I even wished I was a Vulcan and wondered why I wasn’t.

I do not get jokes.

Case in point: way back in sixth grade, a male classmate came up to me on the playground and asked me how long my hair was and if it was curly or straight. I couldn’t understand such a stupid question, and in answer, I kept indicating my hair which he could obviously see. He repeated the questions a couple of times and seemed to get annoyed that I kept indicating the hair on my head.

Finally, he started to walk away but his parting shot was that Konnie had told him her hair was about a foot long and straight.

Yeah, I was still confused because that was obvious. I was even more confused when he put his hand down around his knee and chuckled, saying something that I never really caught at the time.

I stood there for a couple of minutes after he walked trying to figure out what was wrong with this fool, then I realized what he said as he walked away laughing.

Oh.

Okay, that was not funny; it was just gross. And right up the alley for an immature pre-teen male.

Plus, I can remember as a teen our family watching a show called Star Search (think of it as a variation of America’s Got Talent). This show has several categories and each week the winner from the week before went up against a new challenger. There was a point when a winner would be “retired” from the show if they won a set number of weeks in a row.

Well, there was a comedy section, and they did stand-up comedy routines.

My family, Konnie included, began determining who won each week by how much I laughed.

Let me be quite clear that I usually would only occasionally snicker; full belly laughs were uncommon. Still are.

One fellow could get me rolling on the floor laughing so hard.

Yeah, hands down he won. No contest. He ended up getting “retired” from the show.

I’m just sorry his acting career didn’t go off as well. He was funny, but he didn’t write the scripts for the movies he was in. I mean “First Kid” was okay but wasn’t anywhere near as funny as he was in his comedy routine.

And I’m not saying he couldn’t act, it was a good movie, but not roll-on-the-floor laughing.

And that isn’t the only instance when I didn’t get the joke.

You know that one about the elephant in the pajamas? I still think that one is ridiculous. And I generally groan over puns.

I can remember our Dad telling jokes and I’d look at him and say, “That doesn’t even make sense,” or try to tell him why what he said wouldn’t happen or couldn’t be, you know, logically which always got the rest of the family laughing uproariously.

And remember what I said about empathizing with Spock? Let me tell you my other favorite characters from the Star Trek universe.

Data, The Doctor (Voyager), and Seven-of-Nine.

See what they have in common?

Yeah, they are all logical.

I’m not saying I can’t be humorous. I clearly recall an essay I wrote in college that had the professor chortling. His assignment was to write a “how to” paper, and it had to be something we knew how to do well.

Trying to be original, I decided to write how to change a diaper on a kid who crawls inchworm-like on her back.

Believe me, Konnie and I had plenty of experience with that thanks to our oldest niece.

But funny? Naw, not me. I was just saying it like it was. I still am.

I don’t get humor.

Anyway, happy writing everyone!

 

Of Overkill and Negativity by Konnie Enos

I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m getting rather fed up with all the texts, phone calls, flyers and visits bombarding us right now.

Every single day I get at least a handful of texts and a stack of flyers in the mail. We’ve had multiple phone calls and visits from people trying to do surveys or straight up extolling the virtues of their candidate most weeks. We are being blitzed with it.

Granted, it is such an extreme amount because there are six adults registered as voters at our residence. Never mind that two of those no longer live here. And my daughter says she’s still getting texts addressed to my oldest daughter about her voting options. My daughter who hasn’t had this as her legal address for about a decade, and it’s been longer than that since she gave her old phone, and number, to her little sister.

But seriously, why would any one household need two or three copies of the exact same flyer mailed to their house at least weekly for two months. I’m not kidding. I glance through the stack of mail we get each and every day and I’ll find duplicate flyers. One or more will be addressed to a specific voter while another one will be addressed to “Current Resident”. A few have been addressed to both my second born (who no longer lives here) and my third born (who does). (Oddly enough, those are the only two that are ever combined.)

Though, that is not my point.

My point is that we don’t need reminders every single day, from multiple sources that it is an election year or that we need to place our vote. Let alone all the daily reminders of who exactly is running for which positions.

I also detest how these flyers are worded. I kid you not when I say that most of them are diatribes against their opponents that say very little about the candidates themselves. I saw one were it went into detail listing all the legal issues one opponent had, plus one legal problem another one had yet did not say a single thing about the candidate the flyer was from.

Guess which candidate I refused to vote for.

If all you can do is sling mud at your opponents and not bother to tell me your platform then you are not getting my vote even if you are the most experienced and sensible candidate.

Unfortunately, it appears that most people running for an elected office of any kind seem to think that the only way to get votes is to sling mud. I don’t think we’ve received a single flyer that only stated the candidate’s viewpoint and platform.

I think the mud slinging is what I’m most sick of.

Why can’t we have candidates who only state their platforms and why they personally are the qualified for the position? Why do we have to have every candidate, even for the local city and county positions, slinging mud instead of stating their own qualifications?

I can remember the very first election I was qualified to vote in.

There were five registered voters in our household. There were no flyers in our mail every single day. There were no constant phone calls about voting. There were ads on TV and in the local papers, but they were not overwhelming and most of them simply stated their own platform. (I do remember a few that were slinging mud, and they irritated me then too.)

I’ve also lived in this house for nearly 20 years. Granted, only the last 16 years have had more than my husband and I as registered voters in this house, but I still don’t remember the complete blizzard of flyers in previous election years.

This constant bombardment and all this negativity is not pleasant and can completely turn people off of the whole process of voting for who will be running our government for the next few years. I know it’s turning me off.

Election years should be only about providing accurate information on the platforms and qualifications of the candidates and should never be about candidates throwing accusations and digging up dirt on their opponents.

If I could craft the perfect election year the candidates for any and all offices would be given specific dates, times and places where they could address the voting population with who they are and what their platform is. I would also censor any attempts at slinging mud including not allowing any debates since that would present opportunities for candidates to ridicule their opponents.

Basically, I’m just sick and tired of the negativity. Why can’t this process be more civilized?

I can’t wait for this to all be over next week.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Oops! by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I totally forgot what day it was. It didn’t even dawn on me that I had a post to write, mostly because I had so much else occupying my mind.

I have a ton of stuff I need to accomplish around the house, and I am not ready for Nano (National Novel Writer’s Month) this year, not by a long shot. I had hoped I would be ready to start book three of my sci-fi series, but I haven’t written enough of book two to be ready for that—not anywhere near.

And I might not actually do Nano because I need to get my house in tip-top shape before a housing inspection, I just don’t have time to do all that much writing. I wish I did.

And I wish I had remembered I had the post this week sooner, sorry about the short post.

Anyway, happy writing everyone.

Of Elusive Smells and Clutter by Konnie Enos

 

It all started with an unidentifiable unpleasant smell.

My daughter, and to a lesser extent my son, have an acute sense of smell. At least they can smell things that their dad and I can’t. Now, where I’m concerned, that’s easy to understand. My olfactory nerve hasn’t been functioning properly for years and COVID sure didn’t help matters. So while it does work, I wouldn’t say it’s doing the best job right now.

Anyway a few days ago my daughter started complaining about the smell in our bedroom. Even though it hasn’t been a week since the last time we washed all our bedding, my husband took all the blankets that get the most use and rewashed them. He even took the sheet we’ve been using as a curtain down and washed it. He also opened out the windows to air things out.

I kind of assumed it was the curtain/sheet because I don’t think it’s been washed in years. But we also don’t usually open our windows so airing it out could help too.

I was hopeful. I mean, I still couldn’t smell anything.

No such luck.

The very next day both were in my room, working in tandem to determine where it was coming from. They were walking around my room, sniffing.

I’m thinking they’re going to say it is on or around my bed. And then eliminate Xavier or our bedding. (I’ll admit it. I don’t take a bath every single day. I do, however, bathe regularly and it’s not like I go out and about unwashed.) I figured Xavier was the most likely culprit because he has very smelly farts.

After several minutes of sniffing (literally) around our room they easily eliminated the area around our bed. They then focused on the desk and chair. Then they focused on the dresser, or at least the end of the dresser nearest the desk.

Then my daughter started complaining that the smell was “coming and going”. It was while she was complaining about it that I actually got a very brief whiff of this mystery smell. My son said he’d thought it was coming from our vent but it made so sense since the vent was nearest our bed and it wasn’t on that end of the room.

Anyway, in the end, they were unsuccessful in tracking down what is causing that scent. My son now thinks they are going to have to at least completely empty the dresser and move every last thing in that corner by where it was the strongest and scrub everything.

The only actual furniture there is the dresser and the shelf that sits across the top of it. It is a long eight drawer dresser, and the shelf isn’t small either. The hardest part of the whole thing would be the dresser and shelf are crammed full. Not to mention the pile of stuff packed into the corner by that end of the dresser.

It’d take a couple of days just to clear everything besides the furniture out.

None of us feel like taking on that task so they started trying to figure out other options.

My son’s suggestion was to spray some Febreze in here. He at least asked if he could.

No. Not unless I’m not in here and not apt to be for at least an hour. I prefer breathing, and believe it or not, Febreze does have a scent. One that kicks off my allergies and asthma. Spraying Lysol isn’t possible for the same reasons.

As of writing this, they have not yet found the source of the smell or attempted to spray any scent inhibitors. Meaning the mystery hasn’t been solved yet, though I have no doubt my daughter will renew the investigation the next time she is annoyed by that elusive scent.

Had I not gotten that one brief whiff of it, I might assume they were making it up in order to get us to clean our cluttered room. On one hand, I’d love to declutter our room. On the other hand, cleaning it up won’t help.

Seriously. We’ll clean out the closet or clear his desk, or I’ll try to organize my nightstand better, and it’s back to buried in this mess within a day or two.

Most of the clutter is because I’m married to a pack rat, who inherited his tendencies from his pack rat mother and grandmother. (Not all, because I am trying to cram a lot of stuff into a relatively small area.) So, I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle, and it may be years before we figure that elusive smell out.

Maybe I should just abandon my room for a day and them Febreze and Lysol it to death in hopes it will eradicate that order.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Of Nightmares and Restless Legs by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I think I scared poor Patches out of one of his nine lives this past weekend.

Konnie undoubtedly sympathizes with him. She’s experienced it, too. The only thing is, I haven’t done that in decades—at least, I don’t think I have; Tom never complained.

And what is it that I did?

Well, this time it started with a nightmare. I’ve had lots of nightmares over the years, but well, it’s been decades since the last time, that I know of, that I kicked out during the nightmare.

The first recorded time was when we were preschoolers, and Konnie and I shared a twin bed.

She ended up on the floor.

Sorry, Konnie.

There were later complaints by our big sister and the oldest of our little brothers after having to share a queen bed altogether.

Our mother wasn’t pleased to find the blankets on the floor at the foot of the bed every morning either. Actually, neither was our babysitter when we spent the night at her place.

You see, I have this tendency to kick, sometimes a lot at night.

I honestly thought I outgrew it sometime between my early teens when I no longer had to share a bed with anybody, and when I got married, because, like I said, Tom never complained.

But now Patches, if he were human, could testify that I have not stopped doing it.

You see, early Sunday morning, I was in the throes of a vivid nightmare where I was attempting to keep a gunman from entering the place where I was. At some point, I decided pressing my considerable weight against the door wasn’t working and I needed to use my strongest muscle, which is with any woman, my legs.

I kicked out at the door and sent almost everything on my over-the-bed desk sailing off the foot of the bed, where Patches had been sleeping. I opened my eyes in time to see him streak out of the room with his tail all fluffed out.

Most certainly scared and possibly miffed at me. It was hours before he decided to come back into the bedroom.

Though I did realize that when I’m sleeping, or at least trying to sleep, he’s either clear at the foot of the bed, or up by my head. When I’m not trying to sleep, you can usually find him under that desk, and/or on my feet. Now I think he stays away from my legs when I’m sleeping.

Meaning, I have been kicking in my sleep. I just haven’t kicked the blankets off the foot of the bed in decades.

It’s amazing Tom never said anything.

I mean, my siblings were complaining about sharing a bed with me long before our babysitter would put us all in the same queen bed every time we spent the night. And not long after that, our mother made sure we had a twin bed to ourselves. I never had to share again, until I got married. And now I only share with my cat, who is currently curled up at the foot of my bed.

I just find it strange that I thought I’d outgrown that little habit, only to do it again in a most spectacular way.

And believe me, that was quite a mess. The only things left on my desk were one small tray holding some notepads, my laptop, and my CPAP machine. And it’s a good thing those last two didn’t go sailing.

The one I regretted the most was that cup full of my pens, pencils, and extra styluses. What a mess!

And I sincerely hope I never do something like that again!

I had honestly thought that kicking out like that was on par with night terrors, which all children eventually outgrow.

I lived through those. As Konnie knows well. My oldest child did that until he was around six, which included one time when we were visiting Konnie and her family in Washington.

Woke up the whole apartment. Sorry, but I did warn you.

Actually, I have a minor character in one of my stories that has night terrors. She did wake up the whole house, but some of them didn’t know there's a huge difference between nightmares and night terrors.

And maybe I should have a character whose legs move a ton while they are asleep. Not sure, since it’s been a long time since anyone complained about me doing that.

Though I could definitely write a scene where character A lays down for bed then seconds later sits up and starts talking to character B, until character B, in a desperate attempt to get some sleep, punches character A in the eye.

By the way, Jacki, you deserved that black eye!

Anyway, happy writing everyone!