Random Stories

You can be forgiven if you think this post title is a reference to WWYG?! generally, but that is not the case.

In fact, random stories is what Sarah and Grace request of me while we drive here and there during errands to pass the time. In form, these are impromptu tales (often--by specific request--with no teaching moral) that I am expected to construct on the fly with no preparation.

In recent weeks I have told short stories about:

1.) a brick that once lived in a wall, was knocked out of said wall, carried across town in a dog's mouth, then eventually ended up in a decorative path in front of a house.

2.) a dog named Woofy who was descended from Blackbeard's Pirate Dog, tasked with guarding the treasure chest in a Florida cave.

3.) Joe the college student who spiced up his humdrum job of advertising a barber shop with a roadside sign by dressing up in a different costume every day. He got catcalls and car honks, but his growing notariety led to a local news story and a college scholarship in the theatre department.

4.) the strange tale of a sentient bologna sandwich that led a revolt of foods against their human oppressors.

Ultimately, you had to be there, I'm sure. But I like the challenge.

-- Posted From My iPhone (so, I apologize in advance for any typos I missed)

Hannah

She's very "demanding" these days. When she isn't happy with what you have decided to do (a not infrequent occurrance, let me assure you), she immediately responds with a boisterous NO! and a quick whine.

Some days it seems that I get 7 or 8 of those reactions each morning.

But, she loves to go on walks--more than I can say for the older two. Sure, they may be meandering walks that don't get you very far. But you'll learn the location of every barking dog and are guaranteed to stop to get a better look at any ant that crosses the sidewalk. (And she'll even step on them. Where does that dominance over ants thing cms from?) But she also tries to converse with the ants. Usually by saying HEY ANT!


-- Posted From My iPhone (so, I apologize in advance for any typos I missed)

Vertigo . . .or whatever it is

Lately I've been struggling with an unexpected new source of physical problem.

Longtime readers of Why Won't You Grow?! are familiar with my pre-existing leg issues, childhood surgeries, and premature birth problems. And on a daily basis, these physical challenges are extremely minor and nothing to be concerned with at all.

But I have experienced some weird leg problems at church in recent months . . . problems that came to a surprising new height on Easter Sunday.

Here is what has been happening.

At church, I occasionally get to read the scripture as one of lay readers at the beginning of the service. And, as our volunteer organization is set up, the people that do the readings also help serve the communion wine during the Eucharist. When I am a reader, I have to get up and walk to the lectern to read the passage. Not really a problem, though I am a bit self-conscious about possibly tripping and falling in front of everyone. But it has never happened and really, its just walking. If I can't walk in front of people, I'm in pretty serious trouble.

The issue has developed when I am service as a chalice bearer during the communion at the end of the service. In this capacity, I have to stand near the altar and offer the chalice of wine to people as they pass. They take the chalice from me, take a sip, and give it back to me. Nothing too difficult, except that I am standing in front of everyone, managing to hand off & receive a ceramic cup full of wine again and again. I have always been a bit worried about mishandling the wine and dropping it. But this concern has begun to manifest itself into a weird leg spasm.

While I am worried in my head about mishandling the chalice handoff, my legs tense up. This leg tension results in my (always percarious) balance being thrown out of whack, causing me to get kind of dizzy and momentarily vertiginous. Naturally, this makes the smooth handoff of the wine chalice more and more difficult.

So, my psychological fear of dropping the chalice is now physically manifesting itself into something that can actually cause me to drop the chalice. sigh

And on Easter Sunday it got really bad. At the beginning of the communion service, I was handed the chalice by the deacon. I was then required to turn and walk to my position near the altar. But the fear from the inital handoff caused me to seize up and get a bit dizzy. Then while trying to calm down and turn my body to walk into position, I nearly lost my balance and fell . . . but didn't. I got into position, but was a bit rattled. (And perhaps it didn't help that I was wearing a suit--not normal attire, but it was Easter Sunday--and was a bit hot?)

ANYWAY. . . I managed to keep it together until halfway through the Eucharist. But randomly, I got psyched out again and seized up for a moment again. I literally had to reach out and grab hold of the unlucky parishoner who I was serving at the time. (Sorry Al!) He probably thought I was passing out because of locked knees or overheating or something. And I didn't want to get into a discussion of the problem in the middle of the service. But I assured him I was okay and everyone moved on. (I'm not even sure people noticed.) But then, it happened again a few more people down the line and someone did notice. She helpfully stepped up and asked if I wanted to let her finish . . . which I did. I quietly walked out into the hallway to cool off and drink some water. When I felt better the service was concluding and everything went along as normal.

Lynda hadn't even noticed that I had left, so I was reassured that I hadn't made a spectacle of myself. (But, it could have been worse, to be sure.)

And I thought . . . well, that was unfortunate. But I thought it was a mental thing that I could overcome. I was now nervous about it and preparing myself to do this thing. It was a predetermined result of my brain thinking about it before it happened. Maybe I could find a way to calm down, trust myself, and do my job.

Then . . . this past Sunday, I was going to receive the chalice from another person and my legs seized up on me as I took the cup to sip.

This time it was happening to me on the other side of the handoff. Even as a regular taker of the Eucharist, not as the provider, I was having the same psychological/physical freak out.

So, now . . . what do I do? How can I overcome this problem? I have long ago accepted the physical limitations that my condition set in me as a young kid. But it has never bothered me mentally until now. And I have never let my physical limitations prevent me from doing things in the past. I don't want to let this hold me back . . . but I'm not going to lie . . . I'm kind of concerned.

I don't expect an answer from you, Reader. I just wanted to take this chance to write something about it and hopefully take a step or two towards facing this (admittedly minor) problem. Maybe I can start to overcome it.

Italy or Denmark? Be honest.

The first thing that I'll be honest about when answering this question is that I'm not sure why I wouldn't be honest in the first place. Is there some sort of burning rivalry between Italy and Denmark that I don't want to get mixed up in?

*****

Well, I suspect that the answer to this question will reveal some important facet of my inner personality--some part of me that I desperately want to keep hidden from public view, but will be inexorably revealed by my choice. If I choose Italy, am I a seeker of power? Or does Italy reflect a deep-seated conservatism that simply won't be denied? On the other hand . . . if I choose Denmark, am I revealing to the world that I just want to have fun and damn all the cares of responsibility? Is it a northern climate versus a southern climate thing? Northern Europe versus Southern Europe? Staid versus hip? Ancient versus modern? Earth versus water? Swarthy and stolid versus nubile and fair?

I'm sure you won't be stunned that I pick Italy.

*****

Italy carries with it the promise of stellar food, fantastic ruins, history at every turn, museums and art. And while I know that Denmark can offer all of that . . . in addition to what I am sure is some particularly awesome post-modern architecture . . . I still would not miss the chance to go to Italy. Because if I had the opportunity to actually go, I'd want to go there MORE than I'd want to go to Denmark . . . because I might never get another chance. And if a chance to go to Italy was missed, I'd be more sad to miss it than I would be sad to miss Denmark.

Anyway, that's my answer.

Thanks for asking.

Ask me anything

Is it worth the effort and time to read Infinite Jest?

Yes, I think it is. But you must be prepared to read it one of two ways:

a.) embrace the entire monstrosity of the 1,100+ pages and struggle your way through non-linearity, footnotes that wander off into unknowns of optics and pharmaceuticals.

Or . . .

2.) choose a particular story--i.) the drug rehab story, ii.) the tennis academy story, iii.) the mystery of the Entertainment and focus on that.

The first time I read the book, I threw myself in whole hog, was awash in confusion, and tried to hold it all together.

The second time I read it, I cut out the drug rehab story and simply tried to focus on the other two threads.

IJ is a book that must be read more than once, no matter what you do, so just take a chance and try to find things to enjoy. While this wasn't my first exposure the David Foster Wallace, it will be the work that he is going to always be remembered for. So if you are interested in DFW at all, you should give Infinite Jest a try.

(But if you simply give up, I will recommend "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again" until my dying day. Make SURE you sit down to read that one.)

(And if you can't take IJ, please, please, please give "House of Leaves" a chance instead.)

And but so, that's my answer.

Thanks for asking.

Ask me anything