I’m a true believer in the concept that anyone can choose to be happy, in any circumstance. I understand it seems impossible at times. Times of loss, of grief, of depression can darken the world around us to the extent that there is no light to be found anywhere. And yet…
There is a time to grieve. Being sad and allowing ourselves to be sad is a vital part of the healing process. There is benefit in sadness in that it allows us to relax our expectations of ourselves.
I remember when my father died. I was fourteen at the time, an only child, and my mother was devastated. I was sad, of course, but I refused to allow myself to show it in front of her. I felt that I needed to be strong for her. Days before he died (it was completely unexpected–a sudden heart attack) he sat me down and told me that as long as I could laugh, I could survive anything. They were, obviously, words I took deeply to heart. And so, at his funeral I sat beside my mother and I said something to make her laugh. I can’t not believe that my father would have wanted that. He was an extremely funny man, and he loved to make people laugh, as I do.
I wonder about the psychology behind making her laugh – was it because if she could, I wouldn’t lose her too?
Was it actually happiness? No. But I have since, through all the trials and tribulations I have faced with failed marriages, with disabled children, decided to be happy. I can let it all get to me or I can laugh.
It can be difficult. It can be done. But it’s not for everyone.
For some random reason I was thinking today about a series of prank phone calls I received a while back and, as I often do, I thought about what I should have said. Don’t you hate it when that happens? Thinking of the perfect response half an hour – or half a year – later is one of my pet peeves. But I digress.
These particular calls came one night when I was alone in the house, trying to get some hard-earned sleep. They started after midnight with someone, a party blasting in the background, asking me for somebody I wasn’t. Apparently it was so hilarious that Mona or whoever they were looking for wasn’t at my number that they called back again. And again. And again. Drunk out of their gourds, I think they were passing the phone around each time they dialed.
Back to my brilliant idea. What I should have done:
Me: Domino’s Pizza
Them: (or so I imagine they would say) Hey, you dialed Domino’s!
Me: How can I help you?
Them: You guys want a pizza?
Me: Will that be for delivery?
Them: Sure!
Me: (muffling a giggle) What’s your address? Phone number?
Ah, drunk people are just too easy. At least in my imagination. If I ever get a chance to try this, I’ll let you know how it goes.
After my horrotacular first evening in Tokyo which you can read about here, I rose early the next morning, got my shit together, and headed off to the train station. Fortunately it wasn’t the same station from which I’d wandered the night I arrived; it was much easier to find. You can bet I asked for detailed directions from the hotel staff when I checked out though.
I was on my way to Kamakura, but the plan was to stop at Yokohama Station to meet Jay Dee, most famous from here on WordPress at I Read Encyclopedias for Fun. Here’s a link to his latest post. Fortunately our meeting went as planned, and we had a lovely chat over coffee (for me) and cocoa (for Jay). After that I hung out at the station for a while. Here’s what I wrote afterward, and a picture I took from inside the station:
Having a couple of hours to kill before I was due at my next hotel, I found a nice pillar to lean against and I just stood there for about twenty minutes, enjoying the mild temperature blowing in from outside. In the air was the aroma of cocoa and as I watched the people walking by I felt as though I was floating comfortably in a sea of humanity. It struck me how incredibly safe it is here — children as young as perhaps seven years old, one with a four year-old trailing after her, passed by unaccompanied by an adult.
Yokohama Station, from my pillar
Eventually I left my post and went to speak to an information clerk who told me how to use one of the ghastly train ticket machines. I did so with no problem though. I wouldn’t have had any idea had I not been given instructions.
So off to Kamakura I went. It’s a wonderful little town south of Tokyo and I’m so glad I decided to spend the next four days there. I’ll write more about it next time.
Remember last week when I tripped over the suitcase in the dark? I have the weirdest injury from that. There’s a spot on the outside of my knee that’s numb except when I touch the front of my knee. If I touch it lightly it feels as though someone is rubbing their fingernail down the numb spot. If I forget about it and kneel on it, it hurts like hell. Nerve damage anyone?
I spent twenty minutes this afternoon looking for an excuse to have a glass of red wine. I finally found one. I shared it on my Facebook page, which, if you’re not following you should be. Here, I’ll make it easy for you to find it. https://www.facebook.com/lindaghill.fiction Cheers!
I’m absolutely dying to get to my notes from Japan and share them with the world. Alex is better today again, (yesterday was horrible but that seems to have passed) so with any luck he’ll be back at school tomorrow. 😀 I’m also hoping that the urge I’ve been feeling today to be more creatively sociable will remain with me. I want to start interacting more on Twitter and Facebook. It’ll be a challenge, but I think I’m up to it.
I have to admit I’m getting a little antsy over my novel’s beta readers. The only feedback I’ve had so far is that the first 20 or so pages weren’t that interesting. I know I can improve them. What I don’t know is if anyone got past them… *bites nails*
We haven’t had much snow here but it’s freakin’ cold. Here’s a picture of me in a 20km/hr, -26°C head wind:
In other news, we have a temporary cat. Actually, two of them. They go with the temporary cave dweller in my basement, also known as my eldest son. The good news is, the more sociable of the cats is keeping Alex busy. I’ll get pictures soon. Right now I believe Alex is trying to pry the cat out of a box…
Maybe I was dreaming of my prompt this morning but when I dreamed this morning it was of the poles changing direction. I dreamed of the end of the world. The water in my house didn’t work, the sewers were running backwards as was a natural spring in my house that reversed and became muddy and the electricity went out. Several times I think I woke a little (because Alex was coughing) but I drifted back each time into the dream, knowing I was dreaming but unable to stop it. I don’t remember if I was awake to imagine the end of the world but I stood with my children and told them I loved them as the world imploded…
And so then I was thinking I should tell Alex’s dad that he’s still sick but I may send him to school on Monday regardless since he doesn’t seem contagious, which led me to think of the word “irregardless” which shouldn’t be a word. Should it? Spell check likes it. But it makes no sense. To “irregard,” one would think, would be a negative meaning “not to regard” and so putting a “less” on the end turns “irregardless” into a double negative meaning to regard. So sending Alex to school regarding his cough would be senseless… (Yes, Doobster, I looked up the Webster’s definition of “irregardless” but the looking up of it was ruining the flow of my writing which is why I didn’t copy and paste it.)
And so this is an account, really, of my morning so far. Not really stream of consciousness thought (though it was at the time) but I have written this unedited and as it came back to me, which is kind of a double negative in and of itself.
The good news is, if you have made it to the end of this post, at least the world hasn’t ended yet. Hooray!
I’m sitting in bed with twenty minutes left to get my jotting done before today changes to tomorrow. I have a glass of wine by my side and the world at my very fingertips and I’m kind of marveling, as I sometimes do, at how much the world has changed since I learned to type.
I started on my mother’s 80lb cast iron Underwood. I remember being determined to learn to touchtype even as my fingers missed the keys (which had to be punched as hard as I could muster) and got jammed painfully between them and the hammers (is that what they were called?) got stuck together whenever I hit two keys too close together and the bell dinged when I reached the end of the line. My idea of a computer was the monster at my school which took up an entire room and ate punch cards by the hundreds every minute.
And how many years later? Thirty five very short ones when you consider how long the earth has been around – I’m sitting in bed with a computer on my lap, a tablet and a phone by my side which are all capable of reaching almost any given place on the planet in an instant. Think about it. Seriously, think about it.
I suppose it’s a question for the superstitious of us: yes, I am one.
When something out of the ordinary happens and then happens again within the space of a day, I expect it to happen yet again. Soon. It’s dreadful if two people die unexpectedly. It’s kind of exciting if I hear from two people from my past. In my case, today I had the latter happen.
First, I spoke to an old friend from my MySpace days. (Yeah, that’s a long time ago, right? Gotta be.) And second, I was contacted on Facebook by my ex husband. The one I would have shared a 32nd wedding anniversary with this year. I spoke to him on the phone too, for the first time in more than 20 years.
Will there be a third? Or have I voided the possibility by asking the question? Ah, there’s another superstition.
I used to hate people who told me, with their nose seemingly turned up in disdain, that they didn’t watch TV. That was back when I used to do barely anything else when I got home from work at night. Knit and watch TV. Every single night.
Fast forward to now: I never watch TV. I don’t turn my nose up at people who do – I understand that their leisure time is as valuable to them as mine is to me – they just choose to do something different with it. But I do have to say that I’m really feeling the effects of NOT watching it. Why?
Pop-culture can be very important in any work of art. It has the ability to connect the artist to his audience in a unique way, like, remember where you were when the last episode of M*A*S*H was aired? Or when we heard those famous words, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”? Can you? I can. But do I know a damned thing about what’s going on on “The Office”? No.
In the spirit of my prompt for these first ten days of January here on Just Jot It January, I decided to allow my mind wander along the thread of inspiration endowed upon me by this post by Opinionated Man on HarsH ReaLiTy.
My question for the day: when is it okay to say anything?
I once worked for a woman who owned a wool shop. It was an interesting job in that I was in a position to help people with their knitting and crocheting projects; this included aiding them in getting the right yarn for their pattern. While I worked hard to make sure they would meet with the maximum amount of success with their finished article, my boss would say anything to make a sale. Not happy with the colours the proper materials come in? Sure, that other one will work. No. It won’t, I used to think to myself. But how can you argue with the owner of a store in front of a customer? She did this knowing full well that in 99% of cases the customer wouldn’t come back and complain because they would think it was their fault for not doing something correctly. The patrons who would complain were knowledgeable enough not to buy the wrong product in the first place.
When I did say something to my unscrupulous boss, she brushed it off, insisting that the project the poor customer was about to embark upon, their hours and hours of work, would come out fine.
Honesty is one of the virtues I hold in highest importance. Bad sales practices are not confined to the retailers you might think they are. Keep your eyes open and do your research.
I’d like to tell you a story. It’s a true story of a weary traveler who landed after a thirteen hour flight in a country far far away from home. Alone, tired, and barely able to read the signs or speak the language, she found a train that would take her to a station close to the hotel in which she was booked for the night.
Crude map in hand, and fully equipped with an address, she approached a policeman who was standing guard at a road block and showed him her piece of paper. Much to her astonishment, he directed her to go in the exact opposite direction to which she believed she was supposed to go. This should have been her first clue, indicating what was to come. After a little wandering around, she decided to ignore his directions and go where she thought she should. So far, so good.
She walked a little way and came across another hotel. Surely, she thought, they would know where their competition was located! Sure enough she was rewarded with success – another, even clearer map of where she was to go. So off she went.
She had been informed by the website from which she had made the reservation that the hotel was only a ten minute walk from the train station. She wandered along sparsely lit streets, dragging enough luggage for an eleven day trip behind her, quite positive that soon she would recline on a cozy bed, softly slipping into dreamland.
An hour later, she stopped at a convenience store. Whilst waiting to speak to the busy clerk, a stranger stepped up and asked her if she was looking for directions. In English! (It must have been the two maps in her hand that made him ask.) Yes! She replied and showed him the address of the hotel. Oh dear, he said. That is indeed a long way away.
And so she set off again, trudging down dark unfamiliar streets, the traffic on the wrong side of the road and the sidewalks non-existent. Had she never visited this far away country before and felt supremely safe there, she would have lost her shit by now.
After several miles back in the direction she had come, she stopped at yet another convenience store – one that appeared to be on her initial map, a landmark promising that she was close to her destination. Finally.
The clerk there, in broken English, told her she needed to go up the street – again, not in the direction she would have gone, but he was quite insistent. So off she crawled, lugging behind her her tonnes of luggage. By the time she reached the train tracks from which she could, in the distance, see the station at which she had disembarked from her train she was almost in tears. And so she set off in the direction of a large supermarket, hoping that there, someone would be able to finally give her a definite direction.
It was by chance that she came across and made the decision to go into a car-rental office. She stepped up to the desk with her luggage and placed her two maps on the counter.
Help, she whispered, holding back the tears. Three men behind the counter shuffled about, trying to make sense of this woman, our poor traveler. She attempted to speak their language but came out instead with a word here and there and, in her extreme exhaustion, flailed about in sign language, gesturing her utter desperation until the three employees were all but backing away in fear. And then he appeared. Her knight in shining armor.
With one glance at the original map, which just happened to have GPS coordinates included in the address, he gestured to her, Come with me.
She heaved her luggage into the trunk (he wasn’t that gallant) and slipped into the passenger seat as he punched in the coordinates on his street finder, and within seconds they were whipping in and out of traffic in that little rental Toyota. Three minutes later they were at her hotel. Eureka!!!!
He popped open the trunk and went into the lobby while she struggled with her suitcases, wheeling them finally through the door of her refuge. The knight (Sir Non-Gallant) spoke to the desk clerk, laughed a little (by this time she didn’t care) and she thanked him profusely for dropping her off.
And that is how she came to rest, finally, sixteen and three-quarter hours from the time she had boarded her plane to the moment her head hit the pillow and she drifted off into a thankful slumber.
And thank God for little GPS-equipped Toyotas and the marvelous, kind-hearted Japanese men who rent them out.
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