ROOFTOP – Jill called me on Friday night. I hadn’t talked to my kid sister in over a
week. It was about at the 40 minute mark of the conversation when she asked me
if I thought she was nuts. Seems one of our more remote family members told her
that the rest of the family thinks she’s nuts. So she said, “Moke, do you think
I’m nuts?”
Immediately,
I started pondering a bigger question. Is it wise to lie to a person who thinks
she might be nuts? It didn’t help that Jill had just told me about having to
get rid of one of her Facebook friends so she would have an even number of
friends. She doesn’t like to have an odd number of things. Does that make her
nuts? – No, I’m asking, “Does that make her nuts?”
Then it hit
me. Whop! This is Jill! Over the years, we’ve shared all secrets. Most secrets.
That’s when I said, “Of course you’re
nuts, Jill! Do you feel normal? No way!"
I went on
to tell her that I’m nuts. There were signs during First Grade. I’m the only
kid in Pasadena
who thought First Grade just lasted one day. I had no idea that I was supposed
to return for Day Two and Day Three and on to oblivion. (I’ve shared the story
with you.) And, there was no one who ever went to school more surprised about
“test day” than I did. – “What? A test? How were we supposed to know? Oh, she
told us before she wrote it on the board? Was I born yet?”
But forget
about my younger days. Right now, I’m sitting on a large pillow atop my roof,
pretending that you’re up here with me. If ever there were a sign of nutness
that’s it. In fact, when I said I was “pretending” you were up here, I lied.
Some of you are sitting to the left of me, some to the right of me… Reminds
me. I memorized “The Charge of the Light
Brigade” in high school. -- “Cannon to the right of me. Cannon to the left of
me. Cannon in front of me volleyed and thundered. Storm'd at with shot and
shell, boldly they rode and well, into the jaws of death, into the mouth of
hell rode the 600.” I saw the movie before I knew there was a poem. Tennyson
wrote the poem. Alfred Lord. Errol Flynn starred in the movie.
So... where was I? Oh
yeah, I’m nuts. The point I was trying to make with Jill was that being abnormal
isn’t bad. After all, what is the measure one uses to determine normality? Or
“normalcy” as Warren G. Harding, our 29th President called it.
Harding was one of those persons whose middle name or initial was crucial in
name recognition. Like Ulysses Grant. You take the initial of his middle name out and I
don’t know who you’re talking about. Nobody ever says “Edgar Poe.” I don’t know
an Edgar Poe. It’s Edgar Allan Poe. Isn’t that weird? It’s like Alfred Lord
Tennyson. All along, I thought his middle name was Lloyd.-- Forget that. It's nothing like that.
By the time
I finished my discussion on being crazy, Jill was convinced that she was the
sane one. I’m pretty sure she was tempted to tell me that everybody in the
family thinks I’m nuts, but fears hurting my feelings. Ridiculous. I’ve come
to embrace my condition.
I’ve never
really felt normal or natural, ordinary, typical or regular. Definitely not
regular. I stood in HEB yesterday for a full three minutes trying to figure out
if the slightly higher price per ounce on the quart jar of prune juice was
worth not buying the big jug that I’d have to wrestle with.
Okay, enough of that. Let’s move on to—What?
Where’d the time go? Sorry about that. So, uh, watch your step on the way down.
I’m going to stay up here a bit longer to settle my mind. – Beg pardon? Of
course you don’t have to leave. I’ve always appreciated your company. So, what
say we look to the eastern sky? No, to your right… – Next time.
end
mark@rooftopwriter.com –
Please tune in on Wednesdays at noon (CST) to listen to Mark and Kay on “Hanging
with the Hayters”. -- FM 104.5 and 106.1
for local listeners, and www.irlonestar.com
for all parts of the planet. You can find videos of past shows on YouTube.
from one nut to another...I love this one.
ReplyDeleteI just stayed at a hotel that Jill would love. It's called "EVEN". There are no odd-numbered rooms. Only even numbers. True story. There's one in Omaha. And one near Times Square.
ReplyDelete