Writing is like being able to put life into a snow globe. It takes the things that are too big and scary and reduces them into a form that I can put away when I want and look at from a distance. It also takes all that’s good in life and captures it into something I can take out when I want and look at close up and keep forever. It makes the bad things into something I can hold…and the good things into something I can hold onto. Both help so much that I need that little souvenir of life.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

The Truth Revealed

Maybe I exaggerated a teensy bit, but I do estimate that you couldn’t get a brush all the way through my hair for almost a decade. It was clean and everything, and the Rat’s Nest was usually hidden from view (especially for things like my Romper Room debut), but it lurked there mainly because no one in my family could withstand the blood-curdling screams emitted during attempts at Rat’s Nest removal. And cutting was out of the question. I was proud of the fact that I could sit on my hair.
Am pretty sure the candy striper who finally removed it, whose name really was something like Debbi, was a sadist-in-training who was eventually hired by a lesser known dictator to extract military secrets from prisoners of war.

I did learn to juggle in my late thirties. Not well, but to me it fulfilled enough of a lifelong dream just to learn to keep three balls in the air at once. Now if only I could do that figuratively....

I thought you’d think I’m too much of a “Carol” to have partied with Grace. This was not her heyday, by the way, and I was young enough—and she was sedate enough—that at the time I didn’t fully appreciate who she was.

When I picked the lie that I did, I forgot to consider that some of you might think it was impolite even to suggest that I can’t sing. I've had a long time to reconcile myself to it. My non-singing is so legendary that I giggled guiltily even typing such a whopper.

When my oldest was a newborn, I decided I would sing him to sleep just like those nice TV moms. I mean, how could he have any taste about the quality of my singing voice? Tabula rasa, right? So I took that swaddled baby and I rocked with him in the rocking chair and softly sang “Desperado,” because besides my horrible voice, I can never remember words to songs—except that one. And it didn’t sound too bad, if I do say so myself.

Even more amazing, it worked. He fell asleep in my arms. I was so proud! And then I noticed under the blanket…yes, I promise this really is true…his tiny fists were mashed firmly against his ears.

Plus I later read that newborns often respond to horrible noises by falling asleep.

As they grew, darned if those little “blank slates” didn’t moan, “NOOOO! Mom, STOP SINGING!!!” if I sang around them. Except during renditions of “Happy Birthday to You,” when they only snickered.

Do not overrate what you have received, nor envy others. He who envies others does not obtain peace of mind. ~Buddha


  1. ROFL, I do not know which I laughed at more the Rat's nest or the singing! I guess the singing because I actually could see your poor new born. :)

    BTW, I sing the same way. Maybe we could team up and fight crime through volume :D
    Jules @ Trying To Get Over The Rainbow

  2. Darn! Thought sure I had the right answer! But, at least I DID believe the rat's nest hair! LOL
    And....I guess I've never heard you sing! :)

  3. I can envision that baby with his little hands over his ears. You are funny.

  4. The Gracie Slick one was the truth? I am SO jealous!

  5. You, Jules and I could create our own little choir because I get the same thing from my kids - Oh Mom, please don't sing. I can never remember the words to songs either. I usually can't remember the title either or the singer! I usually go, you know that one song, that has that one word, that goes something like... (and no one would be able to recognize it if I attempted to sing). I'm so glad that the hair story was true! I loved it.

  6. Ha! You made me laugh. You're in good company with the baby situation. I read that when Celine Dion's son was a newborn she stopped trying to sing him to sleep because whenever she sang he cried! Can you imagine? Do you feel better now? LOL

  7. Well. I was sure I had it figured out. There goes my next career as a plainclothes detective. The singing threw me. I thought that anybody who had partied with Grace Slick must have a good set of pipes.


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