Syria, the Dime, and the Southland - Part 2

So I type the original post with this title the other night and was pretty proud that I've been writing more.  As silly as it seems, writing is the key to my sanity.  (Well, that and a daily dose of lemonade from a guy named Mike)  I mentioned this "therapy" to someone and they said, "Oooohhh, what do you write?  Do you journal or keep track of the kids progress or list your daily accomplishments?"

"Uh, no.  I write what I need to get out of my head.  Mostly smart ass observations about life.  The other day I wrote a letter to Sawyer's ear tube."

"Oh."

I can't even remember who it was I was talking to because the conversation ended right there.

Regardless, I truly feel that my mental state is improving because I am blowing off more and more daily chores in order to sit and type on my blog.

I wrote the first post about Syria and was congratulating myself on getting such a random, scattered conversation out of the kids.  As exasperating as they are, I always remind myself that they will be funnier later.  I sent the link to my Dad who has yet to figure out how to get on my blog.  I got tired of waiting to hear what he thought of it so I called him.

"Did you read the article I sent yet?"

"No, I haven't had a chance.  It's about Syria?"

"Nah, that's just the title.  It's actually about General Scales."

"Bob Scales?"

"Yeah, about the time I sliced my foot open and he drove me to the hospital."

"That wasn't General Scales."

"Yes it was.  General Scales, he's on Fox News all the time!"

"I know which General Scales you're talking about.  It wasn't him.  He was the commander at Carlisle Barracks much later than that.  He was a good guy though, I really liked him."

Okay, at this point, I'm sitting my butt on the cold hard floor as the rug has just been swept out from under me.

"Mary, are you there?"

I was able to get out an audible whisper, "It wasn't General Scales?"

"No, it was General ______." 

"It wasn't General Scales?"


Let's pause while I reflect:
There have been a few times in my life that I have found things out long after the fact.  Things I wasn't told because, "we didn't want to upset you."

One was that the "cargo" in the aisle of the plane in which we flew "Space A" home from a vacation in Germany, where my siblings and I sat in bucket seats along the walls of the plane, was not in fact a pile of suitcases.   It was a casket!  Some poor family had lost their daughter while living in Germany and they were on the plane to take the body back to the States.  Here we were throwing things back and forth to each other over this child's body and no one bothered to tell me.  I found out about 10 years later.

Another time was when I was watching a documentary on Pan Am Flight 103 that went down over Lockerbie.  A women whose husband had died in the crash was talking about him.  The name of the guy was the same name of my cousins' first husband.  Hmmmmm, you can put the pieces together yourself for that one.  I knew this guy as a kid.  You would think someone MIGHT have mentioned it along the way.

So there it was: Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Leprechauns....and now General Scales.



My Dad laughs. "Mary, are you there? I'm sorry."

"I've told people that story for a hundred years.  Well, since General Scales has been on Fox News."

"Well, you've been telling them the wrong name."

I made a sound....a whimper I think.  I was crushed.


Fast forward about two hours and I'm up in Tali's room discussing her homework.  She needed to write four journal entries from a fictitious person who was alive during the Continental Congress about the direction he thought the country was heading.  Let's just make it clear, I didn't know what was going on the FIRST time I had this stuff in school.

I get a text from an family friend making fun of his sister.  It's a long story, but basically, she uses bleach to wash her vegetables and it totally creeps him out.  I think the back and forth is hilarious so I tend to egg on discussions between them regarding the subject. 

He sent her a note (and copied me) saying to keep her bleach for her husbands' "tightie whities."

I was laughing and suggested they both send me their bleach as I need them for Baby Charlie's "tidy whities."  Then, in a bold, authoritative, idiotic move, I said, "Yes, I just corrected your spelling of 'tidy!'"

He then said, "Really?  I might have misspelled 'tighty,' but I'm cracking up that you thought it was 'tidy' whities."  He then proceeds to include the link to Webster's Dictionary definition of "tighty-whities."

OH MY GOD!

How have I lived on this Earth for 45 years and not known that it was "tighty" not "tidy?"  I knew what they were.  I got the meaning of non-loosely fitted underwear, but how in the world did I not know it wasn't the word for a clean and neat space.  I mean, the oxymoron itself is beyond belief!

So there it is.  Twice in one night, a truth from my childhood was crushed like an ant under my great-niece's shoe!  (She likes to crush bugs.   Her sister likes to get down on the side walk and try to kiss their boo-boos.  No lie!)

And in the space of two hours I am caused to start questioning every reality in my life!