Tag Archives: humor

Touching the Moon

I hold her little hand as we walk the four blocks to the park.  My cat, Tigress, follows us part way until I tell her to go home. Tigress sits on the grass and watches us cross the street.

“Stay home, Tigress,” she admonishes. It’s 6:30 in the evening and the birds are chirping. A whistling symphony seems to be coming from the trees themselves.

“Listen to the birds,” I say.

She looks up and scans the treetops. “The birds,” is all she says in her tiny little voice.

We turn the corner and cross another street.

“Your mommy went to this school,” I tell her, as we walk alongside the Elementary.

“My mommy’s school,” she says.

We reach the park and make our way to the playground. Her eyes light up when she sees the jungle gym. I find myself shadowing her every move. I was never such a mother hen with my own kids.

“Let’s go on the swing.” There I will have her in a confined, safe place.

“The slide?”

“No, the swing. Come, I’ll show you.”

We slog through the sandpit that is the playground and I lift her into a baby swing. She grabs on with a death grip. I get her going and then sit on a regular swing. I stick my legs straight out and lean back as far as I can, so that I’m horizontal as I stare up at the blue sky. I’m amazed at how quickly I feel like a little girl again. We swing until darkness surrounds us.

“Time to go home now.” I reluctantly get off the swing.

“I want to slide.”

“Tomorrow. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

We shake the sand out of our shoes and cross the parking lot on our way to the sidewalk. She points at a burgundy minivan parked close to the park entrance.

“I want a car.”

“What?” I bend toward her not sure I heard right.

“I want a caaaar.”

“You want a car?

“Yes.”

“That’s not our car.” I can’t help laughing.

We walk half a block in silence.

“I want a car.” Her little finger points at a gray sedan in the school parking lot.

I start laughing again. I understand now; she doesn’t want to walk. She wants a ride.

“But, that’s not our car either. Are you tired?”

“No.”

She is walking nimbly, her little hand in mine. But, I will carry her if need be. The moon is a translucent ball straight ahead.

“Look, let’s go touch the moon.”

“Touch the moon?”

“Yes, we’ll touch the moon.”

She concentrates on the moon as we walk again in silence. Rounding the school we pass a black F-150.

“I want a car.” Her tiny finger points toward the truck.

This time I don’t answer. I can’t. I’m laughing too hard. She thinks you can just take any vehicle if you don’t want to walk anymore.

I’m about to pick her up when she looks around concerned.

“Hey, where’d the moon go?”

“It’s right over there.” I point to our left. Her little face relaxes and she settles back into an easy stride. Someone is walking toward us and she becomes absorbed with the woman and her dog.

We turn the corner to our street and as we walk toward my house we pass by three cars parked near the sidewalk. Each time we near one, her little finger points and she makes her demand again. I haven’t laughed this much in years.

Finally we reach my driveway and she marches straight to my car. “I want a car,” she states.

I unlock it and open the back door. She climbs in and settles herself behind the passenger seat.

“Get in the car,” she says, pointing to the driver’s seat.

“But, we’re home now. It’s time for your bubble bath.”

She shakes her head and pulls the seat belt around her. Her face is resolute; I’m to get in the car. I only meant to let her sit in the car for a moment, to satisfy her want; I hadn’t expected that she would order me in as well.

I have no car seat so a drive around the block is not an option. Besides, I’m too much of a worrywart to chance these crazy roads with my precious grandchild. I have to come up with something much more attractive than a car ride.

My car is parked near the front door on our circular drive. I unlock it and turn around to find her still struggling to buckle the seat belt. I know she is as hot and sweaty as I am.

“Hey, let’s go inside and have some juice.”

Her head snaps up. “OK,” she says.

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The Long Hot Shower

water stream from shower in close-up, showing ...

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While taking a shower yesterday, a thought struck me. Could I claim a tax deduction for those long hot showers? After all, they are like medicine to me, practically a treatment procedure for my RA. I go in stiff and come out pliant.

I once read this man takes two hot showers a day for his RA. I only take one a day, though two would be nice. But, would that be a tax break on my water bill or my electricity bill, or both? Will just asking the question get me into hot water with the tax man?

And I don’t take those showers just for my RA. I do my best thinking in there. I go in cold and come out with all these story ideas, poetry outlines and passages. So could I lump them in with the home office deduction for my writing business?

Time, as they say, is money. And I spend a long time in those hot showers, a long time. The hot water feels so good, like liquid silk on my skin. I can practically see my joints loosening up, especially my hands. My hands are the most susceptible part of me to the RA related stiffness that sets in.

The saying that idle hands are the devil’s workshop cannot possibly apply to me. Anymore. For idle hands become painful hands for me. I like to keep them busy while I am awake. And what they mostly do, besides dreary housework and even drearier bill paying, is writing.

This brings me back to my original question, a tax deduction for my long hot showers. Why not? They are multi-purpose. They foster physical well-being and creativity. They are soothing and relaxing. I wonder if I can get the doctor to write me a prescription for hydrotherapy. It’s a thought.

The only thing that would make my long hot showers even more beneficial would be having someone to share them with. There’s a lot to be said for closeness and companionship to ease the pain of RA. Besides, it would also help out the environment, conserving water and all. Talk about compliant.

But, would he be my tax deduction or would I be his? Would that be one deduction, two deductions, three? Things that make you go hmmmm? Guess I’ll go take a long hot shower and think about that one.

I have RA, but RA doesn’t have me

Fingers

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I woke up this morning, thinking. I do that a lot. Both wake up  and think! I consider myself lucky; I have the ability to do both. My hands are the first things that enter my consciousness. Can I move them without pain, can I flex my fingers normally? I hold hands with myself. I exercise and manipulate my fingers, get them to loosen up. It takes a few minutes, sometimes more than a few minutes.

This is a daily ritual for me and I’m sure for many RA sufferers, but this morning my hands took second place. I had something more compelling on my mind. Writing. Words. Lots of words. 15, 000 glorious words.

Tapping on my keyboard is a good workout for my fingers, but more importantly it is a good workout for my brain. Writing is therapy for me. It is a creative outlet. Writing about my illness helps. I find that if I personify it, it is easier to deal with. I can face my enemy and laugh in its face. I am the Black Knight who, though armless, refuses to give up the fight, “It’s just a flesh wound!” (Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 1975)

Yes, RA, you are just a flesh wound to me. You may stalk me while I sleep, but you cannot hold me captive for long. I slither from your insidious grasp with morning’s first light. And I hold you at bay all through the day. You cannot keep me from doing what I want to do.

And what I want to do is write those 15,000 words, complete my work in progress. I will concentrate on exercising my vocabulary as well as my fingers. I will throw myself into my work and let it suffuse my mind and spirit. I will go where you can’t reach me, RA, for my novella is not about you.

I may have you, but you don’t have me!