Journal of a Living Lady #60

Nancy White Kelly

           

I must confess. I have a split personality. Perhaps dual personality would express it better. People who are really close to me know that I have both a serious nature and a jocular one. Sometimes I go off the bell curve on both ends, but that’s me. I passionately believe and spontaneously laugh.

 

            My mother used to tell me I was such a good baby as opposed to my older brother, Charles Lester, who was hyperactive and A.D.D. before there was such a label.  She said she could sit me in the floor and I could entertain myself endlessly. Still, after all these years, Charles Lester at age 60 goes wide open from sun up to sun down. I can sit in one spot for three hours and not twitch a muscle.

 

            Charles Lester can tell jokes non-stop and would have made a great stand-up comedian. He is every bit as good as the old Jerry Lewis. I can’t remember a joke to the next day, but I find laughter at every corner.

 

            Just recently I was driving by a grocery store in the next county and glanced at the display sign to see what the specials were for the week. I almost rear-ended the little lady ahead of me as tears of laughter temporarily blinded me. The sign said, “Rot Chicken,” $4.99. Glad a policeman wasn’t around to ticket me for a weird sense of humor.

 

            I am a funny pack rat. I keep humorous things forever. Through the years I have accumulated a file folder full of wacky signs that have actually been hung. Some I have observed personally. These are four of my favorites:

 

In New Hampshire, a medical building sign says, “Martin Diabetes Professional Ass.”

 

 On a New York convalescent home is this sign: “For the sick and tired of the Episcopal Church.”

 

 In a California funeral parlor this sign is prominently displayed: “Ask about our layaway plan.”

 

 At the entrance of a Pennsylvania cemetery, a sign gives this paradoxical warning: “Persons are prohibited from picking flowers from any but their own graves.”

 

            Not just signs amuse me. So does language. Buddy cracks me up with his unintended mispronunciations. When we were newly married, he went into the lingerie department at Sears and innocently asked a clerk where the “ling-e-ry” department was. He never has film for his “camry” and often eats a “hamburglar.”

It is also funny to me how we Americans never lose consonants We just transfer them regionally. When a Bostonian “pahks” his “cah”, the lost “r” migrates south, thereby helping a Georgian “warsh” his.

 

            It  really doesn’t take much to make my lips curve upward. Seeing a genuine smile does it. If I had to choose between a beautiful body and an attractive smile,  I’d choose a mile-high smile for my chubby body, especially if it came with a twinkle of the eye.

 

            Hugging is a favorite of mine too. Hugs can be as gratifying as eating. Well almost. The cancer treatments have greatly diminished my fondness for food now, but I still like a couple of bites of milk chocolate and a good enchilada occasionally.

 

            So I respectfully end with my tip for the week: Laugh a lot. Hug like a bear. Then smile.  It is the second best thing you can do with your lips.

 

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nancyk@alltel.net                     www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly