“What can I bring you to drink?” asked our waiter, Roberto.
“Coffee,” Jerry said without looking up from the menu.
As Roberto sped away, I said to Jerry, “You sound kind of grumpy.”
He said, “My back hurts. I didn’t mean to sound grumpy. I’ll feel better when I have coffee.”
We scooped the warm complimentary tortilla chips into the bean dip and munched as we waited. Roberto returned to our table empty-handed.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have regular coffee. We have decaf. Would you like decaf?”
It’s hard to say good-bye. And I’ve had a lot of good-byes to say.
At the end of fourth grade, I had to say good-bye to my friend Ruby Ann Warren. We spent every school recess together and spent the night at each other’s homes.
As the school year ended, Ruby told me her dad’s company had transferred him to a job in Texas. (Texas is a million miles from California where I lived. How rude of her dad’s company to send him so far away!) But I didn’t say that when Ruby told me the news of her departure. Instead, a silent sadness came over me. Ruby lived across the street and the day she moved away, I stood on the street curb and watched her pile into her family car. When the family’s car pulled out of their driveway, her dad stopped the car at the spot where I stood. Ruby jumped out of the back seat and ran to the curb and hugged me. “Good-bye,” she said, then hopped back into her car. She waved from the car’s rear window as I stood there watching her family sputter away. She continued to wave until her car turned the corner. I raced to my bedroom, put my head in my pillow, and cried hard. I never saw her again.
The woodworking plane and its box that I bought in Wales as a souvenir for Jerry.
When I returned from my journey to the British Isles, I pulled something special from my suitcase to give to Jerry…
The special item came from an antique shop in Llangollen, Wales. I had stepped inside the shop because I hoped to find a butler’s bell, such as the kind featured in Downton Abbey. No butler bells availed themselves, but lots of vintage tools did. I remembered that Jerry loves old tools and knew he wouldn’t appreciate a trinket souvenir, (like a coin bank in the shape of a British mailbox~I bought that for myself.) I knew he’d love one of the shop’s vintage woodworking planes lined up on a table. I picked up a few of the planes and they weighed as much as a car (a small car like a Mini Cooper because if they weighed as much as an Audi A4 I wouldn’t be able to lift it.)
Cats and children have a way of making me laugh out loud. But when I don’t have cats or children around, I rely on my family and friends to offer lighthearted moments. But too many times they have life struggles, or daily mundane tasks, that keep them from feeling humorous. So we don’t laugh. We zero in on our troubles.
With all the articles and studies telling us that humor and laughter helps improve psychological and physical health, I think more humor in our life would be a good thing. But it’s not easy laughing when you feel bogged down with have-to’s, must-do’s, to-do’s, and most importantly, hair-do’s. Bad hair days aside, I don’t see the humor very often in my everyday life.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve ordered “Such-and-Such” meal at a restaurant and regretted it once the dish is served. The regret occurs when I glance at the dish my dinner companion ordered. It looks so much tastier than mine. Things get even worse for me if the dinner companion expresses sheer joy at every bite. “Ooooh,” and “ahhhhhhh,” the person says with eyes closed and a blissful smile. My “Such-and-Such” dish tastes “so-so” and so I don’t appreciate hearing of the deliciousness I’m missing out on. (Hint to future dinner companions.)
