First of all, I need to point out that BlogHer is doing an ad campaign for Drumsticks, with quotes from bloggers. Hello??? I have written extensively on this blog about my love for Drumsticks. Who better to talk about them than me? I am an authority on Drumsticks. I can talk about them for hours. I can wax rhapsodic about their perfection. Harumph!
I’m out of town, as you know. Since my mom has been in the nursing home, my dad and I usually talk on the phone at least once a day, sometimes more. He’s getting frailer and more overwhelmed by his situation. Sometimes our talks are fairly calm, at other times, Dad is upset or crying or saying he wants to die. The other night, after a long day of rehearsal, we were having a conversation of the latter sort. I spent quite a while talking to my dad, offering sympathy, trying to buck him up, trying to get a word in edgewise in the midst of his rising distress. When my dad gets like that, I have to ‘talk him down.’ It’s always been that way. It was an upsetting conversation. I felt depressed.
No sooner had I hung up when the phone immediately rang again. It was my husband. Shouting. One might even say screaming. “How do you turn off the alarm, how do you turn off the alarm????” He was in a panic. He had been cooking and a pan started smoking and the smoke alarm went off, thereby setting off the alarm system for our house. He was shouting so much that I had to top him vocally to get him to hear me. I tried shouting the code to him while he let out a string of curse words. Meanwhile, he told me the alarm company had called and they were sending out the fire department. He tried to get them to cancel the call, but he didn’t know if it was going to work. The alarm was still going off. I shouted instructions to him. He said he’d try the code and get back to me. If it had been a movie, I would have shaken him and slapped him across the face to stop the hysteria.
He called back, still cursing, and said that he could hear the sound of the fire truck in the distance. Our little volunteer fire department, no doubt having to leave a peaceful dinner with their families in order to respond to the alarm. “They’re coming! I can hear them! They just went by! Now they’re coming back! They’re here!” Again, I had to shout. “Well, go out there! Go talk to them!” He hung up.
Eventually, husband called back and told me that the captain had been very understanding. Don had apologized profusely. The alarm had stopped. Don was calmer. God knows what the dogs were thinking.
I remarked that in the space of approximately 10 minutes I had been forced to deal with two men who had temporarily lost their minds. The two men closest to me had become unhinged. If they had been in the room with me, I would have to do some non-face-slapping-face-slapping, if you know what I mean. Then I remembered that old song (which I detested) that Mike Douglas sang, The Men in My Little Girl’s Life. I made up new lyrics:
The men in my little girl’s life, the nutso men in my little girl’s life…
Don chimed in.
The men in my little girl’s life, the insane men in my little girl’s life…
The men in my little girl’s life, the crazy, demanding men in my little girl’s life….
There were more versions. You get the picture. If you don’t know this song, google it. I bet it’s out there somewhere, just waiting for you to give it a listen. It’s dreadful. But it made us laugh. I can even get my Dad to laugh sometimes. That makes me happy because laughter is indeed the best medicine.
Do I need to add that I can be just as nuts at times? Of course not.
As to my dad, we are all doing everything we can for him. He’s hanging in there. My sense of humor is what keeps me sane in the midst of all of this. If I didn’t look at things through a humorous prism, I’d be a goner.
Have a good Wednesday.
