Genetic Garbage

This winter I started wearing a brand new, never before worn coat that’s been hanging in my closet for…the last decade. I know this is extreme. I blame it on what my husband likes to call “genetic garbage.” It makes me who I am, and marks me as a member of my own little tribe of weirdos.

A couple years ago, I was at an event with my two sisters. Two of us couldn’t stop cooing over the dress our sister was wearing.

“You look so chic!”

“How come we’ve never seen you wear that before? Is it new?”

Our sister sheepishly confessed that it wasn’t new, but she had never worn it before. It had been hanging in her closet for a while.

“I have this thing about wearing new clothes…I’m too embarrassed to wear things right away when I buy them. So then when I eventually do wear something and someone asks me if it’s new, I can honestly say: No, I’ve had it for a while.”

“I DO THAT TOO!!!” I shrieked.

“SO DO I!!!” our other sister said.

We’ve made other discoveries like this over the years. Once my sister told us that she would hate it when people sang Happy Birthday to her, because it always made her tear up from embarrassment. Until then, I thought I was the only who had that weird reaction.

A few years ago that same sister and I realized we share yet another genetic garbage trait. For years I suffered from the feeling that my legs were burning hot. One day I texted my sisters to ask, “Does anyone else feel like their thighs are as hot as curling irons?” To my surprise, my sister immediately texted back “YES!” She went on to explain that her natural instinct to research the problem was hampered by her fear of googling “hot thighs.” She eventually diagnosed our issue as a kind of neuropathy, for which there is nothing to be done but to commiserate with one’s sister and fellow sufferer!

The classic example of genetic garbage on my husband ‘s side of the family is “concentration tongue.” Whenever my father-in-law, husband, son, or daughter are performing a task that requires focus, their tongues slide out of their mouths. If the task is really demanding, the tongue starts to waggle back and forth. The harder the task, the faster the waggle:

IMG_2802

Ping-pong induced concentration tongue: barely detectable, but present.

concentration tongue

Impossible to miss concentration tongue

concentration1

“I think I almost have it…”

concentration2

 

IMG_0592

It’s like the swoosh…

IMG_9477

…concentration tongue makes you run faster.

Anybody else share “genetic garbage” traits with their family members?

Happy Weekend! It looks like we’re going to get walloped with snow in our corner of the world. Good thing I have a coat to wear! ; )

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shut me down

img_7111

I was driving my daughter home from a birthday party this weekend when she heaved a heavy sigh and groaned, “When will this shutdown end?!

I chuckled and asked my 13-year-old, “How, in any way, are you being affected by the government shutdown?”

Because I’m a human being with compassion for other people I’ve read about in the news, who can’t buy the insulin they need to survive, for example, because they’re not getting paid…Because I feel terrible for people who desperately need their paychecks for things like food, or to pay their rent or mortgage…”

No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

John Donne

First Night

On the first night of 2019 I went to bed crowing with happiness. I waltzed into the bedroom to find my husband, already recumbent in bed. I found myself crooning an impromptu love song to him…My simple hymn of jubilation had only two phrases, sung over and over again in a sing-song lilt:

“We got our car inspection done! We finished the FAFSA form!”

IMG_7247

We gave each other a high five and went to bed…me, still aflutter with the victory of long-dreaded and onerous administrative tasks checked off my list, he, dreaming of the weighted blanket he had just ordered for himself.

Bring on 2019! Bring on the second half century of my life! Clearly, I’m primed and ready to go!

 

Ten years ago

Shutterfly has jumped on the “Memory” wagon and I love it…Last week they emailed me these photos from a Christmas card photo shoot ten years ago!

Christmas2000AChristmas2000

We’re going to see that no-longer-little-sprite-on-the-right very soon…I just bought his train ticket. He’ll be home for the holidays from his first semester of college by the end of the week!