Finding the Funny

With the passing days and worsening symptoms, it's becoming difficult to find the funny. Some days, it's an all out scavenger hunt. There just isn't much to laugh at when your brother is slowly passing away. Yet, in these improbable (yet often prosaic) times, we find laughter in the most unlikely places. Not so much of the hearty horse laugh variety; more of the "you have GOT to be kidding me" kind. Here are a few "funny moments" we've encountered.

Center it, sisters

Jill and I readied Craig's new egg crate bed pad for use last week.  He, in fact, already owns an old -- very old -- egg crate padding that used to cushion his queen size bed. No longer needed, we thought we'd capitalize on its function and cut it to fit his twin sized hospital bed, temporarily ignoring the fact that some of the dingy crate padding had long since disappeared after years and years of weight-bearing. Not so fast, my friends. Blanket is to Linus as what is to Craigie? Clearly this egg crate pad held sentimental value and was sure to sell for dollars on EBAY, if he hadn't already earmarked it for his first born child. Craig put the kibosh on that idea, wanting to preserve his egg crate for posterity.

Enter new egg crate -- one that had no real attachment and could easily be replaced if need be.

We cut the piece in half and halved it again to carve out a hole in the middle. Jill was using the blade of her scissors to trace a hole when Craig interjected, "that's not centered". (You have GOT to be kidding me). Jill told him it really didn't matter if the hole was centered; we just needed enough room for his rear end to rest so that the tailbone floated above the hole. "I'd still like it to be centered, though", he replied. Nuts for me, I left my drawing compass and ruler in my middle school locker with my TI-85! Tste. Ever obliging, and really not interested in making a grown man cry, Jill and I fetched a marker to help "center" the hole. Yet, we'd soon discover it was the wrong choice of writing utensil. "Don't use a marker to scribble on it!...how will you know which line you've drawn if you make a mistake?" I replied that we could use different line designs - like a dash or a dot -- to draw the circles. I could see the skepticism in his eyes but forged ahead with a steady hand, hoping to hell I nailed the center he so desperately coveted. He watched as I sketched; if only we could invoke the spirit of Bob Ross and "the Joy of Painting" to help us give a damn because Craig clearly did. In the most confident of voices, Jill declared "good enough". Luckily, it was.

Bee in your bonnet

Sun shining, window down. Jill and I were locked in sober conversation as we drove the ten-minute route to Emily's house and the basement where the kitty cats reside. As we passed a freshly mowed lawn, a flurry of debris kicked up and flew into our car. Something landed in my hair. Without hesitation, I plucked it from my ever present, loose ponytail and opened my hand only to find a bumble bee. Apparently, it was a mob of bees that stirred from the grass and took vengeance on innocent passersby. I yelped, "Ohhh, a bee.  What the hell!" and threw it away. I looked over at a smiling Jill and said, "That's the closest I'll ever come to screaming" and she said, "What, with that Mickey Mouse voice?", making fun of my somewhat high pitched but still "cerebral" voice.

What are the odds? That would have been just my luck. Bee sting while sitting in a car with an allergic reaction yet to be revealed. It could happen.

Whiplash

And for the ridiculous... It's official, our little ditty of a fender bender, in fact, left a dent on our bumper as well as our bodies (and perhaps pride). I suffered whiplash from the world's weakest back-end bump, aggravating not only my pinched nerve on the left side but the entire right side of my neck and back, since he hit the car when I was looking left towards oncoming traffic. Nice timing, slick. I spent the day after the accident with a heat pack wrapped around my neck and popped pharmacy grade Naproxen as often as appropriate. Now, nearly a week post accident, I'm still feeling the effects - partially attributed to chronic stress, immobility and lack of sleep. Jill aches, as well. It seems we took the brunt of it, since you could hardly see damage to the car with the naked eye (just a small crack in the bumper and broken spring in a bottle holder up front). Feeling the love, my friends. Feeling the love.

Still, for every moment --bees, bumps, and anal brothers--we still laugh, we still smile, we still hold each moment with the grace and appreciation this time in life demands. Jill and I were in a minor accident; the bee lay limp in my hand and did not sting; Craig is still alive to give us direction. When our 'routine' lives blaze by without recognition, when our worlds have shrunk to a small one-room apartment, these moments tap us on the shoulders as our witness and as reminders to be present in every moment. ~E