June 12, 2003

• BELLY LAUGHS

  
  

  I was ready for some laughs today.  My SIL called, talked to the machine early this morning while I slept and Doug was online.  She and my other SIL are disposing of their ill mother’s belongings, preparing to sell her house so one of them can put a down payment on a bigger place, making it easier for Mom to move in with her during the terminal phase of her kidney failure.  Greyfox’s mother has opted not to do dialysis.

  
  

  I then had to pass along the SIL’s message to Greyfox when he phoned home this morning.  They are going to throw out his old books (including some signed first editions) and collectable cameras and stuff left in Mom’s attic, rather than selling it as she had agreed to do when he talked to her last Monday, just because he didn’t return her earlier call today.  I had intercepted that message, too, relayed the message to him, and emailed her (since she blocked caller ID and we don’t have the number, and couldn’t return the call) to explain why Greyfox couldn’t call her.  I guess she doesn’t check her email, or else she’d just rather pretend she never got it.  In that family, you never know. 

  
  

  It’s probably better that I couldn’t call her myself.  I’d tell her what I think, and that’s just something one never does in their family.  Greyfox is learning some more functional, direct ways of communication, and it’s quite possible that he might even have given her a piece of his mind, if he had both her phone number and enough money that he felt he could afford to feed however many quarters it took, into the pay phone there in town.  Anyway, he and I talked it out and decided it wasn’t worth getting upset about, anyway.  We’ve both recited the serenity prayer enough times lately for that “accept the things I cannot change,” part to sink in.  C’est la vie.  Que sera, sera. 

  
  

  Still, it was a bit of a downer.  Thinking about Mom being subject to my SIL’s less-than-tender mercies, is a downer.  Also, my writing has been mostly in a serious vein lately, though I do inject a little humor, even in my readings, when a funny thought comes up.  Dealing with other people’s crises not only makes me aware of my serious responsibility to them, but I empathize, too.  Although I have a backlog of readings to do, and a couple of the past-life readings already done by Greyfox still to post at KaiOaty’s site, today I was ready for some comic relief.

  
  

  The greatest thing about being self-employed is that I’m the boss.  This means that I do the triage on the readings requests and can let one I think deserves some priority slip to the head of the line.  I did that last night, with a crisis-request.  It also means that my work never has to be humdrum.  When I’m mentally drained or bent out of shape, I can turn away from the keyboard and let the SETI@home screensaver take over and crunch for a while, while I make jewelry or occupy myself otherwise.  There’s always SOMETHING else to be done.

  
  

  This morning, I stayed at the keyboard and pulled down the binder holding The Shaman Papers archives, and transcribed episode four of the Further Adventures of Melody Andrewsdottir, Lady Shaman, over at the Old Fart’s site.

  
  

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  **Lengthy, too lengthy, interruption here**  The SIL called again, whined into the Internet answering machine that she just couldn’t seem to “catch” us no matter what time she called–never mind that she has been told several times that someone here is almost always online, that the machine takes calls since we have only the one phone line, and that she should leave a message and a number for a return call, or simply ask us to disconnect from the internet so she can call back in a minute or two.  I heard Greyfox tell her that about a week ago.  She didn’t leave a number this time, either, just the whiny, desperate plea for him to call her.  I dug up an old phone bill and found my MIL’s number, called her, got the SIL’s number and called HER.

  
  

  Apparently, the threat to throw away the books and cameras wasn’t just because we didn’t call her back.  She didn’t remember their conversation, said something to me just now to the effect that she needs to make her phone calls after the “second beer”, not after she’s totally shitfaced (my paraphrase ).  Fortunately, I had been here, and heard Greyfox’s end of the conversation she forgot–she said to me, “Oh, so we did have that conversation, then… I sorta thought I remembered something….”  Anyway, I reconstructed what I could recall and told her what Greyfox told me this morning that she had said to him.  When I suggested that she make a note so she’d know tomorrow what she said today, she said her husband was there listening now, so maybe there’s a hope….  As Mom said to me when I called her to get the silly SIL’s number, alcoholism runs in the family.

  
  

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  …where was I?  Oh yeah, belly laughs.  As I worked along, transcribing Melody, one word struck me funny:  “Hootbladder”.  I laughed out loud.  Doug heard me, asked what I was laughing about, and I said it to him.  He laughed out loud.  I remember laughing the first time I read Greyfox’s first draft as I edited that issue of The Shaman Papers, 12 years ago.  Last Monday when Greyfox was home, and was leaving his latest blog entry, the “Little guy vs the rich dudes update,” at ArmsMerchant‘s site, he read some of the Melody episodes I’d already transcribed there, and he laughed.  Any shit that’s funny enough to make even the author laugh out loud twelve or more years later, is funny shit.  The world needs more of that, I think.

  
  

  BTW, trivia fans, does everyone know what a “hootbladder” is?  That is an old Scots colloquial term for a bagpipe, of course.

  
  

  

  • 5:49 pm
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