My World With Words

Watch out, Walter.  You look pretty proud of yourself, but that pillow is about to slide right off the ottoman! 

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Image Credits: Cesar Cat © Belinda O; Paws in Heart © Bigstock; Peekaboo Kitty © Crazy nook–stock.adobe.com

For more than twenty years, my sister Beth has been pretty much out of contact with the family, and for the last seven or eight, we’ve had no way to reach her. But she is on our minds on a daily basis.

Some days, the memories are stronger than others.

Beth was the one who taught me how to drive a standard, to drive with a clutch. Today that isn’t as big a deal, given that most cars are automatic anyway, but at the time, it was the difference between spending $4,000 for a new car, or more than $5,000.  A 25 percent increase in cost. I’d just bought my first new car, and it cost me about $4,000. Problem was, I couldn’t handle the clutch.

My parents had spent three years teaching their children to drive, and they were weary of it. So my sister, who’s a year younger than me, took over. Patiently, she took me out on the roads around our home. They were hilly and winding, perfect for learning how to drive a four-speed.

If you’ve ever tried it, driving a standard takes practice.  It’s a challenge to get the timing of releasing the clutch and hitting the gas just right. You stall one hundred times for every time you inch forward. You fail and fail, then one day, you get it. It finally just works. My sister stayed with me until I reached that point.

She was seventeen, I was eighteen. We weren’t best friends, like some sisters are, but we were loyal to each other.  I hope she knows I’m still on her side. No matter what, she is my sister, and I love her.

And I’m forever grateful for knowing how to drive a standard, even though I don’t expect I’ll ever do much of it again.  It’s power.

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Image Credit: © Vclav–stock.adobe.com

I have my comfort TV shows. In this day and age, with the multitude of programs available to us 24 hours a day, I don’t think I’m alone. For me, it’s the classics. The Dick Van Dyke Show, for example, or the Mary Tyler Moore Show. More recent shows would be Frasier or The West Wing. I can, and do, watch them over and over again. I won’t say I never get tired of them–I definitely do at times, but when that happens, I just switch to one of the others.

We all have our ways of unwinding after a tough day, and that’s one of mine. Another is reading my Peanuts books. Chock-full of hundreds of comics, I find these can calm me and raise my spirits at the same time. As any Peanuts fan knows, they have a quiet humor about them (although some I still find laugh out loud funny). I look for that when I’m anxious or down.

I tend to eat when I’m stressed, so to avoid that I find other ways to occupy myself. Knitting has proven helpful, although I don’t really like to knit when I’m bothered by something. I find I make more mistakes, and that just compounds the frustration of an aggravating situation.

Today was one of those days, and right now I’m seeking comfort in my writing. That’s another way I de-stress. I particularly like blog writing at these times. It’s satisfying finding pictures to go with my post (such as they may be) and completing the writing in a relatively short time, as opposed to, say, working on my novel. Don’t ask how that’s going. It’s not.

I hope you have familiar items or situations you can take comfort in. If you do, let me know. Might give me some ideas when the tried-and-true doesn’t work.

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Image Credit: Television set © irina levitskaya–stock.adobe.com

I’ve written about this several times before on this blog, but if there is one thing I wish I could do better, just a little bit better, it’s sing. My grandfather had a beautiful voice, or so I’m told. The story goes that the way he sung “Ave Maria” made the nuns cry. My dad lived in his shadow with a voice about as bad his daughter’s would be, and recalls that one of his childhood prayers was to have his tonsils out, with the belief that that would improve his voice. He never had his tonsils out, so we’ll never know, but chances are it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference.

Today in church I hold open my hymnal only so I know how much more singing is left, and most of the time I don’t care enough to do even that. I listen and enjoy for the most part, but don’t attempt to sing along unless it’s “Morning Has Broken.” (You may remember the Cat Stevens’ hit, but what you may not know is that the song originated as a hymn in the 19th century. Today’s trivia for those of you old enough to remember Cat Stevens.) I sing under my breath, but the song is one I can manage with.

I have my talents and I’m happy with those, and I do eke out a song from time to time for my cats, who seem to enjoy it. I assume cats are tone deaf, although I’m not sure. I remember my mom’s cat Darren loved Bread (another group from the 70s) and when he traveled with us, we had to play The Best of Bread over and over again to keep him calm. My cat Paco was partial to David Gray. They both seemed to like that mellow music, and who can blame them?

I know that those who can sing wish they had other talents, maybe hit a baseball, for example (another thing I can’t do) or write (something I can do). We all have our unfulfilled dreams. I’ve learned to live with mine, but I can still find myself wishing I could belt it out like some I see on television talent shows. It isn’t a wish that lasts long.

And if you can sing, sing out loud, so we all can enjoy it.

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Image Credit: © abstract–stock.adobe.com