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Category: Grandparents

If you can’t laugh…you may want to figure that out. Having a sense of humor may save you. I’m serious.

Watching a show on Neanderthals recently gave me some insight into how likely, whenever we, the human inhabitants of planet Earth, originated (the debate rages on about when and how that was and how far back…), there must have been also the evolution of humor at some point.

Discoveries say that as long as 16 million years back, laughter was traced back in forms such as responses to tickling in ancestors of Great Apes and Humans.

Can you imagine? Hundreds of thousands of years ago, the act of spontaneous laughter was evidenced as a part of social behavior as long as everything was fine – relatively – when humans were not under siege or starving… Quite possibly, there might have been times when Thor was wandering along and saw something or thought about something that made him go “heh!”. Chuckling.

But every day was probably life and death scenarios all day long – maybe all night long, too. Somebody had to stand watch. Poor guy. And likely, it probably was a guy because they probably thought that women needed to be around to have more babies and keep the cave cleaned up. Mom was probably good and irritated at times with this, and possibly joked around with other moms about this or other things… when there weren’t periods of starvation or attacks by animals that happened while everyone was asleep…

Life was about avoiding early death. It still is.

That was the whole thing – just like now, but more extreme in the brutal sense – real gore, blood and guts every day if you didn’t keep control of your surroundings. I wonder how anyone got any sleep. It was really next level rough living.

Big ass animals, for starters. No technology. Only the actions that were devised in the slow lead up to evolving communication and organization of things in their world.

Imagined Neanderthal – Neanderthal mother with child depicted in the Anthropos Pavilion of the Moravian Museum

The whole socioeconomic start-up. Imagine how this went and it evolved from having enough food to go around – how to troubleshoot people getting sick or wounded – how to know if an enemy was nearby and how to take enemies down whether it was one of the wild animal persuasion or the wild human ancestor persuasion from another tribe. It must have been a totally different world, yet in some ways much the same as today.

Hard to say if the horse is a unicorn depiction, with wings or some buddy that just got thrown off and is in the process of landing – definitely looks like some rocks are falling and there’s an escape going on. Photo by Reinhard Bruckner on Pexels.com

What I observe is that we still have tribes. No matter what anyone tells me, I think that it boils down to some base behaviors where all the filters are off being rather tribal. Just visualize for a moment groups of people getting all whipped up about something in a crowd – a political rally, a sports event, a concert, a significant event like a wedding or during holidays – then think about times when those have gotten out of hand – something goes wrong and somebody either deliberately or spontaneously snaps and changes the lives of many people all at once. That’s the crazy bit. This has been going on for millions of years – likely. Positively.

So, back to humor. “Humor” has a root of “HUM” as does “human”. Our good friends at Science Friday talk about the etymology of the word humor here. We thank the author if this piece, Johanna Mayer for her work in putting this together. Etymology wise essentially humor is a part of personality and we all benefit if our humors are in balance with everything else. So said the ancient Greeks about the four temperaments or humors.

The four temperaments – Photo From Wikimedia Commons

The four temperaments were choleric, sanguine, melancholic, and phlegmatic. That about sums up what must be in balance. I am here to tell you that if I have a back ache or other discomfort, my sense of humor goes down the drain quickly!

Humor in life is universal and essential.

Standing on the ceiling. Or not.

Two girls cutting up.

Old tech humor

So many stories about how humor has helped people heal through the worst of times. For me, when I connect with someone with humor – having a similar bandwidth related to humor – it makes all the difference in the world. Having a sense of humor is one of the most important personality traits I can think of. If someone lacks a sense of humor, I struggle with that person after awhile. I can get by for a little while in conversations, but eventually… well, let’s just say, I have to exit. That may sound cruel, but it’s better for everyone. One of my favorite things to do is laugh.

I grew up in a family that valued laughter, a sense of humor, joking around to the extreme, and were supportive of those of us who developed kind of warped senses of humor. I did. Each side of my family had a different type of sense of humor. I would categorize my Dad’s as more cornball, but sometimes he could come up with some very complex jokes that I couldn’t understand (yet). He liked to act silly. He would do stuff to make us laugh, like driving down the road in the car and faking turning into the other lane. He would do stuff like put his hand out to shake your hand then goose you in the ribs, saying, “Shake…Spear was a great man!!!” as he was getting ready to tickle you or instead of that, he might not let go of your hand and pull on it instead… He told a lot of jokes. He was funny. My cousins sometimes would get it, and sometimes would choose to be humiliated by his jokes! I never understood that.

But my mom’s side of the family were more into jokes and joking around – playing pranks on one another – maybe more my mom and my uncle to each other and to their parents. Once my mom got me into a prank on my uncle, and we sneaked up to his room and hid in his closet when he was taking a shower. He came into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist and then when we heard him coming, she said “shhhh… wait until he opens the door…”, in a very quiet whisper… Then when he did, we went, “BOOOOO!” and he dropped the towel and yelled! It was so funny! I’ll never forget it!

My uncle used to call my grandmother and disguise his voice saying he was a gardener looking for work, or someone selling insurance, or some such. She would fall for it every time. My grandfather, however, I don’t remember having a sense of humor that was outstanding in my memory – and likely, he didn’t take part in all these shenanigans. But, these rubbed off on me and formed my crazy sense of humor that at times I’ve had to tame back because it has gotten me into trouble more than once.

I passed that wacky sense of humor along to my kids, one of which depended on his during very tough times in his life. He is no longer with us today on this planet, but I think of his sense of humor often and the things that made him laugh…

Rob – Always cutting up…

Even when I am by myself, I laugh at things, and sometimes I laugh at myself. I believe that being able to laugh at yourself is very important. If you can’t do that, and you’re always in a state of being pissed off, well, how sad that is. You need to rearrange your stuff inside your head in a different way.

Let’s put it this way – many times, it’s a choice. It’s a matter of self-talking yourself into thinking about things a different way or re-framing to a different context. Like a lot of people, I have to shake myself and say, “Take more joy! Life is short! Don’t let them take your joy away!”

The poorest of people can have certain positive attitudes believing that they are enriched by things that the wealthiest of people don’t even notice.

Wealthy people can often become entitled, arrogant, jaded, and suffer a loss of social skills and their sense of humor. I mean, look at the richest men in the world. They are people who probably live quite strange lives with a good bit of isolation. There’s having enough, then there’s having too much and that’s stepping over a line. I’d bet that those people don’t have sense of humor that most other people can relate to.

I also question people that when they have a good feeling or something good happens they immediately go religious. It’s okay for them, if they want to see things that way, but being in the moment without having to give credit to Jesus or God, well… I’m just not sure about that perspective. I admit that God has a lot of control over everything, but there is a lot about God that we don’t know, by design, and humanizing God is probably not the best idea… But that’s me.

So I digress…

All that I can say is that when things get rough, tune in to the humor – levity helps levitate you out of those rough situations when nothing else will… Trust me, I have the experience to know this. Thanks Rob! He was skilled at this…

What makes you laugh?

Think about it. Can you make a list of what makes you laugh? I can. I hope that you can, too! Laughter is the best medicine!

August 5, 2024
As we go along the road. Day by day. What was. What is. What will be.

Que sera sera.

When I was a kid, my mom used to sing the song, “Que Sera, Sera” as it was popularized by Doris Day, a then well loved actress and singer. We had the recording, and Mom played it often. It was one of those songs that basically said, “stuff happens, and it will happen” – along with a “whatever” underlying message in the backstory.

I don’t think that this relaxed philosophy was adopted in our household. I think that it was actually the opposite. Nobody was relaxed and in our family, there was always the underlying contention of subtle disapproval of all sorts of things due to unrealized expectations, dashed hopes, and the like.

In fact, once my dad was promoted into a new job with more responsibility, and we were transferred away from our “hometown” (Mom’s and mine), that came with a slew of mandates from my mom. Her dreams of building a house with my Dad, near ready to break ground when the promotion came about, were suddenly harpooned. The lot had to be sold. The move was eminent.

Upon getting to our new home town, the choices of where they would rent or buy a house very much went many directions as they evaluated available houses and locations based on schools, proximity to Dad’s work, etc. It was the usual dilemma for transplanted families.

We ended up pretty far out of the town center, by the metrics of the day. Dad had a long slog to work. I attended school in a “top” school district, which meant that they saved bucks on my having to attend a private school, because inner city public schools were apparently not fit to attend. That is not necessarily the case everywhere, but economics had to be right for wherever we lived.

It was not my old school. But, as far as me adjusting to school, that had been an ongoing process. From the time I started attending any sort of group learning, I was likely a handful for the teachers. I colored outside the lines a lot. One early preschool experience involved Mom being asked to visit with Miss Harvey, the owner of Miss Harvey’s School, to discuss my tendency towards “not coloring inside the lines”, literally, when we were in the coloring activities she carefully designed and provided for us. This put Mom in a spot.

She had encouraged my free association coloring and drawing.

Now we had this situation where she would have to explain that sometimes I had to color inside lines, and sometimes not. I was four. Imagine explaining this to a four-year old, somewhat precocious, little girl who was quite imaginative and very busy… and very stubborn. Now I know how stubborn I was based on raising my own children. Likely genetics plays a part in all this.

Referring to past posts, dear reader, you might understand that my Mom was at times challenged with carrying the load of motherhood. She relied a lot on my grandmother (her mother) to help, and on my father when he was off of work, which most families do in some sort of variation. She would have to enlist everyone to help with this situation of teaching me that I had to follow rules, and “color inside the lines” at selected times.

Non-conformist? Moi?

The need for me to begin conforming was apparent.

Whether it was coloring outside the lines at Miss Harvey’s or doing whatever I did in first grade that landed me in the dark closet (time out) for a spell with Mrs. Keys, who was a strict disciplinarian, levying her punishments for breaking the rules, or by second grade, my chatty nature got me in the hot seat… by third grade and our move with Dad’s promotion, I started working on the conformist part of my adaptations.

However, without even realizing it, I was at that time, also at the beginning of my non-conformist development. Later on in life, I discovered that I had to conform, just enough, yet underneath was always the non-conformist base, struggling to get through.

The music did it.

When I follow the thread from these early days throughout my life tapestry, I can see where those days of being an “only” and allowed to just free associate and imagine living in a mostly adult environment at home with bright parents, one very practical, one kind of “out there”, but nonetheless very interested in architecture, engineering, art, and science – my days were likely a montage of watching Captain Kangaroo, going to Miss Harvey’s, then real school, and imaginative play and “artsy craftsy” activities with a healthy serving of being outdoors doing whatever – swinging on the swing set, hammock in my grandparent’s yard, or playing in the water hose.

Gotta ask, why my music preferences are more eclectic bordering on edgy, when I grew up hearing Doris Day? I love rock and roll, but really don’t like bubble-gum pop.

I listen to music from my grandparent’s time especially the old blues and the masters of jazz, and even those tunes and bands that my parents so dearly loved, if not just for the nostalgia. But, skip the fifties, my true roots are embedded in the beginning of the sixties revolutions in rock, psychedelic music, then hop-scotching into the new wave and indie/alternative genres. But, oddly, the Texas roots, and the Texan-folk-rock – that Americana vs. country and western genre. Gotta throw those in.

Roky Erickson, and the 13th Floor Elevators. The early 1960’s. I still look back on that time as one of mystical influence. The whole scene of the psychedelic culture in Texas influencing later generations of musicians. Janis Joplin. The Moving Sidewalks evolved into ZZ Top. Big name bands. All of these musicians influencing each other in the huge revolution in music that this was. Often referencing Buddy Holly and Howlin’ Wolf, Charles Brown, and others, these bands drew from old influences and converted them into new sounds.

Later, it was well known that Roky was diagnosed as schizophrenic, but he was before he deteriorated, a landmark influence in Texas music. After many years in hospitals for mental breakdowns, Roky was released and did perform supported by his wide net of friends and associated musicians until his death. He opened the gate for Texas Music to truly thrive with a huge place in modern music history.

I think about that and just say “wow”, and I think, as detached as our generations were, my parents left me alone in my unique eclectic musical tastes, honored it and even supported it. Embedded in my tapestry are those roots.

The non-conformist conformist. Yep, that about sizes me up.

May 8, 2023
When I was little things seemed a lot bigger…but my world was actually rather small.

I have moved to different places to live so many times, I’ve lost count. I would need a spreadsheet to categorize how many places I have lived, when, and likely, there will be a few more before I leave the planet.

As I have gotten older, and wanted to see if places I have lived still look the same, I have gone into “Google Maps” and located the place my parents were living when I was born. We drove by this old house back in the fall of 2020, so that I could see if it was still there. It was. It was built just after WWII ended, and was a “GI” house – made in the tradition of using cinder-blocks on a slab, then putting the siding up – probably some insulation, and coated paper underneath… I remember it being light color. Likely, over the years, people have updated it and so it looks a bit different from what I remember.

In my earliest memory, from when we lived in this house, it was of my bedroom, and of the living room-dining room and kitchen. I sort of remember my parents’ room. I remember it had two bedrooms, and small-ish. Of course to little me, it was a lot larger than this picture shows, which is the actual size of the house.

This is the back yard. Another one of my earliest memories was going out back, to play in the water hose, which I did in the summer because it was West Texas and it was hot as hell. There was a frog, probably attracted to the water, and I guess I didn’t see it, but I stepped on it – squished it – and it bled – and I got very upset and started screaming and crying.

Another memory is of me being with my Dad, around his workshop – the building to the left in the photo above – he always gave me blocks of wood to play with, probably so I would not get in his way or get hurt. There were lots of loud noises coming from his wood working tools in the workshop. He was a maker.

Dad’s workshop – what’s left of it

Very little me with my Dad. I didn’t get into much trouble back then.

I was a Daddy’s girl – and in this shot, I’m not sure who was taking the picture, but Dad looks dubious…

I am pretty sure I was a “mostly happy” kid until I we moved and I left my safety net – my grandparents

I remember spending a lot of time parked at my grandparents’ house. I loved being with my grandmother. She taught me how to do a lot of things like cooking, baking, sewing, and playing cards and other games. She was from Kentucky, and carried many traditions from her home state such as recipes and her idea of decorum and etiquette. She had been to “finishing school” after high school graduation, which was in Boston. Her dad was a merchant of “fine goods”. He passed away when my Mom was a little kid.

However, my great-grandmother, remarkably, I do remember, as she came to live with my grandparents, and did until she passed away, when I was almost two. She was kind to me, and seemed just very fragile and old, which actually, she wasn’t that old – but maybe since she had health issues, it just seemed that way. I was just turning two years old when she died. It’s amazing to me that I have memories of that time.

My great-grandmother, Mom, me, and my grandmother when I was about one-and-a-half years old

I remember sitting with her outside in my grandparents’ back yard, swinging in a hammock. That was one of my favorite things to do at my grandparents’ house when I was small. Where they lived in west Texas, it was pretty dry and

Back at our house, I usually played by myself. I was an only child, so if we didn’t have one of my Mom’s friends with their kids at our house, it was me, myself and I. I remember that I had an “imaginary friend” that came into my life pretty early – maybe age three or four. Her name was Minnie. Later, another one came into Minnie’s life – Mannie. Minnie and Mannie. They were always up to something that got ME into trouble. Only children with imaginations like mine generally need imaginary friends to share the blame for mischief!

I also remember deciding one day that I was going to school. I got my crayons, and coloring book, and got myself ready to walk out the front door. My Mom said, “Where are YOU going?” I said , “to school”. She said, “NO YOU ARE NOT!”, and seemed somehow offended. That surprised and upset me. Each day, I saw kids that looked about my age, walking by on the way to school. We lived just a short distance away. In my mind, I must have thought that all it took was for me to get my clothes on, grab my crayons and coloring book, and go out the door to join them.

So, because Mom was upset and I was crying by then, she got sort of shouty and we got into sort of an argumentative exchange whereby at the end of it I got a whack on the behind and got sent to my room. I look back on that and think, “why was my mom angered by me doing that?” Maybe she thought I was slipping out the door. Maybe it scared her somehow. Maybe she felt a loss of control. Who knows?

When my kids did things like this, normally, I had to hold in my giggles. I think I would have burst out laughing and thought it was really funny and cute, if one of my kids did that – but with my Mom, you could never predict how she would react. Mom was kind of unpredictable, and kind of scary at times.

Mom holding me in front of my grandparent’s side entrance in their wonderful back yard

It was, for me a bit confusing, living with her, not knowing if she would be nice, or mean – and not knowing what I was doing to cause her to be one way or the other. I am still not too sure, looking back, if she felt like I was cramping her style. She was very social, and was working part-time – and likely, me being there at home with her was holding her back or something. She eventually enrolled me in “Miss Harvey’s” which was a pre-school-kindergarten kind of class. I think that I was four by then.

I remember just ahead of one of my birthday parties, Mom was scurrying around trying to get ready to have people over, including some of the kids that were her friends’ kids that got invited – kids I played with occasionally. I was so excited about the party that I barfed, right in the middle of the kitchen floor! Well, Mom got mad. She spanked me and sent me to my room to wait until the party started. I remember feeling confused, and crying a lot, and my face got all stingy.

I remember that when my grandmother got there, she came in my room and hugged me, and took me in the bathroom and put a cold wet washcloth on my face. To this day whenever I need to “de-puff” my eyes, or face, or make a headache feel better, I put a cold wet washcloth on it – and remember my grandmother. She always had some way of making things okay.

We moved out of that house to another house just before I started first grade. We next lived in my grandparents house, because they decided to move back to New Mexico. That was the beginning of my next chapter. I loved living at my grandparents house because it had all these cool places to play and great trees to climb. That one, shown below, was at the time, to me, a really big house. It probably isn’t that large, but it had a great yard and lots of space in the house to play and get into trouble!

Tree I climbed when I was a little kid.

Now the yard is fenced across what used to be open – that was a great yard and place to play when I was little and later on, a place to take a nap in the hammock or read a book in the shade, when I visited my grandparents before they moved away from this place.

Moving to the big city almost two days drive away was quite the change. My Mom had to adjust to a new set of friends. She also had to figure out how to get around and navigate the city. My Dad worked downtown, and it took him almost an hour to get from our house to his work. It was definitely different from the small town in west Texas where I was born and we had been living since then. My Mom and Dad met there and got married there. My Mom was actually born there, which was interesting. My grandparents moved in and out of that town several times in their lives. Clearly, they loved it and felt it was their anchor in Texas.

I think about change and how as we move through life, every day has small changes, and then there are some big changes that happen, some unexpectedly.

April 15, 2023