Thumb Times I’m in a Zone

 If I circle my right wrist with my left thumb and middle finger, they don’t quite meet.

If I circle my left wrist with right thumb and middle finger, they meet without any problem. And if my thumb joint would allow me to straighten it, it looks like they could even overlap.

Does this mean my right wrist is bigger than my left? Weird.

Well, that’s not the case. But the real case is still weird. Turns out my left thumb is about ¼ inch shorter than my right thumb. My mom used to tease me that I stunted its growth by sucking it but then she’d say I sucked my right thumb and made it stretch. LOL! Wikipedia gives several labels for it: clubbed thumb, murderer’s thumb (further investigation needs to be done as I think it would be interesting to know the origins of that!), potter’s thumb, toe thumb, and finally brachydactyly type D of the congenital musculoskeletal abnormalities, which just means I was born with one thumb small enough to be Thumbelina. I’ve never attempted to hitch hike but I’m wondering which thumb would be more successful.

I know there are more Thumbelina people out there, some of them even have two brachydactyly (why do I keep picturing a dinosaur when I type that word?) thumbs. But double clubbed thumbs would not help me make my point today.

That is, before coming to a conclusion about something we need to get all the facts. If a person describing me only saw the first two photos, they could say, “Anita’s wrists aren’t the same size.” Or they could look closer and get out the measuring tape and realize it’s all about the thumbs.

There is something else about me with a tendency to get misconstrued. It’s even less evident to the naked eye than my thumbs. I’m an introvert. Doesn’t mean I’m shy or timid or that I don’t like people. It does mean that my energy level depletes quickly when I’m with people. I re-stock my energy by getting into my own head. So I love being with people but in shorter time frames. And while I prefer smaller groups, larger groups are doable if I can take breaks.

Sometimes when I’m in a large group of people and everyone’s talking at once—you know what I mean, girlfriends, we’ve all got something important to say and we just can’t wait to say it—I start to feel overwhelmed.

You ever see a little kid start crying in a room full of people and there doesn’t seem to be any reason for it? That was me. First day of VBS with my grandma’s church. Mom dropped me off and went home. Grandma, being one of the Cookie Ladies, wasn’t involved in registration. I felt so proud, not quite six years old and I was going to do this all by myself. Gave my name and answered the questions of the lady filling out the little card. Allowed my name tag to be pinned on my shirt. Followed directions to stand in that line. Looked at the crayons another little girl showed me.

And then suddenly I became aware that the room was bursting with kids, boisterous kids, happy kids, not a single one being mean or anything, but what could I do but inexplicably burst into tears! I couldn’t explain what I was experiencing to any of the adults who came running. I just knew I needed to “g-g-g-go h-h-h-h-home. My mommy needs me to h-h-h-help take care of my ba-a-a-by sister!” Eventually they located Grandma who took me with her to the kitchen where I helped her set out the cookies for snack time. When I’d calmed down she asked me if I’d like to see what the other children were doing—she’d come with me and be with me the whole time. Once I’d seen how they were all gathered in small groups around tables doing crafts (Oh, boy! Crafts! I’m there!), it was a piece of cake for me to stay with them, instead of with Grandma.

Retrospectively I’ve identified what that was all about. Changing the labels of “Crybaby” and “Scaredy-Cat” to “Excited Little Introverted Girl on Sensory Overload” is very healing.

Although on occasion I still cry when I’m with people (now for entirely different reasons—I mean, when hearts are being shared some discussions are just going to be five-Kleenex rated), I’ve learned to take a break without even leaving the room. I call it “zoning out”. It might mean that I close my eyes. Or my eyes will stay open while I retreat into my thoughts. I block out what is going on around me.

The awkward thing about this is that I’m not always aware that I’ve zoned out and my face may have an expression that could be interpreted as incongruent to my environment. I might even make a “huh” sound as I follow my own thoughts. But those around me could assume I’ve indicated an opinion about what’s being discussed. Oops!

Hopefully if you’re with me, or maybe with someone else you know is an introvert, you’ll ask clarifying questions. If you do, you’ll always get a thumbs up—little brachiosaurus and the other one—from me.

Joy in the Birthday Present

This week I told my son Nicholas (in the very first of what I hope will be a series of Skype conversations) that I would soon be entering the last year of my fifth decade. Not surprisingly within just a few seconds, Dr. Nick, PhD, said, “Mom, you’re almost at the end of your SIXTH decade!” Oh, my! Now I really feel old! LOL!

Before getting myself all bogged down in muddy old age laments, I had a little visit with King Solomon (via Day 5 of my Bible study lesson).

“After looking at the way things are on this earth, here’s what I’ve decided is the best way to live: Take care of yourself, have a good time, and make the most of whatever job you have for as long as God gives you life. And that’s about it. That’s the human lot. Yes, we should make the most of what God gives, both the bounty and the capacity to enjoy it, accepting what’s given and delighting in the work. It’s God’s gift! God deals out joy in the present, the now. It’s useless to brood over how long we might live.” (Ecclesiastes 5:18-20, The Message)

Thanks, Wise Solly! Opening up to the joy God gives in the present—I like that. Skype conversations with family are definitely some of those joys!

I was also happy to open the present—I mean, the box marked Priority Mail—that arrived on my door step a couple weeks ago. Doesn’t take fancy gift paper and ribbons to make my heart go pitty pat. I knew it was coming. My sister told me so. She and Mom shopped together for my birthday presents and put them in the mail early. And there was no way I was going to wait until November third to open it!

The box revealed a scarf from Mom, a pashmina from my sister, and THE HAT! I’d seen pictures of the hat, my sister modeled it for me in one of our Skype sessions, making me drool, and now it has come home to mama.

My mom included a Starbucks card with the scarf. 

Hubby and I love old town Orange; a perfect spot for a birthday date a few weeks early. It is totally fitting that my birthday coincides with the season of pumpkin spice lattes! Iced, for a very warm southern California October day—yum and a-a-a-a-a-ah. Such a pleasure to share the treat with my best friend (he likes to give his caramel frap bunny ears) at our favorite Starbucks located in the Wells Fargo Bank   building.

This beautiful fountain has been around the block a few times. It’s moved almost as many times as I have. Installed initially in the Orange Plaza in 1887, relocation followed in 1940 to Hart Park (known as Orange City Park then) but without the graceful birds. At some point and for some reason it was delegated to storage for awhile. (How exactly does one store a fountain of this size?) The city restored it in 1981, reuniting it with its birds, and placed it at the Civic Center in front of the Council Chambers. When this new rendition of the library was finished (2007?), the fountain was chosen to grace the northwest corner. I hope it gets to stay awhile.

The scrumptious sherbet-y scarf is from my mom. The day’s temp was in the 80s but the scarf matches this top so well and when it comes to my love of scarves, I do not let climate dictate my fashion preference; besides scarves also come in handy when in air-conditioning. 

Hubby has a new shirt too. His mom sent it to him earlier this year. Yay for our moms!

                  

              Last, but absolutely not least, from my adorable and adoring sister Robyn:

THE. FANTABULOUS. GORGEOUS. PURPLE HAT! 

Thank you ever so much, daahling. I feel like royalty.

Also wearing the luxurious pashmina she chose for me. My sister dresses me up so fine! And every time I wear it I feel like I’m getting a hug from her.

   I like the sparkle found inside the package. 

Now, to find a fancy holiday tea party… 

Sillybration Week in My Little Corner: Post #4

Glimpses into the Life and Times of Mrs. Dunwoodie (Continued)

“I know Mrs. Dunwoodie volunteered her services in chiromancy at Mount Tiara’s Community Haunted House,” Mr. Fenster said. “But you know she thinks that means giving people a little adjustment by smacking ‘em upside the back of the head as they walk past, right?”

Ruthlessly following the HOA protocol Mrs. Dunwoodie positioned her Viking helmet on her head, armed herself with her ax and in denial of her own promethean personality destroyed all evidence of her neighbor’s decorative expressions of same.

“Being a skilled gradgrind, Mrs. Dunwoodie eventually gets under your skin and into your closets,” warned Mr. Fenster. “But you may not realize it until the skeletons are rattling out.”

“You may have heard Mrs. Dunwoodie referring to herself as a 21^st Century woman,” said Mr. Fenster, “but the only thing neoteric about her is her knee replacement.”

“If my Viking helmet doesn’t discourage that cat burglar from terrorizing Mount Tiara, this ought to do the trick,” Mrs. Dunwoodie muttered, putting the final touches on the alarm system she’d devised featuring sounder grunts and squeals.

Mrs. Dunwoodie took first place in Mount Tiara Community Clinic’s third annual nosocomial gurney race but only because she hooked her Viking helmet by invisible wire to the zip line hidden in the ceiling.

“I asked Mrs. Dunwoodie why she kept looking over her shoulder at herself in the mirror as she ran on the treadmill,” Mr. Fenster said, choking on a chuckle. “And the surd woman said she was trying to follow the advice in Proverbs 14:7, the one that says ‘escape quickly from the company of fools; they’re a waste of your time, a waste of words’.”

I believe I have succeeded in confining her once again
but she's a slippery one. She might be ba-ack.

Dear brave reader. Let me congratulate you on surviving this onslaught of terrifying verbiage and the escapades of Mrs. Dunwoodie. I hope you can agree with Mr. Fenster when he confessed, “Although she’s an annoyance, I prefer Mrs. Dunwoodie on those days when her most prevalent personality is a flaneur rather than when it is a flaunter; with the former our eyesight is at least spared grievous injury.” 

Sillybration Week in My Little Corner: Post #3

Glimpses into the Life and Times of Mrs. Dunwoodie (Continued)

“Better call the veterinarian to bring a neuroleptic from the horse stables down the canyon,” Mr. Fenster advised the paramedics trying to restrain a Viking regalia-clad Mrs. Dunwoodie from axing the trees around Mount Tiara’s community club house.

In releasing Mrs. Dunwoodie from protective custody and returning her belongings to her, including the Viking helmet, Mount Tiara’s law enforcement unwittingly participated in an epitasis resulting in a confrontation at the community’s gated entrance where our infamous heroine had taken it upon herself to stand guard against the postal service.

While visiting a cooperative agriculture center, Mrs. Dunwoodie assured the farmer, concerned about how his cows were uncharacteristically milling about and mooing loudly, that it was her numinous Viking helmet eliciting the bovine blessings.

“I thought Mrs. Dunwoodie said she had an appointment to see a foot doctor for orthopedic shoes but from the looks of it, he’s given her the same orthogonal pair worn by Frankenstein’s monster instead,” Mr. Fenster said as the woman lurched up the sidewalk to her front door.

“Yes, Mrs. Dunwoodie was once a Radio City Music Hall Chorus Girl, and no, she is not practicing her Mount Tiara Talent Show routine when she does that little hop and kick,” explained Mr. Fenster. “It’s a little tic she has whenever she heads in a dextral direction.”

“No, Mrs. Dunwoodie,” Mr. Fenster raised his hands in protest, “This is not the time for an intimate lesson in paleography, regardless of having had those tattoos applied in your long-ago seafaring days.”

Mount Tiara residents knew it was ten-foot pole time when Mrs. Dunwoodie started pawing the ground with her foot, the whites of her eyes turned sinopia and steam escaped from her nostrils.

“Please keep in mind that the red pomiform kettle on Mrs. Dunwoodie’s porch does not contain what it resembles, the bulge in her cheek is not a piece of bubblegum and her spittin’ aim is far from accurate,” warned Mr. Fenster as he led the way across the yard.

(To be continued…)

Sillybration Week at My Little Corner: Post #2

Glimpses into the Life and Times of Mrs. Dunwoodie (Continued)

Coyote snickered, well, as much as a coyote with a mouthful of synthetic blond hair can snicker, at the thought of poor Mrs. Dunwoodie awakening poolside with a sunburned bald spot wondering who avulsed her wig.

“She won’t be taking this decumbent,” sighed old Mr. Fenster when dawn’s early light revealed the toilet paper streamers decorating his neighbor Mrs. Dunwoodie’s lawn and trees.

Far back in the dusty reaches of Mrs. Dunwoodie’s aging mind, a smidgen of inwit nestled, a smidgen which kept her from rushing out in broad daylight and rolling herself up in the toilet paper streamers festooning her yard.

“One good thing about Mrs. Dunwoodie wearing shorts this late in the summer is that when the hair on her legs begins to inspissate, I know to prepare for an unusually cold winter,” Mr. Fenster said to the furnace repair man.

Not only did the landscaping yob assault Mrs. Dunwoodie’s ears and sinuses as he used the leafblower for three hours, in his sloppy handling of the noisome machine he sent her brand new wig off on a new flight.

Because it was more like a bottomless pit than a handbag, in which Mrs. Dunwoodie subsumed everything but the kitchen sink, the Mount Tiara Women’s Club always avoided asking her to take the deposit to the bank.

“Too bad Mrs. Dunwoodie has no understanding of apollonian pie making,” Mr. Fenster said at the Labor Day block potluck as he spit out a nasty unidentifiable glob of pastry. “Savory and sweet should be combined to bring harmony to the tummy and she definitely did not bring it.”

Barely able to see out from under the old horned helmet, worn by her Viking ancestors in a time of spoliation and passed down through the generations, Mrs. Dunwoodie still managed to make quite an impression at the Mount Tiara Women’s Club Autumn Tea Extravaganza.

(To be continued…)

Sillybration Week in My Little Corner: Post #1

For some months now I’ve participated in today’s word on Brandilyn Collins: Seatbelt Suspense Facebook page. My creative juices spurted with truly frightening results and an ominous character came to life, one I hope you never have to meet face-to-face.

Watch out! Apparently she has escaped the confines of my word processing program and has taken over here on my blog.

And beware, readers. Other horrors await you should you decide to proceed. If monstrous words frighten you, if vocabulary of the weird and grotesque makes you squirm, if terminology dug from the depths of a thesaurus raises the hair on the back of your neck, then that is what you may face. You have been warned.

Glimpses into the Life and Times of Mrs. Dunwoodie

“The worst thing that could be said about the Mount Tiara condominium development was the tendency of the architects to platitudinize in their designing expression,” the real estate agent explained to the eager young couple looking for their first home, all blissfully unaware the worst thing was actually Mrs. Dunwoodie.

Having been elected the new Home Owners’ Association President, Mrs. Dunwoodie considered it her proof of being impeccant in all decisions regarding community improvements or lack thereof.

The HOA had never seen Mrs. Dunwoodie more philippic than when she campaigned for the removal of five weeds from her neighbor’s back yard.

Perhaps it was the spit spray accompanying the ten minutes of Mrs. Dunwoodie’s philippic that made it feel like a decennial flood but everyone wished they’d worn their high waders.

“Mrs. Dunwoodie has switched her philippic into high gear this time and nobody is getting a mora in edgewise,” observed Mr. Fenster at the HOA board meeting.

If Mrs. Dunwoodie had only taken the time to embrace mnemonics when she had a mind to do so, the money she’d stashed away in various nooks and crannies would be available to her now.

It came as no surprise to the residents of Mount Tiara, when the new neighbor offended Mrs. Dunwoodie by parking his work truck on the driveway rather than in the garage, that as a schoolgirl along with elocution she’d taken malediction as an elective subject.

(To be continued…)

Creativity Attack

Halloween approaches. It’s an event of controversy for some. I wasn’t allowed to go trick or treating as a kid. My best recollection of the reason my parents gave had to do with it being a form of begging. When my kids were little, I felt uncomfortable associating with anything remotely pagan or demonic so placed restrictions on our participation. Over the years I’ve come to believe that dressing up in silly costumes has no more to do with demonization than playing at peek-a-boo has with becoming invisible.

On the other hand I want to use every opportunity to bring blessing and light into my little corner of the world, right? I’ve been trying to remember something I came across in The Message not too long ago that I want to incorporate into my front door seasonal décor. This morning through working on my Bible study lesson I was directed to Ephesians 5:11-16. Woohoo! There’s the verse!

“Don’t waste your time on useless work, mere busywork, the barren pursuits of darkness. Expose these things for the sham they are. It’s a scandal when people waste their lives on things they must do in the darkness where no one will see. Rip the cover off those frauds and see how attractive they look in the light of Christ.

Wake up from your sleep,
Climb out of your coffins;
Christ will show you the light!

So watch your step. Use your head. Make the most of every chance you get. These are desperate times!”

A scary yet reassuring reminder not just for Halloween!

 And here's where the attack of creativity took me.

Front door side window.

Wind chimes catch more than the breeze.

Protected by a ziplock bag...

...the breeze makes the card twist and turn.

What’s your approach to Halloween?