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Friday, 22 September 2006 |
Blonde on the Prairie?
By Jodi Rae Ingstad
Forgive me if I'm being redundant. Sometimes I'm forced to refer back to something I've already told you about in order to explain myself in another situation.
I'm not sure if what I experience during my daily walk is a curse or a blessing. It's a blessing, I suppose, when it makes me laugh. But when it involves something that disturbs me, it's a curse.
It happens in a most amplified way when that husband of mine takes me to a crowded restaurant. It seems to come in more clearly the more noise that's around me. Let me explain.
Some people are really good at math. Others have a memory that surpasses all understanding. Transcendental Etudes are said to be the pieces most difficult to play on the piano, yet certain people play them with ease.
I'm horrible at math, I have a 40-year-old memory that fails me, and though I can play the piano I'm certainly no Liszt.
I'm nowhere near Liszt but I am very similar to Dumbo. Dumbo was an elephant with very large ears. His best friend was named Tim. Tim was a mouse. In case I've never shared this with you, that husband of mine's real name is Tim. I spend a lot of time home alone and the only other friends I own in my home are a large group of mice. Coincidence? There isn't such a thing.
The other reason I'm just like Dumbo is that I have large ears. Not in the cosmetic sense, rather in the physical sense. I have big ears because I can hear things other people around me can not. If you are a doctor and you can explain this phenomenon to me without me making an appointment or going through any invasive testing, your email will be appreciated.
When Husband and I are in a crowded restaurant for instance and the acoustics are much distorted, I can hear all the conversations around me, near and far clearly. People say a lot of funny things and their views provide me with laughter galore. That's the blessing. On the other hand, there are two negative words that keep coming up that disturb me. The two words are battered down to one word when they're turned into slang. The word is "shoulda."
Just like I believe there is no such thing as a coincidence, (I view them all as Godwinks instead,) I believe the word "shoulda" should not exist.
When someone tells me "ya shoulda done this" or "ya shoulda done that" it makes me feel not only like I've failed, but that I've done it miserably! My hearing might be sensitive but my heart has nerves greater than my tooth that needs a root canal. If you are a dentist and you can explain that phenomenon to me without me making an appointment or going through any invasive testing, your email will be appreciated. When someone scolds me with a "ya shoulda," I wish I were in the dentist chair having a root canal without anesthesia instead of in front of someone who hasn't walked an inch in my shoes telling me, "Ya shoulda." At least the pain of a root canal heals in time. They don't even have to use the words in a negative manner to make them harsh to my ears. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a woman who too easily notices and acknowledges her own mistakes. "Ya shoulda" phrases are reminiscent of all the bad things about myself I'm already working on.
I "shoulda" but I didn't so now I'm moving on. I'm using my big ears like Dumbo did to overcome adversity. I'm flying into my future with my big ears flapping and a little mouse I claim as my best friend hanging on for dear life, coincidently, (though there isn't such a thing,) whose name is Tim. Embrace your gift.
Jodi Rae Ingstad
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Last Updated ( Monday, 04 December 2006 )
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