Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Chicken or the Egg?
Do I garden because I like to eat well, or do I like to eat well because I garden?
An article about Bridge Players like Grandma, and their resulting brain power, questions, "Are they active because they are sharp, or sharp because they are active?"
And I spent some time questioning my ownself about everything I do, or think, because that's how my mind functions. Sarah's much the same, and that's how and what we talk to each other about, especially in the realm of nutrition, the environment, gardening or other matters. Imagine what a sad sack I'd have been, after this past stress slamming year or so, if my body had been comprised of Twinkies, cheez doodles and Diet Cokes? At least I had some building blocks to work with as I've recovered.
My driveway was a hubbub of activity last night, me on so little sleep, counting the hours until bedtime. Daniel with a piece to improve the chicken tractor, Miss Cissy came by with loads of clothes for everyone after cleaning out her closets. If I can squeeze my 54 year old rear end into those lah-de-dah jeans, dern I'm gonna look expensive. My sons swooped in, dividing everything that was manly, and taking tons back to their rooms to likely not hang up.
Mayra's friend, Courtney, and her parents came to take Mayra to their lake house for a few days, Miss Kimberly brought by coffee grounds and the news that Chuy'd addressed her lately as "Yo! Teach" which is 100% unacceptable. Boy, are you kidding me? Stand up straight and address her with respect. He mumbled an apology, no doubt wondering if he could ever catch a break from all my teacher friends.
Chuck has wired all the family room computers somehow to a hub at his house, several hundred yards down the hill, and can see what web pages my Bubbas are looking at, adding spyware protective programs, he can send up messages to them, scaring the snot out of Allen last night by shutting everything he opened from afar, sending Allen screaming into the room I was in, sure aliens were controlling him, while his silly brother JoJo dressed up in women's clothes from Miss Cissy, prancing around with his long, gangly, hairy legs in high heel, pointed boots.
Finally it was bedtime. I absolutely crashed, face first, asleep before I hit the pillow that a brave and foolish barn cat had coiled upon, another school year accomplished, worn out but successful with everyone except Jonathan. I had 16 bookbags of papers to go through, and I mentioned to the kids we might venture out to the dollar theater if I can find us a funny movie.
If I do nothing else for the second half of my life, Lord puh-leez let me laugh. The whole jogging on the inside concept, eliminating stress and sloughing off everyone's misdirected anger. I think a Madea movie is playing. I know Tyler Perry has taken some flak for his portrayal of African American women, but if you've lived in the South for very long, like more than thirty minutes or so, you've met plenty of women like her, maybe less witty, but certainly as bossy and opinionated.
I think she's hilarious and such a dead-on throwback to uncomplicated, un-politically correct times that are still acceptable down here. The PC police need to get their panties out of a wad and enjoy a good guffaw. Life's too short to stress over comedic accuracy.
"An unpardonably primitive, repetitive dramedy that promises a farce yet delivers the same tiresome Perry brand of spiritual and empowerment hooey..." See that's the real issue as liberal critics can't comprehend the folks who are believers yet are hilarious. An unsettling combination? Whatever, it works for me. We want to be entertained, not educated at a Madea movie.
Just as I'd seen a kid from the high school yesterday, trudging home from school in his pjs. Is it just a Southern thing? Are we more free down here to be lackadaisical? Shiftless? Ridiculous? It works for me.
Madea or Jeff Foxworthy's redneck illustrations...it's just about a relaxed lifestyle. And yes, I'm upset over My Name is Earl being cancelled. I may be highly educated, which allowed me to retire early, but I ain't above bathroom humor.
You might be a redneck if you got stopped by a state trooper. He asked you if you had an I.D. And you said, 'Bout What?'
Maybe I'm just immature, but who cares? At times I can't believe I'm already as old as I am with a granddaughter heading off to high school now. If anything, over the decades, I've lost ground in the maturity department. Just ask my parents...or Sarah. I'd simply rather be goofy than serious. I'd rather laugh than preen. I'll choose giggling over stressing, and chuckling over fretting. Given the clowns I live with...Or are they silly because I am?
I just hope I'm continuously given the chance to be a whack job.