I just shake my head and laugh when I learn about stuff… simple stuff that other folks have known all along that some how had eluded my understanding…
Take that common instruction that Doctors give to us boys to “turn you head and cough”. For the ladies in the audience who are not in the know, this command is given while the Doctor places his fingers near our “pride and joy” and is meant to be a test for a hernia… well, that’s what they tell us anyway.
Now the coughing part I can sort of understand. The act of coughing can put a strain on your lower abdomen as muscles constrict. OK. It was the “turn your head” part that I could never figure out.
I guess I just attributed it to one of the mysteries of medicine. You know… the act of pivoting your head 90 degrees created a change in the vertical column of your spine which had an impact on the pelvis and the housing for our genitalia. It was the key feature in determining if we had a hernia or were prone to one.
So I thought…
I guess I was nearing 50 years of age when the mystery of this curious medical test was finally unwrapped. I forgot how I learned it… or who told me. The “turn your head” part was merely meant to have you not cough in the Doctor’s face.
Geeze… you gotta giggle.
Or an earlier revelation… there is a Jewish delicacy called gefilte fish. I will spare you the details on how this “delicacy” is made… suffice it to say that for practical purposes it is a “fish meatball” comprised of pike, carp & white fish. It is a popular dish to serve at Passover in the spring and on Rosh Hashanah in the fall. If the idea of this dish doesn’t sound appetizing, let me assure you the sight of it is worse. And if truth be told, I think that 75% of the Jews hate the dish.
Be that as it may, my Grandmother Mommie Soph made a superior gefilte fish (by the by, for those of us who love this dish we all have Mothers or Grandmothers who made the best… something that put us immediately at odds with our spouses and any other pretenders to the cooking craft).
Twice a year Mommie Soph would labor at producing an adequate quantity of gefilte fish to supply our extended family and then some. I am first to admit that there couldn’t have been a more finicky eater than me. The fact that I adored Mommie Soph’s gefilte fish is well known. Paul also rightly observed that the typical use of beet horseradish as a condiment was completely unnecessary for Mommie Soph’s fish… she peppered it so, that a simple bite would bring tears to your eyes and clear your sinuses.
I would look into the kitchen as she made jars of fish for this and that relative. To me it was like she was depleting the reserves of Fort Knox. And then there was the jar she was sending to the Povermans.
The Povermans?
How the hell do they rate? OK. The Povermans were long time friends of our family. They lived around the corner on McKinley St. David was a Doctor, married to Helen… two children, Judy who went to school with Lynn (and who I think had a crush on Paul at one point) and Buzzie who went to Hopkins with Paul and Alan. The Povermans were also sailors… they had a boat that slept 6 or 8… and it was on that boat that Paul would crush his leg just before graduating from Union College.
OK… back to the fish. Now, fine… the Povermans are dear friends, they lived around the corner, and all… but still it amazed me that they wanted Mommie Soph’s gefilte fish… I mean most Jews are repelled by it… but for someone who was gentile to actually like it demonstrated conclusively to me how excellent Mommie Soph’s version was… you know Q.E.D.
One day I was talking to Bessie about Mommie Soph’s gefilte fish, I guess I must have been 30 something when this conversation took place… how great it was… Bessie in fact took a stab at it one year; but let’s not kid around, it was good; but a shadow of what Mommie Soph made. And then I said… “look Bessie, if non-Jews like the Povermans could like Mommie Soph’s fish… then that had to say something.”
Then she looked at me and said, “What are you talking about?”
And I repeated… “If the Povermans, and there can’t be anyone more Episcopalian than them, liked gefilte fish…”
“Episcopalian? Are you nuts? They’re Jewish!”
I nearly fainted. I thought Bessie had to be pulling my leg. Even after both Paul and Lynn confirmed to me that they were Jewish… I thought that they were pulling my leg, too. It was a conspiracy. I had known the Povermans all my life… I knew better.
Man, you gotta giggle.
Other folks can giggle, too. Take the car I drive on most days. It is a red Chevy Sprint of indeterminate age. I acquired the car from Lynn and Alan when Zack reached driving age and would need a car for work. And as things turn and twist, the car that was meant for his use was turned over to me, and he got the better car (the safer car, as Ellen pointed out), and the car that was easier to drive (Zack not skilled in the stick shift arts).
Some 8 years later I am still driving the Sprint. It is being held together by bailing wire and glue. Suzy drives my “new” car… for somewhat the same reasons that Zack did.
For years I have referred to this car as my mercedes… (and in print mercedes is always with a lower case “m”). I tell folks that I got a great price on it because it didn’t have the hood ornament. It is my ambition to one day have a real Mercedes and have a bumper sticker made that says my other car is a Chevy Sprint.
Well… the rest of the world can laugh… I think there are more Dusenburgs on the road than Chevy Sprints!
Nevertheless, I have been the brunt of many a joke with regards to the mercedes. Folks at work always make light of it… But there are new folks that get “layered” into work here at Grapes, and who will get stories mid-stream so to speak.
And so it was Donna, who kept on hearing about the mercedes… and clearly she saw a beat up Chevy Sprint sitting in the parking lot of Grapes and simply thought that I left the Mercedes at home… and only used it for special occasions. We had been working together for several months… and it was no big deal… it’s not like we dwell on cars… so the incidental references to the mercedes caused no ruffles.
Then there is the day that Sandy makes light of the mercedes… and she knew the car… and when Donna finally learns about the true nature of the car they share a good laugh.
And when Sandy tells me that Donna thought that I really had a Mercedes I had a good laugh, too.
So armed with this amusing tale of “mistaken identity”, I decide to share my laugh with Barbara… a woman who I have worked with for five years…
I lay out the story… how Donna actually thought I had a Mercedes… and Barbara turns red in the face, gets this wonderful sheepish smile… and she says that this was news to her, too… that she thought I had a Mercedes, too and just kept it parked at home.
Oh well… I just gotta giggle.
Maybe it’s a sign of age? I think of myself sitting in a solarium, the sun streaming into the room, in a rocking chair, a blanket on my lap, maybe I just peed in my PJs… but somehow enjoying the simplicity of a good giggle… remembering what it was like to laugh at something that had an unexpected truth.
I like collecting this stuff… and I know that this can get out of hand… and perhaps this isn’t as amusing to you as it is to me.
But if you see me one day dribbling oat meal from the corners of my mouth… and if I have some stupid shit eating grin on my face… you’ll have an idea what I’m thinking about…
And it’s all good.