Tuesday, April 27, 2010


About 18 years or so ago, the ex and I purchased a home in the town in which we live. It had been a three-bedroom rancher, but a previous owner had been a builder and added a two-story brick attachment with a sunken family room and a nice master bedroom suite upstairs. It was a good deal, and I liked the house...not the neighborhood so much, but the house.

Until. We had a serious gully-washer come through, and our house received a lot of run-off from the hill behind us. The rain started pouring in and the sunken living room lived up to its name. The ex, of course, wasn't home as he never was during a crisis (up to and including Hurricane Hugo!), and I frantically tried to save furniture and carpet.

Long story short, this builder didn't bother to waterproof the outer wall. We had one more deluge before we could have it fixed, and we couldn't save the carpet a second time.

What does this calamity have to do with laughter? I'll tell you. You knew I would. Around this same time, the British series of "Who's Line is it Anyway" was on Comedy Central. If you're only familiar with the Drew Carey version, that was limp and pale in comparison. The Brit version was hysterical. Rolling on the floor stuff. And I watched every single day throughout the mess. I'm not too sure it wasn't the only thing that kept me in my usual semi-sane state.

I'm a firm believer in the healing power of laughter. The DH and I have had some serious rocky times - almost all, I hasten to add, from external sources. We get along exceptionally well, mainly because I know how lucky I am, and he because he doesn't realize how heavily I keep him drugged. But there has never come a time when we couldn't laugh together, and if at times the laughter was a little bit on the hysterical side, well, it was still cathartic.

Almost two years ago, it was the last time we saw my father-in-law. We all knew he was passing, and only a couple of us could be with him in his hospital room at once. I stood in the hall with the DH and his older brother, and listened to them reminisce about their dad. They told camping stories, and house painting stories, and car trip stories, and throughout all of these warm memories was the thread of laughter. When I think of that day, I think of holding Dad's hand, telling him I loved him and trying to quiet him...and I think of that laughter.

Now, to quote Bill Cosby, I told you that one to tell you this. I stumbled (gracefully, naturally, as befits your goddess) across a blog today that had me laughing. Not just laughing, I should say. Guffawing till I was breathless, wiping away tears, and struggling hard to sober up when the phone rang. Now, I know humor is subjective, and what I find funny you may not, especially if you're a conservative about adult language and situations. I'm a bit like that in public (when did it become okay to drop the F-bomb in the middle of a crowded store?), but to read or watch as humor, I'm okay. If you are too, enjoy.

If you don't find her amusing, feel free to say so. I need a good laugh, and you'll do. :-)


Romi said...

Laughter is the best. Thank you for sharing that!

Rosemarie Buchanan said...

Oh god ... in stitches! I'm sorry I took so long to read it! And some of the comments were just as funny as the story!

I'm bookmarking that blog, fer sure.