My paternal grandmother, Bertha, made the greatest fried bread the world has ever known. It melted in your mouth. It did not even need syrup to be wonderful.
Grandma Bertha was also one of the sweetest women to ever walk on the face of this Earth.
But, in her latter years, she got a little whiffy, as we all do.
Her strategy for managing this situation was notes.
Notes in the Kitchen:
“Chew My Food Well” and “Say Grace Before Meals.”
Notes in the living room:
“Give Grandpa his evening medicines before going to bed, even if he does not want them and I can’t sleep.”
Notes in the bathroom:
“Wash my hair every Tuesday, but no later than Thursday, unless it falls in a week.”
Sadly, I must admit that we mocked Grandma Bertha’s notes.
Especially “Chew My Food Well” because “well” was underlined three times, in bold, hard-pressed, pencil lines. Make NO mistake, Grandma meant business when it came to chewing her food well. God rest her sweet soul.
I mention this because notes have again begun popping up in my life, in droves, which proves “what goes around comes around”.
Today, as I leave my home office, I see a pink square of paper with big, “happy” black words: “Remember to turn your light OFF! Thanks!”
The pink paper note on the living room TV says: “Please remember to turn off TV when not watching — don’t mute. Thx!”
The note on the oil heater says: “Pls turn off before going to bed!!!” (No “Thx” on this semi-testy note).
And then there is the note on the back door, where I take out the trash and recycling late every night. This note is all caps, in red, on an A4 piece of paper:
“PLEASE TURN OFF PORCH LIGHT WHEN COMING BACK IN!!! DAMMIT!!!”
OK, it does not say “DAMMIT!!!”. But that is certainly implied and follows on from my being informed that I had now forgotten to turn off the outside light FIVE TIMES.
The fifth time, apparently, prompted the escalation in number and tone (i.e. the implied “DAMMIT!!!”) of the GM Finance’s notes.
Also connected to the note frenzy may or may not be my habit of muting stupid, loud, annoying TV commercials, going to the toilet during the ad breaks, stopping for a moment to check my emails, and then returning to the living room TV, perhaps in the next day or two.
This does not bother me.
This makes the GM Finance write notes and start to connect the dots, which is never a good thing.
The GM Finance was watching 60 Minutes recently when they did a story linking concussions and Alzheimers. It made her sit bolt upright, somewhat distraught but, at the same time, elated that she had found the smoking gun!
“You played football. You said you had concussions. That is why you always forget to turn off the lights. You have Alzheimer’s. I WIN!”
OK, she did not say “I WIN!”, but it was implied.
In my defense, I should point out that if I have Alzheimer’s now, I have had it since I was little. My older sisters pointed out many thousands of times that “the light switch works both ways!” and “The TV has two settings, ON and OFF.”
To which I must say, Dearest Lynn and Cathy, “PFFFFFFFFFFFTTT”.
Look, I have nothing against the concept of notes. If you were to peek at my laptop or car dash or cell phone, you would see anywhere from one to 17 Post-it notes.
They are supposed to remind me to do essential things like go to the bank, get gas, listen to the news, send an email, walk the doglettes and write this blog.
Because I am all kinds of proactive, there is even one note that says, “turn off the stupid porch light, dammit.” I am not kidding.
Alas, even these notes, written in my own hand, fail to remind me to do stuff.
It is because the moment I write them and put them onto some surface, they became part of that surface and invisible.
This is because men are hunters. Like Tyrannosauruses, our eyes can only see movement, or notice things when they are different. We cannot see static things, like notes. This is how God made us.
We have advised the GM Finance that our Tyrannosaurus-like senses might be able to see notes if they were, say, attached to a beer or a cheeseburger.
All of which means we are in for a long, cold winter in New Zealand; as the daylight hours fade, as I leave lights and heaters on, and the GM Finance leaves wall-to-wall notes right across our house.
None of which I will see, because I am a Tyrannosaurus.
Unless she were to leave a big note where I sit at the dinner table that said: “Chew My Food Well Because I Am A Tyrannosaurus.”
That would be awesome.
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