A well-meaning Christian stopped me on Yonge Street while I was on my way to the library.
“Do you know what The Bible really said?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “The Bible can’t talk.”
She did not laugh and walked away.
How come God’s sense of humor did not make it into religion? He has such a great sense of humor, a tremendous sense of humor! Yet so many religious people take it all so seriously. Laughing in church, when I was a kid, meant you would go to Hell. Of course, not being able to laugh made me giggle all the more. I usually stopped giggling when my Sunday School teacher glared at me.
How do I know God has a great sense of humor? He created human beings.
If The Bible could talk, then it should say, “Live! Love! Laugh!”
She is white. He is black.
She is from France. He is from Canada.
She and he have known each other for over ten years. They met through Laughter Yoga. They had talked before, but recently they opened up to each other and said things they have never told anyone. They discovered that they have more in common than they have in differences. It did not matter that she was white and from France, and he was black and from Canada. They had much in common.
He is me. She shall remain anonymous.
This experience made me realize that no matter what our racial or religious differences; no matter what countries we are from; if we would suspend our judgments and talk to each other, really open up and share our thoughts, then we would discover that there is no reason for hatred because we all have more in common than we have in differences.
“If you use our real names in your blog, then I’ll . . . ”
The speaker was Adam. That’s not his real name. Adam is married to Eve. That’s not her real name. I have known Adam and Eve since they were kicked out of The Garden.
Adam and Eve have often invited me to their place for dinner. I have avoided going because I get into my hermit mode and do not socialize. So it’s nothing against Adam and Eve when I turn down their dinner invitations.
This past Wednesday I had a business appointment with Adam. Adam offered to drive me back to the library after our appointment, but needed to stop briefly by his house on the way.
“Would you like to come in and say hello to Eve?” asked Adam when we stopped at his house.
“Sure,” I said.
I had no plans to stay, but once inside Adam and Eve and I started talking. What a wonderful conversation! It lasted through dinner and afterward. We talked about life, death, God and religion. What else would you talk about around Adam and Eve? I would have missed this delightful evening if Adam did not have to stop at his home.
Adam and Eve are kind and generous. All who know them are blessed. Even God regrets kicking them out of The Garden. I am grateful for their friendship.
Dean is 5 years old. Soon he will be six. He and I are on the same emotional level. We have lots of fun when we’re together.
For a long time, Dean’s parents have asked me to visit. Finally, I visited them this past Sunday.
I said that I was would be there at 7:00 pm, but Toronto’s public transit wanted me to arrive a half hour late. Dean’s parents told Dean that I would be there at seven. Dean kept looking through the mail slot of the door watching for me . He got tired of doing this. He got his red camping chair, opened the inside door, and sat in the doorway eagerly watching for me through the screen door.
From a distance, I saw Dean sitting in the doorway. I thought, “What is Dean doing?” I realized that he was waiting for me when I saw his face light up, as if it were Christmas, after he saw me coming.
Dean dashed down the hallway shouting, “He’s here! He’s here!”
Dean’s actions warmed my heart. Once inside I said, “Thanks, Dean, for waiting for me by the door. That was nice of you. You made me joyful.”
Dean said, “I only do that for people I like.”
Dean’s parents were nice enough to make me dinner. During dinner and afterward, Dean and I had fun. I talked with Dean’s parents after Dean went to bed. I left late Sunday evening still high from the joy of seeing Dean waiting for me by the door.
Why do we take recreational drugs?
Here’s what I think:
No matter how old we get, we are children wanting to laugh and draw and write and play and celebrate. No matter how old we get, we want to express ourselves freely. No matter how old we get, we instinctively know that all we need to have fun is inside us.
As we get older, we are taught to worry about what other people think. As we get older, we develop inhibitions and think we need reasons to celebrate. As we get older, we stop trusting what we instinctively know and suppress our childlike nature.
How painful to suppress a child who wants to laugh and draw and write and play and celebrate. To cover the pain, we get drunk or high. Then we can laugh and draw and write and play and celebrate and express ourselves freely. We don’t have to take responsibility for our actions, and worry about what people think, because we can blame the drug that caused our behavior.
That’s what I think. I have no scientific studies or expert opinions to support my thoughts. My thoughts came as I watched adults spend money on drugs to have the same fun that children have naturally.
I have never been in a building when the fire alarm went off and there was a real fire. But the number of times I have experienced false alarms exceeds Donald Trump’s gaffes.
This afternoon, at 5:45, I was in the Yonge/Eglinton Centre when the fire alarm went off. It was beeps and not bells. I sniffed. No smoke. I carried on with my business, and so did everyone else as suggested by the picture. The only people taking the alarm seriously were the security guards:
“YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE. YOUR ATTENTION. THIS IS THE YONGE/EGLINTON SECURITY. THE FIRE ALARM HAS SOUNDED AND IS BEING INVESTIGATED. PLEASE STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.”
Security guards were the only ones standing by for further instructions. They stood at various points in the mall scrutinizing their surroundings. Everyone else was carrying on as if there was no fire alarm.
The only store I saw close was the Indigo Books. They had kicked out their customers and closed the clear folding doors to the mall.
It made me laugh out loud to see an Indigo employee inside the store wearing a yellow hard hat. How incongruent to see this woman in her dark Indigo Books uniform wearing a yellow hard hat!
Obviously, she was the fire warden for that store. Every workplace has one or more. She likely had a day-long seminar on fire safety, and how to put on a hard hat. I don’t know how a hard hat helps you to breathe during a fire, but there are a lot of things I don’t know.
I saw the Indigo fire warden just before exiting the Yonge/Eglinton Centre to walk back to the Northern District Library.
As I write this, 7:30 pm, the Yonge/Eglinton Centre is still standing. `
My passport arrived in the mail today. But it is not my passport. Inside the front cover in bold lettering are the words,
This passport is the property of the Government of Canada
On Page 1 again are the words,
This passport is the property of the Government of Canada . . .
If this passport is the property of the Government of Canada, then why didn’t the Government of Canada pay for it?
What a racket the Government of Canada has! It owns property that we pay for. Where can I get a scam going like that?
Also on Page 1 are the words,
This passport may be used only by the bearer whose name it is issued.
Duh? Really? You mean I can’t use Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s passport because I like his passport picture better than mine?
If anyone asks to see my passport I will say, “I don’t own a passport, but will this one owned by the Government of Canada be okay?”
Although I was surprised at shedding tears over my mother’s death, after 15 years, I know that there is nothing wrong with me. There is no normal when it comes to grieving. After a thousand years, something could trigger tears over her death. The best way to deal with a feeling is to feel it. Suppressing feelings can cause illness.
I cried, but I also laughed at my crying. I laughed because I was feeling smug about being in the Acceptance stage. The Acceptance stage jumped back to the Anger stage. Who knows what stage of grief I am in?
Why not add Confusion to the stages of grief. That would make them the six stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance and Confusion.
So, I am learning to live with the pain, and I am learning to laugh with the pain. And to some I am a pain, but that’s another blog.
Last week I thought about Mother’s Day. I thought about Ma dying 15 years ago, and how I was finally over her death. And then I wrote yesterday’s blog and I cried and I cried and I cried.
Bereavement Leave at the places I worked was 3 days. Three days to get over a death of someone close to you. Here it is 15 years, and I’m still not over my mother’s death.
Yesterday, I felt the way I did when she died. I felt like screaming, “Stop the world! Stop the world! My mother died! Stop the world!”
A friend once told me, “We never really get over the deaths of those close to us. We just learn to live with the pain.”