Laughter

The older I get the more I find myself laughing at the absurdities of life. I have to laugh. If I took everything that comes my way seriously, I would be in sad shape. So I laugh.

Part of my job is using a blow dryer to dry the fur of the dogs I bathe. Those of you who have visited me at work know that there is a grooming table set up in the back room next to the bathtub. I find that kneeling next to the table is easier on my back than bending over to dry underbellies and legs, especially smaller dogs like Toy Poodles and Dachshunds. Getting down on my knees is not the problem. The getting back up can be interesting. The picture I get of myself hauling this old, overweight body back up to my feet is a silly picture. Now I could bemoan the fact that limbs do not work as well as they did 20 years ago. I could. Or I could rant about the fact that my figure has become pretty much barrel shaped as opposed to hourglass shaped. Could do that, too. But I laugh at myself. Silly old woman, thinking that a crane would come in really handy to get me upright again. That picture makes me laugh.

As I have looked through my collection of family photos, I have realized that humor has been a big part of my life. I found this picture of my Dad. He had taken his family on a vacation to the Black Hills. At one of the tourist trap places we stopped, he found this make-believe saloon. Now Dad wasn't a drinker. If he had any tendencies in that direction, Mother quickly squelched them. I have suspected over the years that he may have had a taste of something alcoholic when he went deer hunting and stayed with one of his brothers up north. Especially since my cousin Curt was famous for his homemade wine, and those visiting were offered "just a taste." Could never prove it, but the suspicion was there. That aside, I never saw my Dad drink anything stronger than coffee. So when he found this saloon, he couldn't resist the temptation to lean against the door, pretending to have had a few too many.

This picture has been in my parents photo collection for over 50 years. It is a rather unflattering photo of Mom's sister, Margaret. It has moved with my family from St. Paul, where it was taken, to Willmar, on to Funkley, Blackduck and finally to Kelliher, where I acquired it in a box of photos that Dad gave me. I once asked Dad about it, and here is what he told me.

It seems that Dad and my Mom's sisters loved to tease and joke with each other. Margaret, being Margaret, could not resist the temptation to tease Dad about something long since forgotten. And Dad, being Dad, could not let her teasing go by without adding a smart remark of his own. Then Margaret chose this method of showing what she thought of Dad's remark, and that is when Dad took her picture. And this is why we have a family heirloom photo of Aunt Margaret's Opinion. Dad added that he had kept the photo all of these years because it reminded him of the fun they had with their teasing and joking

There was never anything mean about their teasing and joking, as the second photo shows. This one was taken outside the nursing home in Blackduck where Mom was living at the time, and Margaret and Melfred had come for a visit. It is probably my favorite photo of Dad and Margaret.

I love this photo of my sister. This was taken in the first apartment my family lived in when we first moved to Willmar. Sunday mornings our family always attended church. This particular Sunday, Libby was full of spots from chicken pox. So Mother left Dad in charge of her while she took me to church.

Now those of you who remember my Dad know that this was a situation that was ripe for him to do something.....didn't know what.....just something. And this photo is the result of the "something" he came up with. Nobody knew what he had been up to, entertaining my sister that Sunday morning, until the pictures came back from the developer. The moral of the story, according to my Mother, was "Never leave Dad alone with time on his hands. He surely will find some mischief to get into."

It was long my Dad's habit to look for wildflowers when he was out and about, and to pick a few for my mother. She always acted like Dad was a hero for bringing her flowers. I believe he may have been pushing his luck on this one, though.

And I can't laugh at others in my family without laughing at myself. While going through my boxes of photos looking for one that Jill asked me for, I found these. If I ever begin to have a swelled head over anything, these old school photos would bring me right back down to earth in a heartbeat. When I receive school photos of my grandchildren, they are usually beautiful. The photographer obviously takes the time to pose each child, using backgrounds and props to enhance each photo. We, on the other hand, were stood against a blank screen or wall, sort of like a mug shot without the ruler to tell how tall a person was and the card with numbers held across the chest. The photo was snapped, the child whisked away and the next one in line took his or her place for their mug shot. I'm guessing that my parents weren't happy that they had to fork over cash for these.

The last photo of me was taken in 1954, on the steps of the old Lincoln Elementary School in Willmar. It was used in a Father's Day gift project for Brownie Scouts. I love the fashion statement. Way back then, when dinosaurs roamed the earth at will, girls weren't allowed to wear jeans or slacks to school. The rule was skirts or dresses only. So our mothers, ever practical, made us wear pants under our dresses to keep our legs warm - in this case, homemade corduroy pants. I guess it was OK, though. As a little girl, my knees were forever skinned up from play, and the pants covered the ever present scabs.

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I am glad that my children have inherited the humor gene. I would hate to think that they would go through life without laughter. Every now and then one of them will call, telling me about the latest antics of their kids, or something funny that happened. When Jeri was in Middle School, she would call me nearly every day and tell me the joke of the day. My favorite was "Little Bunny Foo Foo," but that is a story for another time. Duane has asked me to email him mornings on my days off, letting him know that I am alive and well. I love his replies, as he usually says something silly to make me laugh. That's a great way to start a day. David calls regularly and nearly always has something to tell me about what his crew of kids has been up to. At those times, I have been known to outright giggle. And when I talk with Jill, she nearly always has something to tell me about what Zach has said or done that brings a smile to my face, if not a good old belly laugh. I love it.

I have dealt with people over the years who have lost, if they ever had it, the capacity for laughter. They tend to be grumpy old men or women, whose faces would surely crack if they ever smiled. How these people make it through this crazy, silly life, is beyond me. I realize that there are situations that need to be taken seriously, and that is as it should be. But the rest of the time, when life throws something at a person where they can either laugh or cry, I believe I will choose laughter. It really is the best medicine of all.