THINGS I WONDER ABOUT...

Here’s what I wonder…

*Why did they name them Hover-Rounds and Rascals? What elderly person wants to be known as the one who ‘hovers around’ in their little motorized seat? “Where’s grandma?”, “Oh, she’s just ‘hovering around.’---- Also, who thought the name “Rascal” was cute? Seriously, this gives the senior citizen, who is basically just trying to maneuver through his or her day without activating the Medic-Alert system, all the grace and dignity of a toddler in its Johnny-Jump-Up.

*How come, when I go to the Home Town Buffet; get all my own utensils and food, fetch my own drink and have to set my unsightly leavings on the edge of the table, as though begging for a garbage pick-up, do I feel horribly guilty if I do not leave a tip?

*How come, in this age of trumped up, hyper-excessive self-esteem; in which everyone under the age of thirty actually believes that they are either the next American Idol (when in fact they sing like two cats trapped in a sack) or ---even if they are extremely white--- somehow believe they are Eminem-ish, Puff-Diddy-P-Daddy-Def Jam-gangsta-large-pants cool AND anticipate their very own reality show at any moment---BUT--- also subconsciously realize that they have been thoroughly duped by the collective psycho-babble drivel and then desperately listen to every commercial that tells them that they are ‘Without’? Wouldn’t it stand to reason that if people really did have true ‘self-esteem’, commercials telling them how piteous they are without the ‘latest and coolest’ clothes-shoes-thingys-gizmos would have virtually no effect?

*Why---along the same line of reasoning---do they never use a woman over thirty-five for wrinkle cream commercials? You know why you look so good honey? BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT OLD!!! And yet WHY have I bought ten different brands of it myself, hoping each time for a dramatically different result? And, why do I fall for phrases like ‘serum’ and ‘hydrolic-revitalizers’? And, do you think Madison Avenue stinks on ice? (Discuss amongst yourselves.)

*How come, when you arrive early to the empty theater for a movie---in order to claim your favorite spot---does someone (with the whole theater to choose from) without fail owlishly make a bee-line to either sit right next to you or directly in front of, or behind you? This person will inevitably commence crunching, slurping and-or-speaking loudly into their cell phone before their double-wide butt has even fully lowered into their seat. Also if you did not choose to watch ‘Saw IV-Chain Saw-Slasher-Demon-Texas-Massacre’---and perhaps even if you did---they will often have two toddlers and a surly six-year-old in-tow. If they are behind you they will kick your seat. If they are beside you they will crumple their candy wrappers and whine, sneeze and cough on you repeatedly (and those are just the adults) and if---Lord help you---they are in front of you, each child will turn to stare at you, through all of the previews and half of the movie, with either large doleful eyes or a hostile, suspicious glare plus the bonus runny nose. Isn’t little Madison-Phineas-Caitlyn-Harlow-Isabella-Brody adorable? Feel free to make menacing gestures.

*Why is it appropriate to label larger sizes for women PLUS or QUEEN-SIZED or my favorite, FULL-FIGURED, but it is NOT appropriate to use these same terms for men’s apparel? You will never hear it said, “Well, George just cannot pull that look off, he is a KING-SIZE.” Or “Earl is a great guy with a wonderful personality, and such a handsome face, too bad he is so…FULL-FIGURED.” The closest they come is when they label the fat-little-boy’s section “husky”…oh but it’s okay, he’s “husky.” Just look at that future football player. If we bigger girls must endure the euphemisms, why not; ‘STATUESQUE’ or ‘ZAFTIG’ or possibly even the ‘REUBENESQUE’ section? Oh wait…how about a big old sign that just says ‘DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD’?---Come on people, class it up! Tonya Willman ©2011

Resurrection

He died for my redemption.
He arose for my eternity.
He lives that I might too.
Time without end, Amen.

*********************
There was no room at the Inn,
but ever-so much in the tomb.
Once again spaciously empty,
and ready to receive
one whom it could hold.
The angels said, “He is not here,
come see where He lay….”

*********************

Jesus, Mighty King
Prince of Peace
Conqueror
All Mighty God
Alpha and Omega
My Friend
I cannot wait to behold
Your Face
My Lord.
***********
Tonya Willman © 2011

The Hidden Chrysalis

This is my requiem to lovely and felicitous Spring Time!!! Elegy to the buds budding, leaves leafing and great golden rays of sunshine! Oh, how I have longed for you….. Winter may be beautiful, but she is icy and unreasonable. She does not embrace even those who love her. She is queenly, but distant.
Today I smelled the beautifully rich aroma of delicately new green and growing things. Such a fragrance, who can duplicate it? The most enchanting of man-made perfumes and oils are a pale imitation.
Here is a beauteous gift from the Father; to sway on a swing in a grassy spot, to turn your face towards the sun with closed eyes and to breathe deeply.----To silently sit with the life stirring and awakening all around you is a profound and gracious thing.
I was reminded today about how a butterfly becomes a butterfly…so beautiful. Thank You Lord, for the hidden chrysalis. I lift my heart in thanks to the Architect of the Universe, to the Great Artist of Spring Time, the Word spoken to the world. What an awesome and mysterious Creator You are!                  Tonya Willman ©2011   

ACS

     My poor, fuzzy little brain. It is becoming increasingly ill-equipped to deal with the hard stuff, and I am not referring to 80-proof! For instance, recently we had to deal with banking matters that were WAY more complicated than my basic deposit/withdrawal abilities are used to. As we plunged deeper into the FDIC twilight-zone, I started to flounder. While trying to find misplaced and errant papers I began to stop mid-process, turn a slow circle, and ask myself; “Now, what did I come in here for?”
     Recently, I have been telling my friends and family that I am taking on more and more *Aunt Clara*-type tendencies. {If you do not know who Aunt Clara was, were you born under a rock? No? Ahh, then you must be under fifty years of age. Egads! Seriously, a bit of research on the show ‘Bewitched” from the 1960’s will enlighten you.}  Anyway, I have given this tragic affliction a name; ACS or ‘Aunt-Clara-Syndrome.’
     Besides collecting door knobs and wrestling with complete sentences, I find that the more complicated the task---as in any of the afore-mentioned basic financial transaction skills---the more befuddled I become. You may scoff, but I used to be a maniac of a multi-tasker! Now I consider breathing, blinking, involuntary kidney function, etc.…AND attempting whatever duty that is actually at hand brilliant “multi-tasking”.
   ACS will eventually require me to wear a skewed hat and also carry a carpet-bag for the door knobs. No worries there, however I am concerned about the bulky little wool-knit blend suits. Still it is inevitable and I have resigned myself to such facts as; my hair is beginning to seek out---unbidden---the same ‘spun-sugar’ texture as hers, my intense interest in door knobs is becoming a possible 12-Step-addiction, AND making giant messes when trying to be helpful is becoming the norm.
    Here’s an interesting fact: When a newly opened box of Reynold’s Wrap leaps from your hands and flies out before you like a bright shiny runway carpet, how fast it unfurls is in direct proportion to how desperately you clutch and grab at it. If you are tragically afflicted with ACS it doesn’t merely ‘unfurl’ no, it skitters off, laughing manically. Trying to keep it all off of the floor to avoid the dog hair is like waltzing with an octopus or possibly disentangling yourself from the fishing-net on an ocean-going trawler. Not that I have actually done either…but I bet Aunt Clara has!
   Another thing that you may not know ---and I could have gone another fifty years without finding this out---is that trying to smoothly roll it all back up again is like trying to get the toothpaste back in the tube or unsweeten the tea. It doesn’t work too well, yeah…not so much. It actually increases to about ten times its own girth around the tube. [Note to physics teachers: you might want to look into this.] This colossally useless roll is now sitting in my kitchen--sans box; in all of its shiny, naked crinkliness. It may be hairy but you just don’t throw good foil away!
   I share this cautionary tale with you only to emphasize how vital it is that you immediately become highly nervous and fearful that, you too, may develop this unfortunate syndrome. Please do NOT mistake ACS for mere early-onset senility, oh if it were only that clear-cut. Below are the top three symptoms an ACS sufferer might pass through…or not.
1.) The Phoebe Buffay Blurt –It may begin subtly, but eventually the brain disengages from the mouth. You actually stop possessing an inner monologue, loudly announcing opinions, whilst in public, that best remain private. You divulge secrets to the whole room which friends had entrusted you with years ago…but alas you forgot that part. You did not forget however; what your friend did after the Peter Frampton concert in the parking lot! Thirty-five years later you feel the need to share the merriment with her grown children. She is NOT amused, they are, but she is NOT…
2.) The Rose Nylund Blather--With this symptom you may find yourself nattering incessantly about subjects that no one else even remotely cares about, such as ‘Uncle Fingerbinger and his 60 pound rutabaga.’ Or as Rose put it; “My mother always used to say: ‘The older you get, the better you get, unless you're a banana.’
3.) The Aunt Clara Waffle—Now in full-blown ACS; you may find yourself in Wal-Mart, dithering over two seemingly identical packages of solid-color curtains, anxiously clutching them, and trying to decide between them because----get ready----one is tab-top and one is standard! In this stage of ACS you will stay there in piteous indecision until your sister insists that you just “pick a freakin’ pair.”---True story.
    Though there is no known cure for ACS---not even a stinking telethon, or a dollar of federal research funds---the best form of treatment is to….um…whaddaya-call-it??? Embrace it! Once you give up trying to be functional you just feel so much better! People begin to accept you, you begin to accept you. It’s nice. Just don’t expect anybody to go curtain shopping with you. Tonya Willman ©2011