Pardon me while I take a break from writing about life “down on the farm.” There really isn’t much new to report. My chiropractor says I can’t get on that “zero turn mower” again until I get the brace off my neck and take out more insurance. So the crazy grass-cutting stories are out.
However, judging by the amount of email I received, that seemed to strike a nerve.
May I just say shame, shame, SHAME on you men who wrote to me and suggested that I, like they suspect their wives do, might intentionally do a bad job just so we don’t have to cut the lawn.
What on earth are you talking about? Does that logic then explain why you guys are Bobby Flay outside on the grill but a disaster in the kitchen?
I guess that also means you are trying to get out of grocery shopping when we ask you to stop to pick up an angel food cake and some Cool Whip, and you come home with an angel food cake MIX and a jar of Miracle Whip! You really do know the differences, don’t you? If you make enough mistakes, you’ll just never have to go back there. Is that it?
How about laundry? Don’t even get me started on that one. I don’t care if you turn everything pink and shrink my favorite outfit to the size of a Halloween costume for a wiener dog; I’d like a little bit of help in that department.
OK. I’m off that soapbox. Well, not yet. That reminded me that you men probably really do know the difference between dish soap and dishwasher detergent, but if you just keep putting the former in the dishwasher and filling the kitchen to its ceiling with millions of sudsy bubbles, you’ll get out of that task, too, and go back to flipping your burgers on the grill with a cold beer in your hand.
Gentlemen, I think I speak for all women here. We’ve got your number and the gig’s up. Thank you for writing in.
Humor as deflection
Now on to the subject I really wanted to write about, and one you might not expect: The suicide of actor and comedian Robin Williams.
Like many, I was shocked that a man who made his career making us laugh would take his own life. He seemed to have it all: talent, fame, money and a family that loved him deeply. But all that wasn’t enough to overcome what was hidden inside Robin Williams that no one could reach.
By all accounts, he struggled with addiction and depression over the years.
Jim Norton, a comedian and New York Times bestselling author who knew Robin, put it this way. “The funniest people I know seem to be the ones surrounded by darkness. And that’s probably why they’re the funniest. The deeper the pit, the more humor you need to dig yourself out of it.”
I’m no Robin Williams, but I know what it’s like to use humor as a deflection. I was raised in a very dysfunctional family and I learned to use humor as a way to mask the pain. If I were funny, no one would know my deep, dark secrets. If I were funny, I could help others cope with their pain.
When my father passed away in 1991, the funeral home called 10 minutes after the 3 a.m. doctor’s call (which is a story in and of itself) and my mom and I had to come up with information for his obituary.
“Any clubs or organizations he was a part of?” the director asked.
I’m sure he was “mortified” as Mom and I went from “He belonged to the VFW, American Legion and the United Steel Workers of America” to “he was a member of Sam’s Club, the Home Shopping Club and AAA.” We laughed until we cried, knowing my Dad would love a good, long obituary. It also helped us cope.
Yes, I’ve used humor to cope with life’s unrelenting unfairness and the wounds that are hard to heal. But sometimes that isn’t enough to fill up the long, dark valleys in which my mind periodically takes residence. At one point, when it got really bad, I went to a specialist at University Hospitals. (I’m saving that story for my book.)
For now, I keep laughing and I’m learning to give the events of the past, which can torture my soul, over to God. That has helped me.
So has moving to the country, where the beauty and the stillness sometimes takes my breath away. And where neighbors are still neighbors, stopping either to introduce themselves, to check on how I’m doing or drop off some tomatoes.
Or maybe, just maybe, they want to see me cutting the grass again.
Robin Swoboda’s column runs every other week. Contact her at Robinswoboda@outlook.com.