There is a book out by David Sedaris called, "Me Talk Pretty One Day," which my husband has read, my son has read; I haven't. But I used the title of his book because it seemed relevant to my own writing (at least here).
Driving home from work yesterday evening, I drove exactly the speed limit. I stopped for yellow lights. I let more than one person turn in front of me. I took my time, savoring the drive, listening to music and trying not to think. Mostly because I knew that turmoil would be waiting for me at my front door in his expensive suit and slicked back hair. And dense air would be there too, hovering thickly and waiting to take my breath as I walked over the threshold. Uncertainty would join them with her cocky demeanor, wondering how far she could push me this time when I tried to interact with Catherine. She would make me second guess my thoughts, my words before I spoke them, my demeanor and the way I handled every detail of everything that happened.
Shakespeare wrote, "All the world's a stage and all the men and women merely players." How true this is when we think of the different roles we play in varying situations, with different people.
About two years ago, during the last month of my uncle's life, and about 2 weeks after my mother's death, Uncle Pat and I were sitting together in his family room. I had just returned from getting each of us a fish fry. Friday fish fries are very popular in New York State.
As we sat together in front of the TV, he was rambling steadily, as he always did, often making no sense at all. I had spent so much time with this uncle over the years that it didn't matter that he was talking crazy. I could engage in his conversation and take it even further. I guess one could say I spoke his language.
With the plate in his lap, hunched over and chomping happily on his meal, he said, "Honey, you get me. You really get me."
"Of course, I get you, Uncle Pat. I'm fluent in Crazy," to which he chuckled, his shoulders shaking as he laughed even harder, before taking another bite of fish and shaking his head.
"You just get me, honey. You get me."
Good interaction, I suppose, is to dodge bullets when necessary, turn to the left [or right] when it is called for, sashay or dip when it feels right, and know how to speak Crazy or to talk Pretty.
Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma
