I can’t lie. If someone asks me a direct question . . . I simply can’t. I’ll give it away with the look on my face, a long pause, and probably other ways I don’t even realize. Thankfully, I’ve spent my entire career as a nurse so I can turn a phrase. I can change “obese” to “well-fed” as easily as I have changed “kicked me HARD in the belly while I was pregnant” to “a bit disoriented at times” when talking to family members.
This also means I can almost always tell when someone lies to me face-to-face. Many times I can even tell over the phone if I’ve spent enough time around the person. There’s a sociopath I’ve known for decades who has so many tells he should never play poker!
I don’t get out much. In fact, my social calendar is about 95% medical visits and therapies. But I can tell you without a doubt my primary care physician smiles widely when he lies. And another of my docs is either a pathological liar or truly doesn’t give a shit about any of his patients. Hard to say. Also hard to find another doc in his specialty nearby so I don’t have to drive so far and pay to be lied to.
But if you’re a human lie-detector you can’t advertise the fact. It makes people nervous. And letting people know what their ‘tells’ are is an incredibly bad idea. There’s most likely someone else in their life that also knows how to tell when that person is lying – someone to whom it’s much more important. So just keep mum.
I only interact with my bestest friends and my close family. And those are the people who’d only lie to me for good reasons. Example of good reason: “My hands go numb when I reach over my head. Does my hair look OK?” Answering “Looks fine!” is perfect even if I know it’s a big ‘ole lie. Why? Because that same person would immediately help me tame my crazy hair into something that didn’t scare small children if necessary – without saying a word. #blessedwithgoodfriends
Eclectic. That’s probably the best one-word definition of me as a person. My moods, my tastes, everything. Never assume I will like or dislike something. I think I broke my Pandora station. At least three of them. So read the whole post or risk missing something you’ll really love.
I didn’t expect another season of Orange is the New Black. Seriously, what can follow a full-season prison riot? But somehow, miraculously, they did it. And they didn’t jump the shark – not even close. Not saying any more. #nospoilers
The Blue House. It’s a memoir. It’s inspirational. I’m not usually a fan of books that mention scriptures and leave me to look them up myself (Yeah, I’m aware SLOTH is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. It also makes for a cute stuffed animal.) This is different because the memoir it so compelling. I read the first half in one sitting because I couldn’t pull myself away – it’s that good. This was a gift for which I’m incredibly grateful. Sometimes another person knows what you need better than you do. Trust them enough to give it a shot – I’m sure glad I did!
GLOW on Netflix. I grimaced every time I saw the picture advertising the series I cringed. Women’s wrestling? No, thanks. I saw enough of Hulk Hogan and his ilk when I was still living at home and my younger brother was an addict. Then I heard it was from the creators of Orange is the New Black. I decided to watch as much of the first thirty-minute section as I could take. It cracked me up. The hair, the makeup, the outfits, the choreography, everything. Then the story-line pulled me in – very much against my will. I already know what the coolest adult costumes will be for Halloween this year!
We live in an old home in an old neighborhood. I love it because it’s incredibly convenient and we have a big yard for our dogs. Oh, and the random-width pegged hardwood floors. The floors were the real selling point for me. People with newer houses visit and talk about what “character” our house has and how wonderful all the “mature trees” are. Character means there’s not a ninety-degree angle to be found in a single corner of this house, and that some long-dead owner thought he knew how to run plumbing and electrical lines. After twenty-four years we’re still finding weird crap. Mature trees are ones that will soon fall on your house, car, and garage or those of your neighbors.
It came up a bad cloud (as Lewis Grizzard would say) a week or so ago. We lost power. The next morning we found out we hadn’t just lost power, we’d lost trees. We’re still not sure of the exact count since they were all tangled up and we can’t move anything until the insurance adjuster takes a look since our coverage is ‘per tree’. New concept for me. Anyway, the biggest tree fell into a total of four yards, took out three fences, pulled up the foundation of our garage, and left us without power, cable, or internet. I missed the power because I needed ice packs for my neck and back. I didn’t miss cable since I don’t even know how to turn on our TV. Sadly, I did miss the internet.
But instead of reading books on my Kindle (no power) I read a couple of books I’d selected from my husband’s late aunt’s full-house library. One was called Breakfast with Buddha by Roland Merullo. It’s a very clever novel about a man who ends up taking his quirky sister’s guru with him on a cross-country road trip. It’s both entertaining and enlightening. Saying any more than that would be a spoiler. I’m planning on reading more from this author!
Next I read The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester. I’m not sure, but I think this is non-fiction with literary license taken. It’s about the making of the Oxford English Dictionary. Boring, right? Oh, not even close! It’s a total page-turner for anyone who loves words. I was blown away early on by the simple fact that no English dictionary existed during Shakespeare’s time. He couldn’t just “look something up”. Crazy, right? Brilliant book.
Next time the power goes out (if you still have above-ground power lines as I do) pull a book off the shelf and read by candlelight. It’s addictive!