I'm as Graceful as a Goat*.

Which is to say, not very graceful at all. Not by a long stretch. (Those of you who've read my blog for a while know that this is true.)

Recently, however, I seem to have developed a specialty in destroying white shirts and blouses, particularly where coffee is concerned.

Evidence:

That is a sploosh of coffee down the front of a previously pristine white T-shirt. It happened on my very last day at my old job and prompted me to pop down to a nearby store and purchase a new blouse. (One I like very much, but it was not a planned purchase at all.)

And then, on the very first day at my new job. I grabbed a coffee (in an open-top mug) on my way to a meeting. Almost immediately, I dripped coffee down my front. It was not quite as remarkable as the mess above - and I did have a jacket I could cover it with, but still.

I made a point of finishing the coffee during the meeting, but I still managed to spill it a SECOND TIME when I twisted my arm so I could read the time on my watch. Fortunately, there was only a drip of coffee left and it landed on the floor.

The next day, I brought in a mug with a lid.

On my fifth day in the new office, I managed to knock my (almost empty) mug over during a meeting. No blouses were defaced, but my paperwork was splattered.

Do they make no-spill sippy mugs for coffee? If not, why not?

* In retrospect, goats really aren't that clumsy, are they? I mean, those things can climb cliffs!!! But when I tried to think of another simile, I came up blank. Giraffes look klutzy, but they are actually quite graceful when they run, considering their grotesquely long necks. Google presented some klutzy penguins, but they look rather graceful to me. Look at that recovery!

A Time to Weep and a Time to Laugh

I cry fairly readily. And sometimes, it's just not the thing. Fortunately for me, Steve taught me that you can sing Amazing Grace to the tune of the Gilligan's Island theme song. Seriously! And the really cool thing about THAT is that you can use it to stop crying. 

Basically, it takes so much brain power to mash the two together that you are completely distracted from most things you might cry about. 

Here, I'll show you how the song goes.

See? It's also just funny. I suspect that the not-crying part is because it uses both halves of your brain. Melody is processed (according to Wikipedia) in the right secondary auditory cortex, but my understanding is that language is largely a function of the left hemisphere. In this case, we are taking words that have previously been merged with one tune (and a particular emotional context) and are transforming them into a completely different form. 

And, you can even just do it in your head. I've done it. I've also simply sung the uno dos tres from Sesame Street. It takes just enough brain power to calm me down.

Just, you know, don't do it out loud.

P.S. I do have other musical tips and tricks, but I don't think I'll be challenging Beyoncé any time soon, so don't worry.

I love it when you call me names! (Part Two)

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.

~ Shakespeare

UPDATE: Photo of Aunt Win added  - thanks, Pat!
UPDATE 2: Aunt Winkie sent me some more information about Aunt Win.

If you've been visiting my blog for a while, you may recall my post about the pet names Steve and I use. (Nothing rude or too cutesy, but some fun ones.)

Spilled Milk

"Graceful" is NOT an adjective that is readily applied to me. I've been called elegant (once), which is close, but really only applies when I am sitting still. And not holding a drink. Or not moving my arms anywhere within arm's length of a liquid.

Tonight, I picked up a jug of milk from the table, grabbed a few other things and suddenly realized I was oh, so carefully pouring milk all over the placemats. (My dad used to call that "the lazy man's load" and discouraged me from ever using it. With good reason.)

One time, I almost knocked over a colleague's coffee mug, but caught it just in time. I then set it down, further away from my spill-inclined self, and proceeded to almost knock it down again. Said colleague was watching anxiously while all this went on.

On more than one occasion, I've been holding a glass in my hand when, for no explicable reason, I startle as if I'm about to fall over, jerk my arm, and spill the drink. This happens even before I've imbibed, so it's not alcohol-related.

Solid substances are not protected from my klutziness. One Christmas, as I lifted a delicate, heart-shaped, handpainted, blown-glass ornament out of its cocoon of paper, I commented, "I think this is my all-time favourite ornament," as I proceeded to break it to smithereens. All I could do was laugh and tell the kids they should thank their lucky stars it wasn't one of them who had broken it.

[You might think that my own tribulations would give me some degree of compassion when it comes to my kids' clumsiness. Mostly that is true, but occasionally I am a bad mommy and I forget.]

I can laugh about it now, but when I was a kid it could get a little rough. Especially since I was second-youngest of seven children, and we all know how older siblings like to razz the younger ones.

One night at dinner, after many nights of my mother uttering, "Not AGAIN!" when I knocked over my milk, I did it again. Everyone (except me) just roared with laughter at the predictability of it. But I cried.

Yes, I cried over spilled milk.

My dad, however, stopped laughing, picked me up and carried me into the living room. He wasn't angry. He just held me until I stopped crying. I can't remember what - if anything - he said, but it is one of my fondest childhood memories.

So I didn't cry over my spill tonight, but I did remember my dad, who died more than 20 years ago, and I cried, just a little, over him. Those kind of tears are worth crying.