A to Z, Part 6 (and the end...)

Alrighty, today is V through Z. (for those who may or may not be alphabetically challenged, that means this is the end of my Encyclopedic postings...).

V-Vulnerability, Public Displays of. I am not a fan of crying in public. Not other people’s crying, MY crying in public. And I’m not referring to the occasional tear trickle during the reveal on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, this is the tear-gushing, throat-constricting, loss of voice control kind of exhibition. Such displays of vulnerability are rare for me. They invariably leave me feeling tired, annoyed, and stupid for reacting to whatever caused the outburst in the first place.

W-Whistling Choir. Someday, I am going to have a whistling choir.

(Geert Chatrou, International Whistling Champion)

I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m interested in massive quantities of whistlers (akin to the campers in Hayley Mills’ The Parent Trap as they follow Susan and Sharon to their Cabin of Isolation/Revelation) or if I will have auditions to make sure the select whistlers can carry a tune and harmonize. One thing I am sure of: my dad and my brother will get in. My Dad has an enormous whistling range, and my brother has been whistling since he was a baby so he’s a shoe-in.

X-eXtremes. I’m a pretty even keeled person, but there are a few things about me that lean toward the extreme. I am extremely ticklish. So much so that I was afraid I was going to crash the driver’s ed car during “Driving Exam 7: Dealing with Emergencies” if the instructor did the “No brakes!” drill by reaching over and grabbing my knee. I have nearly decked people out of reflex when they unwittingly grab my leg or try to massage my shoulders. And I am worried that I will kick some unsuspecting toddler who suddenly grabs my leg for balance as he’s learning to walk.
I am extremely critical of poorly written dialogue in books. An author can create a great story with fun twists and thoughtful turns, but if the dialogue is unrealistic or cheesy, the other creativity is lost on me.
I am extremely protective of those I love. When I was in 8th grade, a kid in 6th-grade made a less-than-kind statement about my younger brother. Having only known me as a happy-go-lucky girl who beebopped her way along, he (and the rest of the class who watched) was taken aback at the tongue lashing I gave him that let him know in no uncertain terms that nothing of the kind would ever, EVER, come out of his mouth again.

I surprised myself with that extreme.

Y-Yeast, Baking With. I have always had an irrational fear of yeast. Well, maybe not so irrational. I once tried to bake cinnamon rolls, but did not heat the water warm enough and so the yeast did not activate. I baked my flat little rolls, assuming that all would be well. And I ate a couple of them. It was only after bathing in the warm fluids of my stomach that the yeast activated wholeheartedly. Thereafter ensued the release of the gases that were supposed to leaven my rolls. It leavened me instead. Goodness, what a horrible evening.

(This past Thanksgiving I attempted the rolls again--with success!)

Z-Zits. This may be more information than you want, but I have a love-hate relationship with zits. I hate having them, BUT, there is an odd satisfaction that comes from purging one of its contents. A satisfaction that is difficult to attain in any other way.

There you are. More than you may have ever wanted to know about my ordinary life. What would be in the Encyclopedia of YOUR Ordinary Life?

A to Z, part 5

Here it is Jauna! Part 5. R through U.

R-Radio. For my 10-year-old birthday I got a Walkman, which was a big deal. It was a pink and white Casio with a snazzy black strap so I could carry it like a purse. It. Was. Awesome. I created my own radio station called K-A-T-Y! for which I sang and produced all the songs and even had commercials for products like Rubbermaid and breakfast cereal. It was a rather eclectic radio station with music that ran the gamut from primary songs like “I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus” and “Away in a Manger” to popular songs of the days for which I clearly did not know all the words such as “Ice Ice Baby” and “The Bartman”. I also sang parodies of holiday tunes such as “We Three Kings” and “Joy to the World” (cue music….Joy to the World, the School Burned Down, and All the Teachers Died…) and mesmerized my audience with all three verses of “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips (including the backup vocals). Following the fake fadeouts, I even served as my own critic saying such things as, “Wasn’t that amazing!” Amazing indeed.

S-Symbiotic Relationships. I’m all about symbiotic relationships. Everyone wins. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. It all works out. I had a roommate who hated taking the garbage out and didn’t mind vacuuming. I hate vacuuming but don’t mind taking the garbage out. Badda-bing-badda-boom: the birth of a beautiful symbiotic relationship and I didn’t have to touch a vacuum until I moved away. Everyone wins, indeed.

T-Twenty Questions. When my sister and I go on roadtrips together, to pass the time we play 20 ?’s. This isn’t the wimpy animal-vegetable-mineral-I’ve-figured-it-out-with-5-questions-version of 20 ?’s, though. This is the hardcore-it’s-gonna-take-50-miles-of-roadway-and-250-questions-and-I’m-pretty-sure-this-is-something-I’ve-never-heard-of-what-the-HECK-could-this-be??-version. Some of our best (and the ones that took the longest) have been: shrunken heads, drawstring, fidelity, and a sneeze. Some others that we thought would be hard, but turned out to be surprisingly easy were: dung beetle, gold plates, and Jesus.

(My sister and I, in the Badlands in South Dakota, on our way to Chicago in Summer 2007)

U-Unique. I learned awhile ago that my brain doesn’t always work the same way as other people’s brains. When the teacher broadcasts a question to a class, we all knowingly nod our heads and respond in unison, except that everyone else says one thing and I say something else. The first answer I have is often not the answer everyone else has. Why? I remember a memorable Institute class where the teacher had written the following statement on the board: “There is no such thing as a good _______.” I knew the answer. Of course. He read the statement and waited expectantly for the class to respond. I said “lie”, and the entire class, as one, turned and gaped at me. Apparently, the correct answer was “war”. Sure, that works too. But, he didn’t leave it at that. He went on to refute my claim that there is no such thing as a good lie (I still don’t think there is, despite his arguments. I think you can always be honest—and have TACT. You don’t have to lie.). I puzzled as to why this seems to repeatedly happen to me and I related the story to my brother. When I shared the statement with him, he responded, “Lie. There is no such thing as a good lie.” My mom responded the same way. Perhaps, we Cabbages are just hanging out on our oddball wavelength together. I think that’s it.

A to Z, part 4

Okay, kids. Here it is. The next section. N through Q.

N-Noseyuk. A “noseyuk” (pronounced: nose-yuck—a term coined by my mother) was what a “booger” was called in our house growing up. The word “booger” was, in fact, on the banned list of words that were never to be uttered (along with stupid, stupidhead, dodo, shut up, and dummy). Imagine the social suicide I unknowingly committed as a kindergartner—my first real foray into the social world outside my family—when I declared that Adam D. picked his noseyuk and ate it.

The confused stares that met me were enough to quiet my accusation for the moment. It was somewhat traumatizing to discover there was a whole vocabulary out there that I now had to navigate. Fortunately, I’m a fast learner.

Obligation, Heightened Sense Of. My old roommate once informed me I have a heightened sense of obligation. When it comes to accepting invitations, attending others’ activities, saying yes to needy people, it doesn’t occur to me that declining is a real and viable option. I’ve debated back and forth as to whether or not I’m grateful for this inherent (learned?) trait or annoyed by it.

P-Peter. When I was in graduate school, one of my clinical assignments was to do therapy with a 4-year-old boy with high-functioning autism. He was a bright kid, but missed the social nuances of conversation, humor, and language. Our therapy sessions were filled with activities to increase his understanding of emotions, prepositions, and other –tions. One day, I went to pick him up in the waiting room of the clinic and someone referred to me by my whole name. He looked up at me, very serious, and said quietly, “You are Katy Cabbage.” I nodded and said that he was right. After a short pause he finished his thought, “And I….am Peter Tomato.”

Q- Quills. In seventh grade, I did a report on porcupines and my dad went to the garage and used his Shopsmith to make me two imitation porcupine quills. I still have them.