I’d Hammer Out The Love Between

terrafoliage.comIf I had a hammertoe, which I do, I’d hammer out a warning. Which is what I do unintentionally, serving as a cautionary tale for others by saying, doing, and being the wrong thing a good deal of the time. Most often, thank God, egregious missteps and ill-planned embarrassments make for the best laffs later on. It’s hard to remember this when you’re in the thick of it.

My favorite foliage incident, aside from the time when a leafpeeper in Woodstock agonized endlessly over a close-up of a lone, colored leaf to his wife’s visibly thinning patience, was my own folly: years ago I grabbed my Minolta with old film still in it and took a friend, the King, auto touring to view our autumnal Vermont panoramas—like the postcard says—ablaze with color. I painstakingly lined up shots of the King against various ridgelines ablaze with color. When I found and developed the film (!) some two years later, the ridgelines were evenly aligned, the King handsomely framed, we were young again … not ablaze with color. The old film in my camera had been, apparently, black and white. I laughed and laughed. B&W foliage photos; I’d put the moron in oxymoron.

My most horrific tales of truly awful embarrassment are ones I save for special occasions. When a friend is terribly down and needs a diversion, I trot those babies out and we are howling so hard we are c r y i n g. Alas, for our purposes here: unprintable, Dear Reader.

Modern tymes have multiplied the speed and breadth of our errors one thousand-fold. Who hasn’t forwarded an email to exactly the wrong person, Replied All horribly, tweeted from the wrong Twitter account, or Facebooked a comment that was grossly misinterpreted and made an object of scorn by complete strangers? I don’t sweat most of that because there’s pretty much nothing I’d say about someone that I wouldn’t say to their face, and why people need to chronicle their entire lives on FB is a mystery to me that I’m openly cranky about. Really, I’m a bull in a china shop in there. I think of it as a service I offer.

thenounproject.comFacebook. Where I should be using a tweezers, I’m hammering away with a pickaxe. But come on, no one tells you anything anymore. You are expected to go into FB and find out. Which takes one hour. Every single time I go in there I waste an hour of my life on animal videos, faked graphics, and gooey, untrue comments (“You look like sisters!”), and I become aggravated. Who has time? And it’s a big, juicy venue for social gaffe-making. Not “juicy” in the way “juicy” has become a buzzword for, like, “sexy”; rather, juicy as in … I dunno … just … you’re in big trouble.

Work’s another dicey realm. With everything so bloody PC these days, it’s impossible not to offend someone — which was always case, only now there’s some crazy-awkward HR trial over it. In work meetings you may feel you talk too little or too much; if you don’t, rest assured that someone else thinks you do. It’s best to build a game around bizarre modern workplace foolishness with a trusted colleague. Then the pain becomes solid gold. Like my friends that text each other in meetings with “points” every time someone uses tiresome corporate language like “low-hanging fruit,” “cross-pollination,” or “maximizing synergistic mindshare.” They bet on who will sling the most BS in the meeting. It’s like playing the ponies only funnier and more wicked.

Suddenly: spring! Fall’s a perverse season, no? It starts out innocently enough, with a refreshing need for a light jacket, then BOOM it hammers you with icy winds and unexpected flakes. Then it’s 65. We roll with it. Because New Englanders have, another overused buzzword of late, grit. We’re tough as nails. When we’re not scrambling through unheated rooms on all fours for the box of winter clothes, frantically dialing mechanic shops with everyone else who’s realized it’s snow tire time, we’re pretty tough.

bwpunkAs a lingering summer became fall and (eventually?) becomes winter in Vermont, we move in our wardrobes from cotton to fleece to wool, from pink to orange to brown to red to black. Juicily and with grit – like a pomegranate, fall’s favorite fruit – we march in our not-quite-warm-enough jackets from one holiday to the next, each in its own special way affording a magical stage upon which we can make a giant ass of ourselves. Magnificent. Good day.

About uppervalleygirl

Columnist, bloggist, short storyist, essayist, novel-in-progressist.

Posted on November 6, 2015, in holidays, humor, nature and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. ELIZABETH Ioffredo

    this one made me laugh even more than usual. Especially like the black and white foliage shots and the texting during work meetings. Have a good weekend.

  2. I miss “working” with you (because we had so much fun it could hardly be called work)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

The Open Suitcase

A Miscellany of Travel Tidbits, Tips and Tales

msvtpoet

Just another WordPress.com site

New England Writer

The vibrancy of life is still alive in New England

The Adventures of Library Heather

In which our heroine decides to pursue a new and exciting career... and write about it.

Non Sequitur Living

Sometimes the logic just doesn't follow. TM ©2015, 2016 Janet McCarthy, all rights reserved.

Lava on Fire

Another Good Day in Rural America © 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017 Ann Aikens ~ all rights reserved

Flourish in Progress

Another Good Day in Rural America © 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017 Ann Aikens ~ all rights reserved

Yellingrosa's Weblog

Poetry, Visual Arts, Music and IT Tech

>>New Hampshire Pulp Fiction<< Volume 5: LIVE FREE OR RIDE!

News and comments on the NH Pulp Fiction anthology series

art by natalya

Another Good Day in Rural America © 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017 Ann Aikens ~ all rights reserved

EXIT ONLY

Because once you get off this road, there's just no getting back on

Joanna Funk

a piano teacher in the Scenic Rim, Queensland

Deborah Heimann

freelance editor

art by natalya

Another Good Day in Rural America © 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017 Ann Aikens ~ all rights reserved

The WordPress.com Blog

The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.

uppervalleygirl

Another Good Day in Rural America © 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017 Ann Aikens ~ all rights reserved

%d bloggers like this: