People tweet or post on social media some pretty silly things, especially “news” blogs, though I suspect this is not the intention.  This bad posting habit may arise from a variety of issues – poor typing, rushing to complete something, failure to proofread, or just a general thoughtlessness. 

Many times, you can see epic gaffs that have been made re-posted on social media sites.  The most recent of the more terrible ones happened when a beloved former Ohio State player was hit by a truck and killed.  The newsperson (from a sports channel) who was rushing to “break” the story first, included a line about how this individual – a son, husband, father, friend, teammate, and beloved player – had “struggled in the pro arena.” There was quite a lot of backlash, as typically when someone dies, we don’t mention any failures in the obituary. 

               At any rate, the reporter apologized and we went on to read – and subsequently criticize – other people’s mistakes on social media. 

               The one that drives my husband crazy is when people post that they were “terminated” at work.  Really?  They committed some infraction at work that was so heinous that they deserved to die?!?!  I’m pretty sure not. Probably what the headline meant was the person’s position at the agency was terminated. Perhaps their contract was terminated. But the actual person lived to work somewhere else. At least I hope he or she did!

Recently saw a tweet from a wrestling coach that said “this afternoon I informed my team that I will be stepping as Maryland’s head wrestling coach.” I presumed he meant stepping down. But perhaps not. Maybe he’s high stepping to the next event. Or possibly he meant stepping up, as he got a raise.

Likely the errors described above are related to someone posting quickly or just not thinking it through.  If people are going to use social media, it’s really a good idea to engage some proofreading skill (or a person who does that).

Another good idea is to use spell and grammar check programs before hitting that old “send” button. Otherwise, you get the kind of message that I frequently sent to my son when I’m texting without my glasses.  By the way, posting or texting without proofreading and/or without your reading glasses is probably the gaff I employ most.

Last week, for example, I wanted to tell him I’d been watching for a package. What he received was “I’m ben etching for practice.” He had no clue what I meant, of course, though he’s getting good at figuring out the possibilities. Usually when I text anyone outside my husband or son, I make sure my glasses are on my face. But sometimes, I get in a rush, too. 

               The results are never good.  I texted a lady at church that “not many of our regulars were here” (referring to people who usually attend an event).  Sadly, I did so without my glasses, and what she received was “not many of our regulars were horny.”  Heavens above!  Thank goodness she has a sense of humor.

               Another bad idea is to send messages via audio text.  The computers in your phone are amazing, but they will consistently fail to pick up slurred speech and generate a message correctly.  So while you’re driving and saying into your phone “heading home from store now,” your recipient is more likely to receive “head and holes for story time.”

               I’m a cautionary tale.

For most of my adult life, I’ve not enjoyed a good sleep pattern. I have trouble falling asleep and if I am awakened in the night I often can’t get back to sleep. For a number of years, I’d had anxiety attacks so nighttime television became a good friend. Thankfully I have done a bit better in the last decade -at least the anxiety attacks are very infrequent. But sleep is always a sketchy area for me.

That’s why a ghost and a clock really messed me up this week.

First, let me tell you about our ghost. Our house is quite old – over two hundred years!  My in-laws lived here before we did, and her parents lived here before that.  Apparently, the grandparents believed there was a ghost that prowled the house occasionally.  My mother-in-law swears she saw this ghost come down the staircase on one occasion. But the elders assured us this ghost was quite harmless.

While I’m not necessarily a big believer in ghosts, I did think that a lady woke me up one night by stroking my cheek.  I got up with a start and went into our son’s room (he was about 5 years old at the time).  While he had been fine the evening before, I found him with a very high temperature and we took him to the doctor.

Since then, I figured the ghost – if in fact she exists – was a kind and helpful one.  Not sure about that anymore.

The clock in question was a beautiful wedding gift. When we received it, it chimed every quarter-hour.  While quite lovely, it was also chiming every quarter-hour.  So we put it on the silent setting because…well, chiming every fifteen minutes. It’s been silent for about 35 years now.

Early this week we had a busy day working in the gardens. Exhausted, we fell into bed at about 10:30. My dearest fell, as usual, immediately into sleep.

I lay awake, trying not to toss or turn and thinking relaxing thoughts. We’d been in bed about half an hour when my husband sat straight up, saying “Did you hear that?”

This is unusual behavior for him and freaked me out just a little.  He lay back down, and went to sleep again.  I lay, wide awake, alert, with my heart beating a bit faster.  Just a few minutes later, he sat straight up again and said, “There.  Don’t you hear that?”

Again, I had heard nothing. He got out of bed and took hold of his baseball bat.  Well, okay, now I’m more than a little freaked out.  I got up, as well, and grabbed my own bat. Together, we crept down the stairs, turning on lights and checking every room.

We cleared the house, both upstairs and down, and found nothing amiss. Finally, we put down our bats and crawled back into bed.  Just as I was turning out the light, we heard it. That clock. That blasted clock. It chimed a little tune then rang nine gongs. It was midnight. Yeesh.

Having figured out what the noise was, my courageous hubby was asleep in seconds. I, on the other hand, was a mess.  I got back up, watched Chopped, two episodes of Unsellable Houses, and a Hallmark movie.  When I finally climbed the stairs to go to bed, the clock was chiming twelve gongs.  It was 3.17 a.m.

But it didn’t chime again and hasn’t made a peep since that night. What gives, sweet ghost? Just a little prank? Having some harmless fun?   Here I am telling folks you’re kind and helpful when really, you’re just an attention-seeking brat.

               Years and years ago, there used to be film-developing booths around town. They always reminded me of snow cone shacks.  Anyway, you’d pull up to the window, drop off your film and a week or so later, they’d have your pictures to pick up (I know, I know, we’re really old).  But it was a convenience in those days.

               I typically did this task on Saturdays, when doing my other errands.  I got very good at answering the few questions the staff would need (what size of pictures, what type of printer paper, and the number of pictures).

               One weekend, when my husband and I were running errands together, we stopped by the booth to leave some film.  My husband was driving and he handed the film to the gentleman in the window.  The man quickly said something to my husband.  What my hubby heard was “Tree or fay or foe and sticks.”  My sweetheart glanced over at me in puzzlement and I said, “Say four by six.”

               He repeated my comment, to which the man said (again according to my husband), “Seagulls or dungeons?”  Again, sweetie looked over at me, this time in full-blown bewilderment, and I quickly told him “Say doubles.”

               He repeated my statement again, only to be given the comment, “Flossie or Lester?” In exasperation, my dearest turned to me and demanded, “Who are Flossie and Lester?”

               I said, laughing, “Just say Lester.”  As we drove away, transaction completed, I couldn’t stop laughing.  “He was saying ‘glossy or luster’ not Flossie or Lester!”

               My husband laughed too, and said, “I thought maybe those were our two choices in people to develop the film!”

               Years later, when I had nearly forgotten the Flossie and Lester incident, we had an encounter that brought it all back.

               We’re having some remodeling done in our home and a couple of men mudded the drywall last week. One of the men in this pair spoke English, but the other didn’t.  We got along quite well with one translator.

  On Monday, they were to return to sand the mudding, which was now dry. As luck would have it, we were also expecting lawn treatment folks and pool repair people. During this time, I was out at the store and hubby was working in the gardens.

When the first van arrived with two men, one jumped out and said a number.  My husband nodded, and agreed this was our address.  He assumed these were the folks putting in a new pump for the pool, since he had never seen them before and he knew the lawn people and the drywall people (or at least he thought he did).

So when the first man said “Sun, sun” to him, he nodded thinking they meant to do something with the pump and were glad it was sunny.  He was pointing to the pool area, when the man shook his head and repeated, “Sun.  Die-wall.”

Drywall.  Now he got it – these were two different men here to sand the drywall.

When I got home, he was laughing, but he did say it was important for me to stick around as a translator.  I mean, you just never know when Flossie or Lester will turn up to sun your die-wall.

               For years, I’ve secretly believed that I am a magnet for strange personalities.  I’ve never minded, because strange personalities often come in the form of very interesting folks.  For example, if there’s a person wandering around a large grocery store, looking for vanilla extract, they will choose me to approach and inquire about this. They won’t choose a person with an employee badge, or a nice elderly couple, or a person in the actual baking section – they will seek me out.

This happens in large cities as well.  If you see a person on the street, loudly proclaiming that their landlord is harboring rats in the basement, they are likely proclaiming this to me, personally.  Meanwhile, dozens of other people are walking by (mainly giving us a wide berth).

Lately, I’ve begun to think that my personality is attracting more than just odd quirks.  I seem to be attracting large, hard surfaces and not in a good way.

It started with the built-in garbage can in our kitchen.  You pull out the handle, deposit trash, and push the large drawer back in.  I’ve done this millions of times in the past twenty years but last week, it didn’t work.

I pulled out the drawer, threw in a piece of trash, and shut the drawer.  When I raised my hand, however, it didn’t come up naturally and easily.  It came up – full force-  against the edge.  This resulted in my ring finger and pinky getting severely struck – and a lined bruise formed almost immediately.     

The next day, I was leaving the garage where we park the mowers.  In front of that building, right between the two doors, is a plant stand we made several years ago.  Every spring I place a large, pretty pot of flowers there and it looks nice through the summer and into fall.  I say this not to brag, but to underscore that this planter (currently empty) is not a new addition. I’ve known about its’ presence for years and have successfully navigated around it for that same time period. 

Well, not that day.  On that day, I tripped over the dad-blamed thing and rammed my other hand into the open garage door.  This resulted in a bruise on the thumb of my other hand.

Sakes alive. I’m a walking disaster.  The worst was yet to come.

Just a few days later, there was a car accident down the road from us.  About three or four emergency vehicles raced down our road and we naturally looked out at the flashing lights.  They were about a quarter-mile away and soon I forgot about them.

After about an hour, I poured myself a little glass of wine and placed it on the dining room table. I returned the wine bottle to the rack, which is next to the three steps down from our kitchen to the dining room.  As I turned to go back up the steps, three things happened in about one second.

First, loud sirens screamed outside, down the road that intersects with ours.  Secondly, I was startled and turned around to look out the dining room window. Finally, as I turned, I stepped out – thinking I was on the bottom stair.

I was on the top stair and my foot found open air.  My leg plunged downward, as I was turning, and I didn’t, by some miracle, fall on my face.  I did, however, slam my entire backside into the corner of the wall.

Yes, I’m bruised -a lot worse than a finger and a thumb.  Suffice it to say, I couldn’t sit down easily (or lay down, for that matter) without a lot of discomfort.  But hey, while large immovable objects do seem to be attracting my body to them, I’m not breaking any bones.

               Yet!

Scene of the crime: