if i were to speak

I’m not a public speaker. I heard my husband speak once at a community gathering of “movers and shakers” in the small, eastern Washington town of Okanaga. He was starting a conversation about possibly bringing employment to some of their citizens in the form of a call center, where questions could be fielded, and reservations booked for his company. Initially fearful for him, I was soon mesmerized by my husband’s comfortable, conversational style of public speaking. He smiled easily, added small touches of humor, and to my way of thinking, knocked their socks off! He did mine, anyway.

My daughter has also taken to speaking publicly without anxiety. At the end of her ballet company‘s season, the end of April, she and 3 or 4 fellow dancers choreograph pieces, setting them on the trainees. These are dancers hoping to be hired into the company one day. Unfortunately most don’t make it, so they audition elsewhere, or go on to do other things.

It seems my daughter has emerged as the spokesperson for WIP, “Works In Progress.” On the day the pieces are performed for a non-paying audience, she gives a brief introduction about the history of the project, and the choreographers, and the pieces to be danced. Evidently my daughter’s been congratulated by the artistic staff for her eloquence, and ease of delivery.

I’m not sure if I’ve always felt tongue-tied, with a panic attack near-at-hand just before standing, or sitting, to speak before a group, large, medium, small, or tiny. I know I begin to hyperventillate, trying, in the last few moments, to memorize an entire speech which I’d not written beforehand. But, of course, I can only visualize a blank wall, staring back at me.

So if I were asked to give a fantasy speech, for example about blogging, in front of a group of professional writers, here’s how it might unfold.

I’m not as good a speaker as I am a writer. That’s not to say I’m a great writer. It just means I don’t speak as well as I write. But I’m sure I don’t write as well as you all. If I could speak like anyone, I’d like to speak like Colin Firth, not the stuttering Colin Firth, but the tongue-in-cheek Colin Firth. Know what I mean? No, of course not.

I was asked to talk about blogging. Well, I’m only a novice, having started a mere 7 months ago. I can only tell you what I know, which is not a whole hell of a lot. Oh, sorry. Excuse the language. Getting old you know, words just slipping out, just as other things are apt to do in old age. Oh, sorry, sorry. TMI. TMI. My daughter’s words, not mine. Now where was I?

Blogging! Right! Pretty mind-boggling stuff, you know. Couldn’t do it without wordpress.com. Those buggers set the whole thing up, I just “click” wherever they tell me to “click,” and voila! I’m good to go. As long as I’ve got pictures with the directions, I can get most things. But when they start throwing around techy-speak, well I’m as lost as the cow who flew over the moon and never came back.

You want to know the truth? I don’t know why the hell they asked me to talk to writers about blogging in the first place. We’re birds of a different feather. You’re all flamingos, and I’m just a Hawaiian mynah bird.

But you were real nice to listen to me jabbering away about nothing. Mahalo!

i’d say the same about you, dear reader…hugmamma.

ever have one of those days?

Wandering around looking for my camera. Can’t remember where I set it down. Checked its case, not there. Where’d I put it? In and out of rooms. All the time thinking, picturing, remembering. Took a few photos of Christmas past last night. Might be useful in my blog. Never know. But what’d I do with the camera afterwards. Doggone camera! Not on desktop, not on nightstand, not on dining table, not on sofa or chairs. Nowhere. Disappeared into thin air.

Calm down. Don’t panic. It’s not Alzheimer’s. Just simple case of misplacing something. It’ll show up. I’ll just ignore it for a little while. My brain will reset itself. And voila! The camera will appear right in front of my nose.

It’s like the other day when I was at the grocery store. Fred Meyer’s, I think. Don’t know why I input the pin I did, when I used my debit card in paying. The numbers just flew out of my head onto the machine pad. Twice, the numbers I typed in were wrong. I gave up, paying with a credit card. Leaving the store, I thought about what happened, and realized I’d not even been close. Where on earth did those numbers come from? At Trader Joe’s I tried again, twice! Again, a no go. I even mumbled something about getting old to the cashier, as I wrote a check.

Later that night, much later, my pin popped into my brain! Thank goodness, I thought. But where were those numbers? Where were they when I needed them? Roaming around in some far off corners of my mind, obviously. The next day they were back, performing like good little soldiers. I think I was at QFC, this time. Hmmm…???

My husband just asked me for the checkbook. Told him it was in my purse. It’s not there, he said. What??? Am I losing my mind altogether, I thought, as I got up to check for myself. Nope! There was the checkbook, in my purse, just as I said. “It’s here,” I bellowed, as he came back down the hallway. “Where?” he asked. “Right here, in my purse,” I said. As he took it and turned away, he chuckled as I started proclaiming that he was, in fact, trying to drive me insane, which wasn’t necessary. I could do that all by myself. Thank you. 

Once I’d stopped blogging, and was up and about anyway, I went in search of my camera again. Hubby and I threw quick questions back and forth. “You sure it’s not in your coat pocket?” “I checked! It’s not there.” “Where were you taking pictures last night?” “Around the Christmas displays.” Mocha’s barking the entire time, adding to my discombobulation. She was in a hurry to be out the door and on her way to her grooming appointment. She wouldn’t be, if she knew that’s where she was headed. Poor, misguided dog. I kept searching some more, as hubby left to run errands, Mocha in front, pulling on her leash. Still no camera.

Before he left, my spouse, so supportive as he is, reassured me that I wasn’t getting Alzheimer’s. He argued that oftentimes information we use so regularly, can escape us when we have to focus on it. In the moment, we’re unable to “stop on a dime,” and remember what it is we know like the backs of our hands. He backed up his assertion with the fact that he has difficulty remembering our daughter’s phone number, when dialing her on our home phone. That’s because it’s on speed dial on his cell phone. I agreed. But you know, Alzheimer’s is never far from my thoughts because of my mom having had it.

So, back to my camera. Where’s that darned thing? Probably watching from wherever it’s perched, having a good laugh! #@&?!!! #@&?!!! Ever have one of those days…?

and the day’s just begun…it’s only 10:27 a.m….hugmamma.