A Brush With Germs

(This was the first article I posted on my blog last year and people have been asking me to put it up again. I just purchased new toothbrushes several days ago and it reminded me of this story.)

On Monday I got new toothbrushes for everyone in our family, so Rosemary was distributing them to our bathrooms. At first she told everyone to pick a color, but then I suggested she write our names on the toothbrushes with permanent marker so we wouldn't get them mixed up.

That night when I was getting ready for bed, I noticed the toothbrush marked 'Dad' laying on the far end of the counter instead of in it's usual place beside mine in the drawer. Since my husband had been sick with the flu for several days, I thought to myself, "How nice of Fred to not want his germy toothbrush in contact with mine!" I brushed with the new toothbrush marked "Mom" and then climbed into bed.

The next night I repeated this process. On the third night as I reached again for the green toothbrush marked "Mom", I noticed that it was wet. This caused me to pause. I picked up the blue toothbrush on the end of the counter marked "Dad" and noticed it was dry as bread. And then the reality hit me: my husband had been using the 'mom' toothbrush!

"Fred!" I hollered to my husband who was already buried under the down comforter, fast asleep. "Which toothbrush have you been using?"

"The green one in the drawer", he muffled with a sleepy voice.

"Well, that's just great," I muttered as I realized I had been brushing for three days with the same germ-infested toothbrush my husband had been using. I thought of all the countless times I wiped doorknobs, handles and surface areas with Clorox to get rid of any germs he might have been leaving around, when all the while I was basically 'eating' his germs twice a day.

I sighed as I reached for the paste and brushed with the toothbrush marked 'Dad'. Now all I could hope for was the Clorox to do its duty.

Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg!

Would you like me to repeat that one more time? It's a mouthful but here it is: Lake

Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. Lest you think I am rattling off some baby prattle or have completely lost my sanity, let me be quick to assure you this is an actual lake located in Webster, Massachusetts. I know, even my spell checker doesn't believe me.

Folklore tells us this lake is named after an Indian phrase that means: "You fish on your side of the lake, I fish on my side of the lake, and no one fishes in the middle." So much for sharing your fishing hole!

Then there's Hell where you don't even have to be a sinner to own a home. The town got its name in 1841, when George Reeves, an early settler in this low, swampy place in southeast Michigan, was asked what he thought the town should be named. "I don't care," Reeves said. "You can name it 'Hell' if you want to."

A friend of mine was once making a lonely drive from North Carolina to Tennessee and ran out of gas in the middle of the mountains with no gas station or other habitation in sight for miles. She put in a call of distress to AAA. When the lady asked for her location, my friend hesitated slightly, then said, "Well, I just passed Bucksnort."

She heard a snicker, then a cynical "Ri-i-i-i-ight!" Then a click as the lady hung up on her! She had to call back and and beg not to be hung up on, because she had in fact just passed a sign that said Bucksnort, Tennessee.

If that isn't enough to make you roll your eyes, there's always Toad Suck, Arkansas or Lizard Lick, North Carolina, or how about Intercourse, Pennsylvania?

It makes me appreciate the fact that I live in Winston-Salem, even if it was named after two cigarette brands. Or wait, it was the other way around -- the cigarettes were named after the town.

At least I don't live in Monkey's Eyebrow, Arizona.

New Spice and Old Leather

I am taking you down a highway you have not traveled before. This highway smells of new spice and old leather and will bring great joy to your adventurous spirit. You will blaze a trail for others to follow -- others who, too, will seek their destiny as you are seeking yours.

The tears that have brought you to this place have released your root-bound soul from the parched (although safe) ground where it had been planted for years. You stand at the beginning of this road with a vision of what the journey will be like.

Like an old, leather saddle worn into a comfortable groove will be some parts of this journey as they remind you of the old place and assure you that some things never change. In other ways you will smell the aroma of new things and the adventure will ignite your senses much like the first flowers of spring filling the air with their heady fragrance.

The beginning of a journey can often be more romantic than several days or months into it when the reality of hacking through a forest of jungle growth that gives you bloody knuckles hits you full force. It may be tempting to plop under a tree and beg to be put back into the safe, root-bound pot. The world may seem too big and complicated and your destiny appears no closer than you started. In fact, it may seem farther away than ever.

You might be tempted to ask, "Where is the romance? Where is the spice of adventure that pumped adrenaline through my spirit? Is there an elixir for faint-heartedness enroute to Destiny?"

-Excerpt from my journal

Football at 40

What makes a group of 40-something men tear around on a field on a Sunday afternoon, ripping up the grass and setting themselves up for major Monday morning soreness as they chase after a ball and each other? I asked my husband this question as I picked him up from the school where he had been spending the afternoon with a group of local guys playing flag football.

He pondered my question as he tried to hide the limp in his walk and the wince on his face as he made his way slowly to the car.

"It's because we have not lost our passion for a hard, physical contact sport that brings out our competitive nature and gets our adrenaline flowing," he said. "Some guys feel the need for this, regardless if they're 20 or 40."

"Or 44," I added.

By now he could not hide his injury, and stated lamely, "I pulled a hamstring out there on the field."

It turns out my husband was not the only one who was injured today. By the end of the day, there was a guy with a broken toe, two guys with pulled hamstrings, a dislocated shoulder, and a bunch of bruised egos. But even as they're nursing their injuries, they are planning next Sunday's game.

Well, maybe not next Sunday. It might take some of these injuries a bit longer to heal.

Everyone Attended a High School Somewhere

"Not!"

This was the reply I gave, although phrased in a kinder way, to the lady at the help desk of the college who was trying to talk me through the problem I ran into with my online application form. I couldn't get past screen 4 where I had to enter the name of the high school I attended. I tried explaining to her that I didn't attend high school and that's why I took my GED.

"Oh, but everyone attended a high school somewhere, for some length of time, even if they didn't graduate," she insisted the second time after I told her that, no, I did not attend a high school, not any high school.

There was an uncomfortable pause, then she asked, "Well, what was the last school you attended?"

I told her, "Eighth grade in a Christian school in Ohio."

Another long pause.

"Well, you have to enter the name of a high school or it won't let you proceed with the application," she explained.

Obviously, which is why I called in the first place.

She consulted another help desk person, and finally she told me just to enter the name of the Christian School I had attended and the computer would do a search for it. I told her there was no way it would show up on a search, because the school was barely known in the next county, let alone a different state! She assured me if I did three searches and my school didn't show up, it would give me the option of typing in the name of the school. I finally did that, and the application went through. (Sigh of relief)

My next assignment was to go to the college to take a placement test and to fill out Financial Aid paperwork. I finished that in record time and now I'm looking forward to the next step which is actual registration for my courses, which I will do on January 5. The first day of classes will be January 7.

I'm pinching myself to see if this is real.