Lightning Struck

Not too long ago, I told my mom I took the dog out for a walk between our frequent Midwest storms.
She said, "You shouldn't do that. You're gonna get hit by lightning."

Huh. "Mom, are you really worried I'll get hit by lightning?"

"Why, yes!" She punched it hard, emphasizing my naivete.

Just this week, I had a bout of nausea. Since the well eventually runs dry on things to talk to my mom about, I shared it with her. We love to share ailment stories.

She said, "I hope you're not having a heart attack."

Wha? After I pooh-poohed that idea, telling her I walk many miles four times a week, she replied, "Maybe you're walking too much."

Sigh. Still on the case, she followed up with, "Maybe you should take a suppository."

Gah! No thanks. As a child, suppositories had been one of my mother's favorite forms of torture hiding under the guise of "medicine." All the abominable "pills" ever did was make my stomach more upset and cause me a year's worth of humiliation. Never again. 

Of course my mom knows no better. After all, her parents fed her spoonfuls of kerosene (KEROSENE!) when she was sick.

Anyway. I come from a long line of worriers and negativity. If there's nothing currently wrong, my family will work hard to find something to worry about.

My grandmother was the same way. While I was in junior high, she lived with us. Every day I'd rush home, amped up that I'd survived another school day.

"Hi, Grandma," I'd say, "how was your day?"

"Long and boring. Can't see nothin', can't do nothin'. May as well be dead."

Buzz-kill, Grandma.

It's a can't win situation. At times, I find myself falling into the same hole. Quickly, I try to dig out. I know all too well how unpleasant it can be to hang around negative people. Daily, I struggle to look at the positive so as not to punish my loved ones.

So, the next time my mom hammers me with her usual diatribe, "The world's terrible, everything's going to pot, everyone's out to rip you off."

I'll respond with, "Yes, but at least we have twerking." Maybe I'll even demonstrate a little.

For something even more terrifying than suppositories, check out my newest book,  Ghosts of Gannaway.