The solar eclipse wasn’t even on my bucket list, but I got lucky and had a ringside seat — right on my deck overlooking the ocean. Yes, I had a pair of the official eye-sight-saving glasses.
Here is what it felt like at 10:16 a.m. last Monday morning. Suddenly the temperature dropped, sort of how it feels on an Oregon coast winter day without the wind. Just eerily quiet. The bright light over the ocean slowly dimmed to dark. With the glasses, I looked up at the sun, which now looked like a thin slice of orange-colored banana. The totality lasted an incredibly short time, and then it was over as the eclipse moved east along its narrow path across the country.
There is only one word I can think of to describe this brief, once-in-my lifetime experience: awesome.
And now, since I feel justifiably frustrated with the medical system as I continue to wait to hear from the surgeon with my MRI results and a game plan, it is my nature to turn to humor, and what better subject than doctor jokes. Here goes.
A proctologist had been in practice for 20 years and had settled into a very comfortable life, with his future very secure.
So he decided to fulfill his real dream and become an auto mechanic. Having entered mechanical school, the former physician received the results of his first test with a score of 200 percent. Confused, he asked the teacher why his score was so high.
“Well,” said the teacher, “the first part was taking the engine apart, and you did that perfectly so you got 50 percent. The second part was to put it back together again, and you did it perfectly and got another 50 percent. The other 100 percent was for doing it all through the tailpipe!”
After 40 years of marriage, a husband and wife went for counseling. The wife went into a tirade, listing every problem they had ever had in the years they had been married. On and on and on she went: neglect, lack of intimacy, emptiness, loneliness, feeling unloved and unlovable, an entire laundry list of unmet needs she had endured.
Finally, the doctor (a male) got up, walked around the desk, and after asking the wife to stand, he embraced and kissed her long and passionately — as her husband watched with raised eyebrow. The woman shut up and quickly sat down as though in a daze.
The therapist turned to the husband and said, “This is what your wife needs at least three times a week. Can you do this?”
“Well sure,” said the husband. “I can drop her off here on Mondays and Wednesdays, but on Fridays I play golf!”
Update note to readers: For those of you who tend to look on the dark side and assume I am dealing with some life-threatening disease, let me assure you that my challenge is due to an injury that can be fixed with surgery and a long, annoying recovery process.
I don’t like any part of this, but stuff happens to all of us, and there are always lessons to be learned. Right now the big ones for me are asking friends for help … and patience. Oh, and finding out what it’s like to use a walker.
I can’t risk having frisky Bentley (my jointly-owned dog) around during this ordeal, which is sad and frustrating. But my friend, Gina, put two of his well-used tennis balls on the walker feet, and now the walker leaves ugly round marks on my kitchen floor. There is nothing funny about this, and I would prefer dirty dog feet marks, but at least its temporary.
Can anyone spare two new tennis balls that are not soaked in dog saliva?
Bobbie Lippman is a professional writer who lives in Seal Rock. She is the author of “Good Grief: A Collection of Stories As One Woman Journeys From Heartbreak To Healing Through Honesty and Humor” (Dancing Moon Press). The book (with all proceeds going to Rotary International) is available at JC Market in Newport and directly from Bobbie, who can be contacted at [email protected]