How much time every day do we spend waiting?  At the grocery store, in traffic, at stoplights, in the school pick-up line, on hold with Customer Service. Often we wait months for big events to happen — holidays, a wedding, vacation time.

Sometimes we spend that waiting time in tense impatience, so that even when the delay is over our mood is still dark and irritable. Other times we wait with eager anticipation, counting the days. Looking forward to an event with a light heart makes the occurrence even more joyous.

The Advent season is a time of waiting for the celebration of Christ’s coming to the world. This period can be spent in preparation for Jesus to come again into our lives. As we put everything in readiness for a wonderful celebration of Jesus’ birth, we can run about in a hysterical frenzy or we can focus on Christ and let him make this waiting time meaningful.

Rather than being distracted by all the activities and projects this time of year brings, let’s put the emphasis on the Christ Child.

As your whole being waits for the Lord, put your hope in his word, meet Jesus at the manger. It will be worth the wait.

I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. Psalm 130:5 NIV

I have a ‘nest’ in my house where I read, write, knit and watch TV. When I read or hear something funny or noteworthy, I jot it down in a small notebook — for use later.

Just this week, I read on Yahoo News: “Jennifer Aniston speaks candidly about pressures to marry and have babies on the Today Show.”

Well, I should think Jen would be reluctant to marry on the Today Show, never mind having a baby!

I know what the writer meant. But that’s not what was said.

People often make humorous malapropisms out of old familiar sayings (thus providing me with fodder for posts like this).

“That scared me out of my living daylights.”

“If I knew now what I knew then.”

“I’d stay away from that with a 10-foot pole.”

And of course, Casey Stengel gave us many good lines/laughs. “They tell me it can’t be done but sometimes it doesn’t always work.”

When I pointed out a movie goof to my #2 son, Phillip, he said, “Now you’re pulling hairs.” (Perhaps he meant splitting?)

Okay, that’s it for now. As Jane Lynch says at the end of Hollywood Game Night:

“If you had half as much fun as I did, then I had twice as much fun as you.”

P.S. New look on the blog today. Thanks to my editor, blog host, #1 son, Steve May.  AldersonPress.com

Upon reaching the age of fifty or so, we experience a coming-of-age event known as a colonoscopy, a screening recommended by all Primary Care Physicians. During the Reagan years, when the president was found to be at risk for colon cancer, the medical community got all over fiber and regular testing.

While some naïve patients may go into this procedure thinking, “How bad can it be?” to those of us who know the answer to that question, a colonoscopy is regarded definitely as something we would least like to do.

The prep for this event is worse than the actual test. The night before the appointment, the patient must drink a large pitcher of Go Lightly, a misnomer if one ever existed. Thus cleansed, the person to be tested reports to the clinic and receives a generous dose of Versed, a drug given to produce amnesia, so the mind forgets the invasive procedure.

And so it happened, a few years ago, that I took my sister, Betty, in for this routine exam. As the nurse approached with the needle, Betty felt the need to say, “I medicate easily. If you need responses, don’t give me much of that stuff.”

The nurse said, “You meditate easily?”

“Did I say ‘meditate’? I meant . . . zzzzzzzzzzz.

They rolled her away and told me to wait.

Later, the nurse called me to the recovery cubicle where Betty lay, sound asleep.

“We found diverticulosis,” the nurse said. “The doctor could not view the entire colon. Miss Betty needs to have a barium dye and x-ray. She can go to the hospital as soon as she wakes up.”

The nurse patted the patient’s hand gently and said softly, “Miss Betty . . .”

After a few minutes of this, I shook my sister’s shoulder and said loud enough to be heard in the waiting room, “BETTY, WAKE UP. You need to go to the hospital.” I explained, as best I could, the reasons. She nodded affirmation.

The nurse put the bed in a sitting position. The doctor entered with pictures of someone’s colon, maybe Betty’s, and gave a detailed explanation of what, how, and why, ending with the pros and cons of having the test. Betty slept. The doctor looked at me and said, “And you need to remember everything I said and tell her later.”

We roused my sister again and helped her dress. She asked, “Now . . . where am I going?” I explained again — and a couple of more times during the process of loading her up for the drive across the street to the hospital. Each time, my explanation was more terse: “diverticula … yada … barium … yada … hospital.” Yet, as we stopped in front of Out Patient Admitting, she said, “I’m still not clear why I’m here.”

She told the admitting clerk it wouldn’t be necessary to make an I-V stick because she was pretty sure she already had one. She pulled her sleeve showing her bare arm. Of course the clinic had not sent her off with a needle in her vein. I explained that she had been sedated already that morning and to please note: she didn’t need any more.

The clerk had Betty sign papers allowing the hospital to perform a second procedure, then she said my sister shouldn’t drive or make important decisions for twenty-four hours. Next day, Betty vaguely remembered signing papers but was not sure why. The Versed did its job.

I’m sure this is something I never want to do because at my age every day is precious. It’s a shame to lose one.

This essay on the subject “something I never want to do” won an honorable mention at the Arkansas Writers Conference this weekend.

Last week was the anniversary of this blog.  We’ve been here for five years now, I was surprised to notice.

I opened a blog and website after being told at a writers conference that every serious writer should have one. And nowadays most of them do.

There is a “rule” that a blog should have a theme … and I have bent that rule badly. I write about whatever I think of on a given Sunday afternoon (my usual time to post here, though on occasion I have been as much as a week late).

The reason for no theme is simple: I am not an expert on anything. If I were to write only about gardening, parenting, movies, music or even writing, I would soon run dry. I am not an expert on anything but I have an opinion on most everything.  So this blog focuses around my opinion on rather trivial matters. It is my point of view: First Person Limited.

Thanks for visiting my blog. If you want to cruise around and read some old posts, you’ll find them easily categorized to the right, by year or subject.

Thanks to my son, Steve May, for hosting my site. He makes my technologically challenged life so much easier.

When someone asks, “Why did you laugh?” the stock answer is “Because it was funny!” Any further explanation is often pointless. Finally you just had to be there.

Writers are told up front that humor is subjective . . . what’s funny to one person might not be humorous at all to the next. When someone takes a tumble one friend might call 911 while the other doubles over laughing. Thus the popularity of America’s Funniest Videos and slapstick comedy in general. So, writer, if your amusing article is not appreciated by the contest judge or editor, you should keep your knickers in the untwisted position . . . they just didn’t get it.

The Center for Brain Science at Harvard University has conducted studies on how humor affects the brain. For instance, they put volunteers in an MRI machine and tracked their brain activity while they watched an episode of Seinfeld. They found that “getting a joke uses the same part of the brain that is used to solve complex problems.  There is a link between intelligence and and a sense of humor.”

Thank you!

Infants will laugh at a rubber-faced comedian or a clown in a prat fall. Their brains don’t have to be very well developed to get that sort of humor. And we laugh at slapstick, too. It’s one of those things we do because we don’t have to use many brain cells to enjoy it. Like reading a dime novel or watching an inane show on TV. But stand-up comedy, the one-liners or the play on words required an altogether different side of the brain.

Scott Weems new book, Ha! The Science of When We Laugh and Why, (Basic Books of New York) is an “investigation into the science of humor and laughter.” I wouldn’t presume to review a book I haven’t read, but it sounds like Dr. Weems (doctorate in cognitive neuroscience) has done his homework well, as did the scientists at Harvard. By the way, Weems is from North Little Rock.

You can see more about the CBS Sunday Morning video that piqued my interest here and more about Scott Weems writing here

Back to the question of why we laugh. E.B. White said, “Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”