nights of the (sort of) round table

I started this post last night right after getting up from the dinner table. A particularly full dinner table, with 8 chairs crammed around it.

We've always been a family of 6, and we've always been an infamously spirited family of 6. Tonight we were discussing the possibilities of a superpower that would allow us to switch off gravity in a predefined period of time within a certain area. Then Maria said, "People who have more birthdays live longer." And while we were all chuckling about that, Papa chimed in, "And odds are, if your parents couldn't have kids then you won't be able to either."

And then Mutti said, "...Didn't we have this same conversation a few days ago?"

On other nights we talk about linguistics, or architecture, or theology, or medicine. Or we talk about books we're reading and movies we've seen or want to see. We try to make plans and usually fail because of how impossible it is to coordinate 6 busy schedules full of life and ambition. We tell funny stories and bad jokes. We work through our issues, personal or collective. As cliche as it may sound, the dinner table is the place where our family status gets resolidified. Sitting down to eat, and, more importantly, to laugh together, does the same thing for our family as renewing vows does for married couples. It's like checking our vitals, syncing our personal devices to the familial network.

Sometimes other people join us at the table and we realize how completely strange our dinner table conversations are, and how intense we can be to people who don't yet know the ropes.

Case in point, my sister's boyfriend got an essay published in Teen Ink about meeting the family, his first supper at our house. He talks about feeling justifiably intimidated as we all haphazardly gathered around the table (typical) and then how that anxiety melted away as he realized we were just real, raucous people. Now he verbally spars with the best of us, rises to the occasion.

Another friend of my sister's was lucky enough to be present at a family dinner where the conversation somehow got steered to the logistics of a career in pole dancing, with side stories about the time my dad had to guess a Sensosketch (drawing with your eyes closed) of a "string bikini" at a youth group game night. (He didn't guess it.) Our visitor sat at the head of the table looking mildly shell-shocked, but laughing; and on the way home he mentioned, with typical quiet intellectualism, that we are "interesting" people -- but in a good way.

Friday was J's birthday, so on Saturday I went to have family dinner at his house. I was struck, as a relative outsider, by the warmth of the family table, the passing and sharing of food and, again, laughter. I don't think this is mere coincidence. That kind of intentional time spent together, gathered in a place, facing each other, is an opportunity for care, to nourish not only our bodies but our souls.

My family has been known to sit literally for hours after all of us are full, after all the food is gone and all the plates are clean and the clock strikes whatever ungodly hour. (We have also been known, on more than one occasion, to sit down to eat after 10:00 pm, so I guess the "after dark" thing isn't really a surprise.) Despite all the ruckus lately about headlines reading, STUDIES DEBUNK "FAMILY DINNER" MYTH: CHILDREN WHO EAT DINNER WITH THEIR FAMILIES STILL GET ADDICTED TO DRUGS! ...I still think that our family is a functional one because we eat together.


Because we enjoy our food together. We share our gratefulness that there is something on the table, and that it is usually delicious, and that we have people we love to share it with. I really think it boils down to the fact that we laugh together. And my sisters have mentioned on multiple occasions that the dinner table is where we hash things out. That's where we make plans, and work through issues, and take votes on major family decisions, like when and where to go on vacation, or whether it's time to move. It's the only time and place we all set aside (at least one or two nights a week, now that we're all older and busier) to be present with each other. When we were little dinnertime was the only time we didn't answer the phone, on principle. Our family has committed, for 25 years, to being with each other as we share the gifts we have been given.

And what I like about this now is that we have spent a long time building up our family dinner foundation, so that now we gladly invite others to join us, to be grateful with us, to enjoy food with us, to laugh with us. They bring new jokes and facts and topics of interest and even new tastes to the spread.

We are all infinitely richer for it.

the importance of being hilarious

The first signs of my mistrust of biomedicine showed up somewhere between 10 and 14, when I packaged my first home remedy.  (Actually I'd been concocting perfumes and other serums years before this, but that was more vaguely related.)  I dismantled, flipped inside out, and reglued a Sweethearts box, made a label for it and filled it with jokes written on little slips of paper roughly the size and shape of cookie fortunes.  I think the idea was roughly inspired by fortune cookies, actually, and the box probably contained a few printed fortunes.

Just to make it clear, the label said, Laughter is the Best Medicine.

Please, have a laugh while I blush.  I recognize the incredible cheesiness of this whole shebang, and I sincerely hope I burned all those jokes years ago because I can almost guarantee that every last one was horrible.  But I will not step down from my fundamental belief.  Since I was 11 or however old, I have read tons of articles linking laughter and longevity.  (I particularly like the claim that "those who found the world the most funny were 35 percent less likely to die during the study" in this article.)  I have also read articles claiming that the link is less definitive than past studies would have us believe, but what Scrooge would write an article like that?!  Whoever it is, I don't trust him for a second.

You might be relieved to hear, in light of this conclusive and exhaustive research, that I have been laughing more and more often lately.  I laugh with at least one of my sisters every day, usually have a good giggle with my mom; I laugh with guests at the Den almost every night, and on Friday afternoon I was in tears with my supervisor working on a project, we were laughing so hard.  I laugh at Zumba, which is another reason to love it.  I went out a couple of times this week with really good people, and just tonight I went out with a "that's-what she-said" kind of crew and at a couple of points I was doubled over laughing.  Then I came home and my mom and I laughed for roughly 107 minutes straight at the movie A Lot Like Love, which I had somehow managed not to see until now.  Also, I know "lol" and "haha" don't really mean anything anymore, but I'd just like to thank the people I've chatted, texted, or emailed with recently who made me laugh, legitly and sometimes hysterically.  (You know who you are -- if I typed more than 3 has in a row, you're golden.  Also, the more, the better.)

This photo has had me laughing for several days now.

Not that you need a play-by-play of everything I've laughed at lately, especially since I've gone and cropped out all the funny parts, but I need to emphasize the magnitude of the good effects.  Because it's easier to pretend like I'm not frustrated when I'm actually not frustrated, and easier to not be frustrated when I'm laughing.

Here's an example of a time when general laugh-esthesia eases an unpleasant situation:

You may recall from the summer at Sunny V how I gradually conquered my entonophobia, or fear of ticks.  I got better at the bees, ants, and other bugs, too, but let's be honest: I still don't like them.  That being said, this basement living thing may have been a fatal mistake.  Because every day I have to get up close and personal to the various crawly things with which I cohabitate, to determine whether or not each one deserves to live.  Here's the breakdown:
- Crickets die.  No second chances.
- Spiders, I like.  If their webs are all up in my grill I clear those out, but I appreciate very large spiders after living in India, because they eat all the things I definitely do NOT appreciate.  Also they are relatively friendly, and my brother once witnessed a spider-scorpion wrestling match.  I'm pretty jealous.
- Centipedes also die.
- Lately there have been these big brown wasps just lazing around, which I obviously try to get rid of STAT.
-  And then there are the stinkbugs, which I try not to disturb but usually get tromped on in daily foot traffic.  Then I dispose of their corpses.

Bringing this all back, I have been notably OK getting close enough to these critters to dispose of them.

I'm starting to think that laughing significantly increases my bug tolerance.  Not sure of the confidence interval though...

Lately I've been appreciating not only my great sense of humor but also one of the most valuable things I left college with that I didn't quite have when I got there: The ability to communicate confidently and clearly, and keep a cool head.  (These qualities are also beneficial while driving, I've found.)  "Stand my ground" is a phrase I've been hearing a lot lately.  Yesterday I dragged my parents out mattress shopping, because they promised me a nice grown-up mattress as a graduation present and it hasn't quite materialized yet.  Anyway, we had a very pleasant shopping experience overall thanks to my dedication to being direct with the sales dudes.  I'm pretty proud of myself for that -- self-taught, you know!

Don't get me wrong, I've got a LOOOOOOOOOOONG way to go.  But every day I'm getting better at shortening my sentences, cutting out ums, ers, and likes, speaking up when I'm saying something important. I'm awarding myself a prize right now for "most improved."  At least in this case, that also stands as encouragement to keep up the good work and keep improving.  (Readers, please award yourselves prizes from time to time.  It really feels good to win something, especially if you've been on a losing streak lately.)

I'm trying to remind myself constantly these days that I have valuable things to offer.  My characteristically meek transition period has stretched on interminably and it's time for that to stop.  I'm trying to remind myself that I can be gregarious.  Smart--not ditzy, but also not pretentious.  Other important parts of my personality that have been boxed up since the move include sticky eyes, bad jokes, color, flair, gentle teasing and witticisms, that charming conceitedness you all know and love, good listening and attention-paying skills, and The Laugh.

I missed The Laugh, big time.  Next on my list is to get back on the dance floor...