Mariment Laughter Yoga

     When the big January snow came, I was thrilled to see the flakes fat and fluffy building up into drifts across the yard.  Even though it was bitter cold, I decided that age shouldn't deter me from playing in the snow.

     I tricked Gene into coming outside by mentioning that the bird feeders needed filling, "...And when we're done filling the feeders, lets go for a walkabout."

     The snow had built up over two feet after a few days, but a few inches from the top was an icy layer.  Who would have thought that walking around the house, over the bridge and alongside the creek would be so difficult?  Having snow over my kneecaps made walking a challenge.  Each step meant I had to raise my booted foot up out of the snow in a high step before stepping down again.  High-stepping is for majorettes and Rockettes.  I'm neither.  I felt like an awkward ostrich clomping through the snow.

     Due to the frigid air, the snow was light and soft even though it was deep, sohere was no way to make a snowball or snowman. 

     After walking around for awhile I stumbled when making a high step on a slight incline and tripped.  I landed on my side and couldn't get up for laughing so hard.  I could imagine the neighbors looking out their windows exclaiming, "Oh dear!  Someone has fallen in the snow and must be hurt.  She can't get up!"  Of course that thought made me laugh harder.  Gene thought I'd lost my marbles rather than my footing.

     As we turned our feet towards home, I had one last thought.  I couldn't remember the last time I'd made a snow angel, so I threw myself backwards onto the snow.  Of course the icy layer thwarted my attempts at a snow angel and instead of making a beauty I ended up looking like I was hailing passing helicopters.

     It's exhilarating to step outside one's comfort level.  It was comfier inside our house with a cup of hot cocoa, but the cocoa was made sweeter by our outdoor adventure. 

     Life-long I've been allergic to bad smells.  If I were employed as "professional nose" for a perfumer or winery, others might cut me some slack for my shoulder shuddering when sniffing a dastardly scent, but no...I'm known as being "too sensitive."
     Years ago when I traveled as part of my job, I often had to change rooms if I detected an unfavorable smell.  The first place I looked was the bathroom shower curtain.  I don't know if hotels regularly change curtains, but a scrim etched in pink, green, gray or black  is a dead giveaway that the drape is moldy and needs to be banished.
     Recently I read that the quality of one's dreams are affected by scents.  So if the bedroom has an attached bath in need of scrubbing, guess what?  You're likely to have nightmares.  Not nightmares of the Scrubbing Bubbles coming after you...oh no! more like fear of an gruesome alien abduction complete with screeching sound effects.
     Of course it makes sense that Bath & Body Works sells "pillow scents" in lovely odors like vanilla and lavender.  Unless you've been attacked by a rare orchid or lavender plant those fragrances will likely give you good dreams as well as good sleep.  It wouldn't be good marketing for Bath & Body Works to bottle and sell a pillow scent called "eau de gym shoe," "flop-sweat," or "landfill."
     Dr. Alan Hirsch, a nationally recognized smell and taste expert and the founder of the Smell & Taste Treatment and Research Foundation in Chicago, discovered that men are most attracted to scents of  lavender, pumpkin pie, donuts, and black licorice.  Women are most attracted to black licorice, cucumber, baby powder, pumpkin pie and lavender.  Attraction was measured as "additional blood flow to the penis" in men and "additional lubrication in the vagina" in women. 
     No wonder fragrance and perfume is a bazillion-dollar industry worldwide.  Not only are we seduced by advertisements for celebrity perfumes, but merchants of all kinds subtly use fragrance as a means to gain greater access to our wallets.
     After a long day at work, I'm ready to jump into my jammies and nod off to dreamland, but wait...!
     "Uh hon...are those Good & Plenty candies hiding under my pillow or are you just glad to see me?"

     Gene laughs at my ability to get free steak dinners.  I don't plan on getting 'steak from heaven' when we go to our favorite restaurants, but it happens.

     I don't get my meal for free if I order chicken or pork.  But there's something magical about my relationship with steak that does it for me.

     I'm not one to complain about a meal.  I have images of the wait staff or kitchen help playing  fast and loose with my food before they return it to me, so I typically avoid complaints.

     But on the rare occasion when I am out and order a steak, I have exacting standards.  If I order the meat "medium-rare" they send it out well-done.  If I order the meat "with no seasoning" they dump salt & MSG on it like snow on a ski slope. 

     I don't want to pay for a steak that is burnt or one that freaks my palate, so when the manager asks (on the first bite), "How's everything?" I sweetly reply, "Uhmmm.  I ordered my steak medium rare" or "I ordered my steak without any seasoning."  I know the response by rote: the manager apologizes and orders up another dinner for me. 

     If the first steak was slow, the second one is even pokier. And of course I get concerned.  Exactly how much play is going on in the kitchen? By the time my new steak arrives, everyone else is finished eating and my salad has settled nicely in my stomach. My tummy tells me, "It's too late to eat a whole dinner now!"  So I end up taking half the steak home.

     I really appreciate the free steak dinners, but my husband is convinced that I'm sending out some strange vibe that is blocking restaurant staff from sending my dinner out right the first time.  If that's the case, I hope the vibe also prevents them from playing "plate in the pants" with my second steak before they send it out...

     Skirting around Chardon Square, my car putters up the steep Park Avenue hill and I notice a tree alongside Chardon Cemetery that looks like it's screaming...arms outstretched to the sky.  The tree reminds me of Edvard Munch's painting "The Scream."

     Is the tree screaming in fright, like its human counterpart in the painting?  After all, it stands sentinel right by the cemetery gates.  Who know what spirits shudder the tree after midnight?

     Is the tree screaming in pain?  The whole center of its bower had been removed to make way for power lines.  If limbless soldiers feel ache in missing limbs, does a tree ache in missing branches?

     Is the tree screaming in laughter?  Seeing doughy bicyclists weave up the challenging hill might amuse the tree.  Watching caravans of geese and goslings cross the road might make it laugh.  Feeling the juicy autumn breezes might cause it to wheeze, "Aaaaiiii!  That tickles!"

     Screaming tree, I feel your pain but also hear your rustling leaves laughing at me. 

Life's comedy is all around me, and I am fed by it.  Like Cookie Monster with Oreos, I'm constantly checking every cranny, nook and baseboard for laughter bytes.

I laugh at the absurdity of life. "What was I thinking?"   When the Powers That Be make a particular (and infinitely laugh-inducing) bone-headed decision: "What were they thinking with?"

I laugh at the innocent discoveries of infant animals and tiny humans.  "What is this new thing?  That person is gone from my sight, and then they magically reappear.  Weeee!  Me like this magic!"

I laugh for absolutely no reason other than my lungs and spirit need a workout. "Ahhh. I feel soooo incredibly clean inside!"

I laugh because I want to be closer to someone.  Shared laughter deepens bonds of friendship and can create a new and funny less-traveled road in a time-wearied relationship. "Oh yeah, baby!"

I laugh with joy whenever I see a butterfly, especially if it graces the top of my head with its dancing feet.  "I don't know what's going on upstairs, but please, please, please, don't stop!"

I laugh in camaraderie or conspiratorially when I discover that a new friend has a warped sense of humor that equals or exceeds my own.  "Whoopee!  You be a cracked-head laugh-magnet too!"

On gray days without sunshine, I'm an addict looking for a fix:  "Where's the funny today?"  Universal thank-yous to the developers of Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, Blogger, and other websites that provide a fun-fix when I need it most...with no cover charge!

Why do I laugh?  Laughter feels absolutely fabulous..inside and out..and it costs nothing! 

Laughter stretches me like Silly Putty, stamps hilarity onto my soul, and then bounces me over life's lumps and bumps wildly.

Need a lift?  Lift your face with laughter.