A confession, made laughingly…

I’m not at the women’s march, but I’m celebrating its success and hoping it is the beginning of something.  I may be feeling confessional because I’m not marching, and I may be looking for ways to do something useful.

Since it’s warm, I went outside to check on the fish in the backyard pond.  Since I’m pretty sure the melter has been less than effective, leaving them under a solid layer of ice a few times this winter, I was worried.  But there they were, all three of them, swimming around.  Oh, the joy of small victories!  As long I was already out there, I decided to toss out the sad remains of last summer’s floating plants, too, a task that should have been completed several months ago, but better late than never.  Probably my shoes were wet.  Certainly the stones were slippery. I was almost ready to come into the house when I found myself IN the pond for the first time in the 20-or-so years it’s been in my backyard! It’s only a couple of feet deep, but somehow I ended up wet to my shoulders. 

I climbed out and came into the kitchen, dripping, while John, laughing out loud, got me a towel.  Only my pride is hurt. I have always had a hard time laughing at myself and I dislike having others laugh at me.  Probably because he’s used to my sometimes-obsessive need for privacy, and trying not to laugh out loud, John promised not to tell anyone what I had just done.  In fact, trying hard to keep a straight face, he promised to take it to his grave.  So I”m confessing:  I FELL INTO THE POND THIS MORNING.  Clumsily.  Hilariously.  Apparently without lasting ill-effects for me or the fish. 

I come from a family of serious women.  My mother was serious. Her four sisters, with one possible exception, were serious.  I don’t remember my mother laughing often, and I wonder if she would have been happier if she did.  I don’t laugh as often as I would like, and I suspect that if I can learn to laugh at myself I may be happier. I read a lot of mysteries, and I am convinced that I learn a lot from them, event those that are non-pure escapism.  One book taught me about laughing clubs.  And laughter yoga.  Maybe I should consider it.

The fish are still swimming.  I’m showered and clean, and the clothes are washed and drying.  She shoes may take a while.  I hope that I can find drier activities to laugh at until I’m somewhere warmer.