Spring Genes

I love spring in the South.

Well, let me re-phrase that.

With the help of a lot of allergy medication, I love spring in the South.

The neighborhood has burst with color, and there are days when I think, “Have the colors ever been as bright as they are this year? Has that tree or that neighbor’s yard ever been as beautiful?”

The flowers in the front yard have gone crazy this year. In fact, I think I’m going to have to transplant some of them that are taking over like they own the place. I can’t just throw them away like some people do, though. It feels murderous. So, I’ll find some little patch of dirt that needs something in it.

I always think of genetics when spring rolls around. When I first moved here, I knew that I wanted to plant a lot of perennials. It’s fun to watch them re-bloom and spread year after year. I bought some columbine seeds my first spring here, sort of a medium pink color, and now I have several variations of pink columbines blooming all over the yard. (I’m a seed-saver, so they’re all over the place now.) I don’t remember buying several shades of pink, but there sure are several shades now.

A good friend of mine, as a housewarming gift, planted Lenten roses in the front yard shortly after I arrived. After a couple of years, I noticed that some of them were not pink colored at all, but were white, and they stayed white. The pink ones will fade during their few weeks of blooming, but the white ones never changed colors. They were resolutely white, with no shades of pink. Genetics did that.

The other day I found a lucky clover patch in the backyard with one four-leaf clover in it. A spontaneous mutation, I’m sure. Then, about 20 feet away, I found a super-lucky clover patch that had three four-leaf clovers and three five-leaf clovers in it. I guess those were inherited mutations. Then, several days after being mowed, the super-lucky clover patch yielded no four-leaf clovers. I couldn’t even find a two-leaf clover in it, it was so unlucky. But the regular lucky clover patch, several days after being mowed, had two four-leaf clovers and one six-leaf clover in it. It became super-lucky in one week’s time. Those crazy genes. Go figure.

The six-leaf clover is on the left and the four-leaf clover is on the right. Both are from the clover patch that was originally just a lucky patch, but this week is a super-lucky patch. Notice that the six-leaf clover has a very thick stem. It looks to me like it was two twin three-leaf clovers that were supposed to separate, but never did. I guess that would make it a Siamese stem, eh?

Sometimes, that whole genetic thing, when thinking about XLH, really kind of aggravates me and makes me feel very unlucky. Losing teeth is annoying, and sometimes embarrassing, to say the least. Having to go to the doctor to have my Vitamin D and parathyroid hormone checked every three months is a pain in the hiney. A trip to the doctor’s office to get the blood drawn, then a trip back a week later to consult with the doctor about the results takes me away from work and other fun activities. (Hey, I love my job, what can I say?) Last week, the Vitamin D was finally above 30 (now 34, woo-hoo!) but now my parathyroid hormone is above normal and “trending” upwards towards secondary hyperparathyroidism, which is not good, because that could lead to kidney stones, bone fractures, bone and joint pain (Hah! Are you kidding me? More?) and depression and something else…oh yeah, forgetfulness. It leads to an overall bad mood, if you ask me. I can’t believe that a little gland in the neck that regulates calcium, and is the size of a GRAIN OF RICE, can cause such trouble. Some XLH-er’s have to have them removed, and I am not really wanting to have to do that, because that’s just a little scary to think about.

But, as aggravating as having my genes has been at times, spring comes around and I notice that if it weren’t for genes, what would my yard look like? The same old thing every year, I guess. Pretty boring, obviously. Humans would be boring, too. My doctor would have a very boring career, I’m sure, because all she’d have to deal with is cranky people coming in with colds and flu. Now she gets to see ME, and draw pictures of the parathyroid glands to show its location near the thyroid gland, which gives them their name, because they have nothing to do with the thyroid gland; they just live next door to it, and she gets to talk about things other than antibiotics and eating a healthy diet. Surely, I must make her day? I bet she went home and told her husband that she saw 20 people with colds and sinus infections, and the most interesting part of her day was when the little short lady with the genetic disorder called XLH came in to discuss her blood test results and she got to explain to the intern who was with her about this rare disorder that he had never heard of, because he had just started med school and looked like he was about 14 years old. If it wasn’t for me, her day would be spent prescribing antibiotics or blood pressure meds and telling patients to lay off the red meat and salt. Boring.

One more thing that has been special about this spring. Last year, a friend of my sister gave me an iris to plant that was a color I had never seen before in irises. Sort of a peachy, salmon color. This year, it bloomed for the first time. Now, I love my tall, gangly yellow and purple irises that have taken over the front yard. They have been with me from the beginning, and are very tall (about chest high for me) and they get so tall that they flop over from being top heavy.

Purple irises with yellow irises in the background. The purple ones smell like grape soda.

But this new and different color is just breathtakingly beautiful to me. AND, I am happy to report, they are the shortest irises in the yard! Hah! How about THAT!?! The shortest and the prettiest!

My new iris. My mother’s first name is Iris. She is also beautiful, like the flower.

Since it’s the new flower on the block, I take a lot of pictures of it! We’ve had quite a lot of rain, as you can tell by the droplets of rain water still clinging to it when the sun came out. I think it looks like it’s sticking its tongue out at me, which makes me smile.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you who are  mothers and mothering women out there, and especially to mine, who’ll be the lucky beneficiary of some of those irises this weekend!

Copyright S.G. Hunter and Banjogrrldiaries, 2013-2018.

The Potato

So, Professorgrrl, extraordinary cook that she is, texted me today, one day after my tooth extraction, and asked if there was anything that I felt like eating tonight for dinner. The dental hygienist told me yesterday that I could eat mashed potatoes, grits or scrambled eggs while the hole, formerly known as tooth #15, healed up, clotted and all that. I honestly can’t remember how long she said that I should stay on this diet, but the thought of getting something stuck in that hole made me think that I could stand to lay off the crackers and crunchy peanut butter sandwiches at least another day. I texted back to Professorgrrl, “Potato soup.” Today was a very cold, rainy spring day here in the south, and evolved from cold and rainy to sleet, then snow, then a deluge of more rain. I love the south. Like they always say around here, if you don’t like the weather, wait 5 minutes. And today’s weather just seemed to call for soup.

Honestly, though, if it had not been a cold day, my answer to Professorgrrl would still involve the use of the word “potato.” I love potatoes. They are my comfort food. There is a cafeteria here in town and every time I go there, it is all I can do to keep myself from ordering the vegetable plate with mashed potatoes, French fries, potato salad and a baked potato. And of course, cornbread, for color.

In fact, when I had my second knee surgery (outpatient) back in 1997, I woke up with my usual allergic reaction to the anesthesia, i.e., throwing up on myself. The medical personnel wheeled me to a room and would not allow me to leave until I could sit up without throwing up. Finally, after several hours of being in this holding tank of a room, with my parents patiently waiting by my bed, I told the nurse that I felt fine and was ready to leave the hospital and go home. I proved this by sitting up without throwing up. So, she helped me to a wheelchair and wheeled me down to the lobby. While my father went to get the car, I sat in the wheelchair and threw up on myself. That poor nurse just went into a tizzy, saying, “I can’t let you leave! You just threw up again! We should admit you to a room! I have to tell my supervisor!” I looked at her and told her that I had absolutely no intentions of spending the night in that hospital, that I was leaving and I would be fine if I could just get home to my house, and my bed, and a bag of baked Lays potato chips. I looked at my mother and said, “Let’s get out of here.” So, we piled into the car and left and went to my little house, where my mother, at my instruction, opened up a bag of baked Lays potato chips and I ate a few and all was well. I am telling you, potatoes have HEALING properties! Well, for me anyway. My mother thought this was all very funny. My dad was just glad to be out of that hospital, which made him nauseous anyway.

So, what else could I possibly want to eat after a tooth extraction? And now, I will share with you Professorgrrl’s Delectable Low-fat Potato Soup recipe. She usually finds several recipes on the internet, and then makes up her own recipe based on her research, her own ideas, and my high cholesterol. This works about 99.9% of the time. She knows about that .1% time when she made the Thai green beans. I made it very clear that she should never repeat THAT mistake.

Professorgrrl’s tooth removal low-fat potato soup

Bake or microwave 3 medium-sized baking potatoes; cool and peel

Dice (well sorta- baked taters don’t dice easily) 

Meanwhile:

Sauté 1/4 to 1/2 cup minced onion in 2 tablespoons of butter

When softened, add two tbsp. flour (heaping)

Slowly add 3 1/4 cup skim milk

Add 1/2 chicken bouillon cube

Add salt and pepper to taste

Add 1/8 tsp. celery salt

Heat on medium high until boiling

Cook 3-4 min or until thickened

Add diced, semi-mashed potatoes

Add 1/4 to 1/2 cup fat-free sour cream

Stir

Add another chunk of butter

Heat through

Serve hot with low fat cheddar cheese and turkey bacon crumbles

Optional diced chives to adorn (Sheila’s note: Adorn is Professorgrrl’s word. I think the usual word is “garnish” but I kept “adorn” because it made me laugh. Not a big toothy laugh, mind you, but a chuckle-type laugh.) 

Makes about 6 servings unless you are really hungry because your tooth has kept you from eating your usual crunchy peanut butter sandwich.

Thank you, Professorgrrl, for a delicious potato soup dinner. I know my many XLH friends with their many tooth problems will appreciate this recipe during their recovery from various dental procedures, since very little chewing, if any, is required. As I have told my dentist many times, we all (everybody, if you live long enough) end up eating mashed potatoes, and I love potatoes. Did I say that already?

Copyright 2013-2018, S.G. Hunter and Banjogrrldiaries

The Loss of Innocence

Someone once told me, “The primary job of every parent is to protect the innocence of their children. Once a child loses their innocence, they can never get it back.”

I have thought of that statement many times since that moment she said this to me. I believe I was a very innocent, even naïve child. My first instinct was to trust people. I had no reason not to. For many of us, there is a gradual, or sometimes a traumatic loss of innocence. My belief that other people were kind and good fell away to the realization that people can be cruel and mean. Anyone who has ever felt different or outside the dominant group, whether it be for physical differences, mental, social or religious differences, knows that this loss of innocence can be painful and sad.

This week, I learned that one of my aunts had died. It was not unexpected. She wasn’t someone I was close to, but still, to this day, I hold on to my child-like view and opinion of her. I thought she was beautiful, with a movie-star like quality. The way she looked, walked, talked and carried herself was, to me, very glamorous and mysterious. I saw her last year for the first time in many, many years, and though I would have never recognized her by the way she looked, she still had the same voice and it evoked that child-like awe of her movie-star quality. She was like Ginger on Gilligan’s Island.

I might be the only person in the universe who thinks this about her. I have never, as an adult, heard one single nice thing about her. I have struggled to reconcile my childhood view of her with the things I learned about her as an adult. When I was a child I had no idea that she was such a disagreeable person, but apparently there are many stories out there to support these stated claims about her. I learned some new ones this week, including that her own husband, my uncle, called her “That Woman” and never used her name when he talked about her. I know he cared about her, though. No one chooses to live with someone for 40 years without having some shred of love or care for that person. So, I called up Uncle to express my condolences. To me, she was still my movie-star-like aunt, a child-like perception that I could never get rid of, even though I knew now she wasn’t ALL THAT.

“Uncle, I’m sorry to hear about Aunt T.W.’s passing.” (T.W. is short for “That Woman.”)

“Well, these things happen when you go to the hospital. You live longer if you stay at home. They kill you at the hospital. Or refer you to someone else.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to come to the funeral tomorrow. I have to go to the dentist in the morning to get a tooth pulled.”

“Oh. Is it loose?”

“Yes, loose and cracked.” (All you XLH’ers know what I’m talking about, I’m sure!)

“I pull my own teeth. The dentist will just take your money if you let them do it.”

“Do you use pliers?”

“No, I use my fingers. Last year I pulled out 4 loose ones, including a jaw tooth. What you do is work it a little bit, twisting and pulling. Then you might have to stop for a day or two, because it’s gonna hurt. Then, work on it some more and eventually, you can pull it out yourself. You do have to twist and pull on it to get it out. It may take a few days.”

“I think I’ll get my dentist to do it.”

“Well, you’ll need to rinse out your mouth about 3 times a day with warm salt water afterwards. The dentist won’t tell you THAT, because he’s going to want to give you some pills. But the warm salt water is all you need. About 3 times a day for a few days.”

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll be thinking about you when I’m at the dentist tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Uh, bye!”

I have to say, it was the most bizarre condolence conversation I’ve ever had. But he’s not one to express a lot of emotions, and so I think he was just being kind, recommending what I would need to do after the extraction. He’s done this kind of thing before. Last year, I saw Uncle and Aunt T. W. when I was on the way to the beach and he gave me a very stern warning to wear a hat and long sleeves or the sun would ruin my skin. He showed me his arms as proof of what damage the sun can do. Though he’s never had children, he told me all this in a very fatherly sort of way and with not very many teeth in his head. I’ve always liked him. He is definitely his own person and doesn’t care what others think of him. Missing teeth, disagreeable wife, and all.

This morning, as I was getting ready to go to the dentist, I realized that the loss of innocence can cause a lot of anxiety. There was a time when I did not know what it was like to have to go to the dentist so much, but now I dread it. And I don’t really know why. I have a great dentist who can shoot Novocain in gums and jaws and cheeks better than anybody in the world, I am sure. He just says I’m very tough, but I tell him that he is THE BEST. The anxiety about the extraction was way worse than the actual extraction itself. I think it’s because I have had some very painful dentistry experiences, none of which Dr. Tooth was a part of. So, I get anxious. It only takes one or two bad experiences to lose that Pollyanna view of things. I told him about my uncle’s self-extractions. Dr. Tooth was quite amused. The visit went quite well. He pulled the tooth out in one piece and said that I must have brought my lucky rabbit’s foot with me today, since it did not break in pieces. He handed me the tooth, after cleaning it, and suggested that I put it under my pillow for the Tooth Fairy. (Okay, losing my innocence about the Tooth Fairy was not painful and sad. I have no residual damage from finding out the truth about that.) I told him that I was sure that the amount the Tooth Fairy would leave would not cover my bill.

Now, I’m at home, with a mouth full of gauze pads. And, if you made it to the end of this post, then I will reward you with a photograph of my extracted tooth. Dr. Tooth derived great pleasure in pointing out the internal resorption, the cracks, and the bone loss, and he affirmed our decision to remove it now. I’m pretty sure the silver filling in it won’t pay for his bill, either.

Photo of today’s extracted tooth. Good example of internal resorption, according to Dr. Tooth. Good example of why I must continue to work for a living, according to me.

Copyright 2013-2018, Banjogrrldiaries and S.G. Hunter

Practice, practice, practice

You’ve probably heard the old joke, “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”

Answer: Practice, practice, practice.

Lately, I’ve had to practice, practice, practice my music a LOT for several performances. If you’ve followed my blog, then you know that I am a hammered dulcimer player. March is a big month for folks who play Irish music, since St. Patrick has his very own day that is not only celebrated by the Catholic Church, but also by anyone who thinks they might have some Irish roots, regardless of their religious affiliation. St. Patrick was actually not even Irish! But he was a missionary to Ireland. And so now, we celebrate his life by playing Irish music and wearing green. Go figure.

If you’re a musician, or if you’re anyone who tries to do anything well, then you know the importance of practicing your craft, whatever it may be. In fact, writer Malcolm Gladwell theorizes in his book, Outliers, that people like artists and musicians (and others) need 10,000 hours of practice in order to be really great at whatever skill they’re trying to perfect. Since I was 28 years old when I started playing the hammered dulcimer, I am woefully behind. I guess all those years of playing other musical instruments don’t count, but even if they do, I’m sure I’m still behind!

Anyway, one of these “gigs” that I performed was last week at a retirement home for senior citizens. It was fun. I had a request for “Danny Boy” which I played through on the spot. I really should sit down and learn an arrangement of that song, but one verse seems to satisfy most folks. We played a lot of Irish, Scottish, English and American folk tunes for about one hour. We played our hearts out, too! After the performance, an elderly woman said to me, “There’s another woman who brings one of those instruments here sometimes and she can REALLY play that thing!” I’ve learned to let insults like that just roll off my back, since I know that at places like this, most of the people have absolutely NO filter for what they say and you’re liable to hear just about anything. I just laughed.

Now, I know that I am not the greatest musician in the world, and there are plenty of hammered dulcimers players that are much better than I am, but I was a little dumbstruck by her comment. I thought to myself, “Is this going to happen to me one day? Will I become a snarky 80-year-old woman who says anything, even if it’s not very kind?” And then I asked myself, “What can I do to NOT become a person who says unkind things, even if it’s unintentional? How can I make sure that I become the little old lady who says nice things to people? How can I be KNOWN as the nice little old lady that says sweet things to others?”

Then it hit me. Practice, practice, practice.

I think that being kind is a habit that one must cultivate. There are many religious AND cultural traditions that tell us to be kind to people. One Bible verse that I learned very early in my childhood says, “Be ye kind, one to another.” Just because you might be a person of faith doesn’t necessarily mean that you are going to feel kind things about others. And, you might be like me—I often have kind feelings for other people, but neglect to show them because I’m distracted or forgetful or too busy. Kindness is an action that you have to practice. You might have a good reason to practice kindness—perhaps your religious beliefs tell you that this is the right thing to do, but being kind is basically an action that if you do it regularly, it might be something that you eventually do without thinking, like when you’re a little old lady and, well, you’re not thinking. Sort of like playing a musical instrument—you’ve practiced those scales so many times, that you don’t even think about the notes and the details of what you’re doing, because it’s automatic. That’s how I want to be as a person—I want to practice being kind so much, that it’s automatic, and it’s so automatic that I don’t have time to judge whether or not the person deserves my kindness. God knows, I’m not always deserving!

I think that that’s a lofty goal to start this late in my life. I did a little math. If I think about my day, there are about 10 hours per day that I am either asleep, or worthless, because I’m getting ready for work, or haven’t had enough coffee yet, or it’s the end of the day and I’m eating dinner, etc. So that leaves me 14 hours per day. If I practiced being kind for 14 hours per day, I’d be an expert in almost 2 years, but would have had no income, because that left me no time to do my job, not to mention bathe, walk the dogs and clean house, etc. A little research reveals that about 90 minutes of practice per day is probably the minimum that I would need to become a very good amateur at something, but not a professional level person. If my math is correct, then if I practice kindness for 90 minutes per day, then in about 18 years, when I am 70, I will be a very kind person, though not an expert at it. My main goal is not to become a snarky old lady, so I think I’ll take the label of “very kind little old lady” and pray that God will help me to continue that habit even as I get older, and more decrepit with age. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to need God or someone to remind me to be kind on a regular basis, too, since sometimes I’m just not paying attention.

And, specifically, what constitutes practicing kindness? For every person, it’s different. My mother bakes bread for people, and takes her friends to doctors’ appointments, which I think is very kind. If you drive a lot, it may mean letting that person who got in the wrong lane pass over in front of you to your lane. Maybe it means leaving a bigger tip for your server at a restaurant. A few more “thank you’s” in the world sure wouldn’t hurt. I know there are some people whom I could email or call more often. Being kind to the people we live with or are related to is very easy to overlook, so there are plenty of opportunities there. I suppose we could even include kindness to animals, and I’m thinking of my empty bird feeder right now. Those sunflower seeds in my bird feeder can also end up blooming in someone else’s yard—I’ve seen it happen, thanks to the birds!

Gotta go…I need to practice, practice, practice.

 

Copyright 2013-1018, S.G. Hunter and Banjogrrldiaries

The Designer, Part II

Some of you who subscribe to my blog might remember my post about the Craigslist hammered dulcimer that I purchased, restored and nicknamed the “XLH dulcimer.” That was back on October 18th, 2012, if you need a refresher.

I posted a YouTube video of the restoration process in a “slide” format (if you’re old enough to know what slides are!) and the background music is my arrangement of “Make Me An Instrument of Thy Peace” which I am playing on the XLH dulcimer. Here’s the the link, if you want to hear what it sounds like, and see the photos that I took during restoration. I recorded this song in the bathroom, which has great acoustics!

And speaking of XLH, today, February 28, 2013, is Rare Disease Day. Check out the website if you’re curious. XLH is on the list of rare diseases/disorders. It goes by several names, depending on which exact version you might have.

http://rarediseaseday.us/

So, while I’m posting links, here’s the link to NORD, the National Organization of Rare Disorders.

http://www.rarediseases.org/

There are over 6000 rare diseases in the world, most of them genetic and most of them affect children. Thanks to the internet, many folks who have these diseases/disorders  and their family members can connect with one another for support. As I have mentioned, I have never personally met anyone with XLH. But, the internet has made it possible for me to “meet” others with this condition, and offer support to them, as well as receive good advice from other people who share similar journeys. I wish my parents had had support like this when I was a little girl. I’m sure they felt very isolated since I was such an oddity. I’m glad today’s parents do have the internet support groups to help them! Thank you, Al Gore, for inventing the internet. Ha! Just kidding! Only if you live in the U.S.A. do you know why this is a joke.

I’m pretty sure that if I go to the Hallmark Card store, they won’t have a section of cards saying “Thinking of you on Rare Disease Day.” But, guess what? I am thinking of  all of you who have a rare disease today! Many have diseases that are even rarer and more debilitating than what I have, and many of my fellow XLH-ers also have a much worse time of it than I have. So, I’m thinking of you, whoever you are, and saying a prayer that you will find the help you need, the cure or treatment you need or the love and support you need to journey on in your life. I also pray that more doctors and researchers in the world will become interested in those rare disorders and diseases and finding cures and treatments. To me there seems to be a lot of money spent on researching things that don’t seem to be as important (I could name a few, but I won’t. Just watch TV and see the commercials for some of these medical problems that a LOT of money is spent on “fixing.”) Anyway, this year’s theme for Rare Disease Day is “Rare Disorders Without Borders!” There should be no borders when it comes to helping people in the world–sharing medical knowledge across international borders should be about making the world a better place, not making profit. (Read the main article in the March 4th Time Magazine called “Bitter Pill” if you want to get really disgusted about the profits in the health care industry in the U.S.A.) The organizers of Rare Disease Day hope that more medical advances can be made if international cooperation and the sharing of knowledge is encouraged across borders.

Wouldn’t it be great if people of the world could put down their guns and instruments of war, and pick up instruments of peace and healing, like medical  instruments and research equipment to ease the suffering of millions of people in the world, rather than create more suffering? I believe it would.

A Short Book Review of a Short Book written by a Short Author for Short People

A couple weeks ago, when I was reading the Feb. 4th issue of TIME magazine, I found an article that made my eyes practically pop out of their sockets. The article was about the botched assassination attempt of a Bulgarian political leader. The video of the botched attempt went viral. Below the article was a list of other assassination attempts in history that failed. I’ll have to quote the one that caught my attention.

“Franklin D. Roosevelt: A diminutive, mentally disturbed man shot at the then U.S. President-elect at a 1933 rally in Florida by standing atop a folding chair amid the crowd. He missed, killing Chicago’s mayor instead.”

“Diminutive?” I thought. “Is this the new ‘short?’” Now, don’t get me wrong, I am definitely not taking up for a murderer, and I definitely don’t want him on my team (the short team, that is.) But it seemed to me that the reason they included this story was because he was short, even having to stand on a chair in order to accomplish his evil deed.

Okay, I admit it. I’m a little defensive. But I hope that the word “diminutive” is never used to describe me. It brings to mind other negative words, like dim, diminish and dim-witted. I prefer short, thank you very much. Of course I realize that there are negative associations with the word “short” too. No one wants to be short-handed, short-changed or short-tempered. But there are some very good associations with the word “short.” A job applicant is very pleased to find out he or she is on the “short list” of potential candidates; putting shortening in my homemade biscuits makes them deliciously flaky, and I personally love to eat strawberry shortcake. And, on a Sunday morning when I’ve had too much coffee to drink and my stomach is growling in church, I really appreciate a short sermon. I cannot think of any positive associations with the word “diminutive” so call me short, please. Or little.

So the article inspired me to do a google search of “famous short people.” Thankfully, the diminutive murderer (or, to use people-first language, the murderer who was diminutive), was not on any of those lists.

Here are a few people from these lists. I didn’t include anyone whose fame was reached before the 1960’s because, let’s face it–the definition of the word “short” changes, since average height in humans is increasing.

Dolly Parton, 5’
Shakira, 4’11”
Reese Witherspoon, 5’1”
Carrie Fisher, 5’1”
Stevie Nicks, 5’1”
Lady Gaga, 5’1”
Christina Aguilera, 5’2”
Madonna, 5’3”
Holly Hunter, 5’2”
Sally Field, 5’2”
Prince, 5’2”
Woody Allen, 5’6”
Mel Brooks, 5’4”
Sammy Davis, Jr., 5’3”
Michael J. Fox, 5’4”
Elton John, 5’4”
Dudley Moore, 5’2”
Paul Simon, 5’2”
Danny DeVito, 4’11” according to one website. A wee bit taller according to others. (Pun intended.)

No matter what you think of these people, you can probably agree with me that they have talent. Prince, for example, is an amazing guitarist, but I don’t really care for his music. And Woody Allen completely grates on my nerves, but I sure have enjoyed a lot of his movies, despite him.

I was surprised to learn how many famous short people there are. I would not have known that many of them were short, because their fame and big personalities somehow led to them seeming bigger than life. Or maybe it was the camera angle, I don’t know. They certainly did not let their height stop them from reaching their lofty career goals.

My google search also turned up a book that so intrigued me that I purchased it. It’s called Short: Walking Tall When You’re Not Tall at All by John Schwartz. It’s a book written by a short guy for young people who might be struggling with being short. The author is 5’3” so, of course, he has a lot of insight. In his introduction he writes, “But many of us, at some time or another, have felt different–and have hoped that what makes us different might actually make us special.” It’s a quick read, and I would recommend it to anyone who might have a child, especially a boy, who might be having a hard time because he or she is not as tall as his or her friends. Schwartz also explores the controversies around using HGH (human growth hormone) and the myths about its success as well as the studies that supposedly showed how tall people are more successful in life. I know that some in my community of XLHer’s have considered HGH for their children and I would certainly recommend reading this book with your child before you make your final decision. I personally know of someone who was considering using it for her child (his shortness was not caused by a medical condition) and to be honest, I’m glad she and her husband and their son decided against it, now that I’ve read about it in this book.

Being short does have some disadvantages. My pants are always too long, even though they claim to be “petite.” I have to have stepping stools available at all times in the house and every time I go grocery shopping, I have to find someone to get something for me off the top shelf. (But they get to go away feeling like they’ve helped someone that day, thanks to me. Glad I could facilitate that.) And, believe it or not, I STILL get pats on the head (which I absolutely hate) from other people, and I’m afraid that one day I will haul off and slap the next person who does that to me, but that’s my problem, I guess.

There are advantages to being short, though. I look younger than tall people. I retained my cuteness a lot longer than bigger people did. My mother said I was the only child who could ever walk under the kitchen table. When my friends shrink their brand-new clothes in the dryer, they think, “Oh, I bet banjogrrl could wear this now.” Children love me. When I used to go to a particular Central American country for medical mission trips, the residents loved me, because most of them are short, too. I find pennies on the ground a lot, because it’s easier to spot them from this height. At concerts, no one yells at me, “Down in front!” even when I’m standing. When I go down in my basement, I never hit my head on the overhang, but everyone else who has ever gone down there, with the exception of Tucker the Beagle, has bumped their head without fail. When I fall, which is more often than I care to admit, I don’t have as far to drop before I hit the ground, thereby minimizing injuries. The list goes on.

Maybe John Schwartz is right. The thing that has made me different has actually made me special.

I have never bumped my head on the overhang when I’ve gone into the basement. Everyone else has.

Copyright S.G. Hunter and Banjogrrldiaries, 2013-2018

People first, Part 2

So, if you read my last post, “People First,” that I posted on January 14th, then you might remember that I’ve been working on a song on my hammered dulcimer. The song is “Carolan’s Concerto,” written by Turlough O’Carolan, who was a harpist and composer of Irish decent. (Did you notice the “people first” language? I’m working on it!)

Here’s a link to a YouTube slide show of some of my nature photos with my rendition of the song on the hammered dulcimer in the background. It’s not perfect, of course, but if you’ve been following my blog at all, you know that I have a close relationship with imperfection! You might have to copy and paste the link into your browser.

Enjoy! Happy Groundhog Day!

Copyright 2013-2018, S.G. Hunter and Banjogrrldiaries