Well...the Howell Compound has basically been a seething cesspool of depression and self-loathing since Christmas Eve.  Really.  I am NOT kidding.  While other families are tripping around lightly, exchanging presents and kissing each other on their cheeks, we sit..on the couch...in one long, sad, tightly-packed row.  Staring straight ahead, cold coffee in hand and blank stares on faces.  And slowly, ever so slowly, one lone tear simultaneously trickles down our respective cheeks.  No kisses here--only frowns that cannot be turned any way but down.  Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating just a little.  But it has been a little blue around here lately.  But we really can't help it--we are Irish and, with that, very emotional, artistic and depressive.  At least I like to blame it on my cultural heritage rather than just latent mental illness.  It is so much more poetic than just being plain crazy for no good reason at all.

But, alas, through all this sadness, funny stories still arise.  The kind of funny that, when you are sobbing like your heart would break, you suddenly stop and begin laughing like a mad person.  You know the laugh, where your head is thrown back and your mouth is wrenched open in a spasm of pure hilarity.  Teeth glinting in the light and blood-curdling chortles filling the air and...well, I'm sure you have heard it in the movies.  Like that, only a little more disturbing.  And here is one reason why:

Sam and my mom were leaving the dentist office together.  The young dentist, a considerate man, put his hand on my mother's shoulder and said, "Can I help you get Sam into the car?".  My mom turned back to look at him, smiled and said, "Oh, we're fine, really.  We have a good system worked out."  Famous last words.  So my mom is pushing Sam down the handicap ramp that leads out of the office.  They start to gain speed as they progress down the ramp--perhaps it is a little too steep, or maybe the turn is just a little too sharp...maybe my mom was a little distracted by the sparkling sunlight or by the load of bags she was carrying.  Nevertheless, there was a small moment in time when it changed from "Sam and my mom wheeling/walking slowly down a wheelchair ramp" to "Sam and my mom racing out of control down a wheelchair ramp".  Even though I wasn't there to witness this (darn it) I can still see the image in my mind.  Picture this:  Sam's chair starts to race wildly out of control and my mom, hooked to the handles by the multitude of  bags that she's carrying, cannot let go, stop it or even slow it's progress.  I can even see how my mom is running--it is the panicked run that she does (like when she is on Rollerblades, going down a hill and cannot stop--which has happened more times than we could talk about now).  She is still hooked to the chair but is leaning back with her legs spread apart, knees slightly bent,  much like a cowpoke.  Her steps are small and quick, making loud slaps on the wood beneath her.  And Sam, well, I'm not sure what he was doing--maybe he just had his legs stuck straight out in front of him.  Anyway, they missed that sharp turn and flew right off the ramp, through the air and into the decorative garden.  Sam, mimicking a turtle once again with his hands and knees shoved into the soil and the wheelchair strapped to his back.  And my mom is close behind, glides almost over him and them belly flops on top of the Sam/wheelchair creature now sunken in the mud.  Everything is quiet.  Still.  Only the tires of the wheelchair move, slowly turning until they too finally grind to a halt.  A squirrel runs across the lawn.  Somewhere a bird sings.  And there they lay, Sam, my mom, the chair and probably fifteen bags, buried in the garden mud and laughing hysterically.  And who was their audience?  Only the entire dentist office (and most likely also the nice dentist that offered to help them reach the car).  But no.  They don't need any assistance, thank you.  They have a nice system all worked out.  And it is called "wheel-out-of-control-down-the-ramp-fly-through-the-air-and-land-in-the-garden-face-first" system.  It might seem a little unconventional.  But it works for them, and they don't need any help, thank you very much.

Bec

P.S.  There is more.  Much more.  A funny story about Sam, my mom, some laundry and show tunes.  But I'm too tired to talk about it tonight.  More later.  I promise.