Tag Archives: sense of humor

I Love People. No, Really.

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“Now, wait a minute” (I hear you cry). “You don’t even like people. I’ve heard you complain when you have to go somewhere, and it’s ‘too people-y’ out there. I know you avoid being in large groups. You are perfectly happy alone in your study. Maybe you like people, but you love cats.”

Yeah, well. All that is true. I couldn’t deny it if I tried with both hands. But while I dislike large groups of strangers, I love individual people. I even love groups of people when they are doing something interesting, like playing music and singing. Even then, I prefer my groups of people small. Sometimes I’ll brave larger groups of people to be somewhere with people playing music and singing. (I did it for Emmylou Harris, for example, and am going to do it again for The Stray Cats.)

The truth is, I love certain kinds of people. They’re not limited by age, race, religion, ethnicity, handicap status, gender orientation, or the usual dividing lines. I love different people in all those categories, from people I interact with in my daily life to people I know only online or admire from afar.

The people I love have several things in common. I love people who…

Improve

People who improve are those who put in the work, practice, and get better at what they do. I met a man years ago who played the guitar. He was having trouble with barre chords, a specific technique he needed to play his music. When I saw him, he was struggling. He could have given up and used a capo to get a similar effect. Instead, he kept at it. Years later, he’s known in certain circles as an excellent songwriter who skillfully accompanies himself on his guitar. Sometimes I remind him of what he was able to do when we met and how far he’s come since then.

Try new things

These people take a leap of faith in matters large and small, not knowing in advance what the results will be. They try sushi for the first time. They start writing a short story or a poem or a novel, just because they want to. As a friend of mine says, they leap and trust that the net will appear. I know a woman, an artist who has experimented with many different media and techniques over the years. She has worked in fabric arts, stained glass, and jewelry. She has settled into her career of painting in oils, but she still tries different styles and schools like cubism. Now she is exploring the possibilities of colored pencils.

Have a checkered past

I love people who have had many interests and experiences over the years, even if not all were successful or even positive. I knew a man who had gone to seminary, become a police officer, and worked in parks and recreation. He got past a difficult period in midlife, including problems with alcohol, and eventually turned to helping others. His multitude of experiences made him a fascinating conversationalist and a compassionate listener.

Keep an open mind

My mother is my example here. She was a very religious woman. One day, her fellow believers were discussing other religions and brought up the question of whether they would ever visit a synagogue or a mosque. All of them said no, until they got to Mom. She said that, of course, she would. When asked why, she replied, “If I didn’t listen to them, how could I expect them to listen to me?”

Have a sense of humor

It largely doesn’t matter what their sense of humor finds funny. Bad puns. Song parodies. One-liners. Musical comedy. Satire. Witty wordplay. Politicians of all stripes are fair game. And religious jokes are welcome. Most of all, I love people who find humor in everyday life. The world needs more people like that.

It occurs to me that the qualities I love in other people are ones that I aspire to. I want to live a life that is varied and full of humor. I would like to think that I have an open mind and a willingness to try new things. I want to improve. The people I love are inspirations and role models for me. I just hope I live up to them.

Saint Dan

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Once upon a time (as all good fairytales begin), a coworker of mine started referring to my husband as “Saint Dan.” I regularly told tales of how he treated me with love, understanding, humor, and sensitivity. (This was not in the immediate runup to our marriage (during which we had been disgustingly romantic, to the extent that our friends claimed they needed a jolt of insulin when we were around), but after we had been married for years. But I digress.)

Some of Dan’s displays of love seemed to my friends to be extravagant. For instance, when I went on a business trip, he left little notes of love and encouragement in my belongings—not just in my suitcase or pockets, but everywhere. There was even a note under the cap of my deodorant. (There was also a piece of paper with a few cat hairs taped to it, to remind me that the cat loved me too. But I digress again.) My travel roommate was somewhere between impressed and unbelieving. And possibly nauseated.

Another example is the story of how Dan once walked upstairs behind me and said, “Those jeans are loose on you. You should get a new pair.” “I hope you turned right around and gave him a big kiss,” my coworker said. Given the difficulty of turning around and bending over to kiss on the stairs, I waited until we were both at the top.

Dan is also great at giving presents. When he was in charge of the budget (It’s my responsibility now. We have different ways of approaching it that appall each other, so we take turns. But I digress in the middle of what I was going to say.), he used to follow me around at stores and conventions, making note of anything I expressed an interest in, then going back later and buying it for me. Once he noticed that I liked a certain dress, managed to slip away, buy it, and hide it in the trunk of the car before I noticed he was gone. Another time he bought me an amber carving of a rabbit that took him months to pay off, so I had forgotten all about it by the time he gave it to me.

He has a sense of humor, too. Sometimes he even gives me a perfect straight line. Once, the movie Gunga Din was coming on and he innocently asked me, “Honey, do you like Kipling?” I almost choked to death as I gasped out, “I don’t know. I’ve never kipled.” He can pick up on a straight line, too. Another time, we went to a Japanese restaurant for our anniversary. I complimented him on how well he was using chopsticks for the first time. “Jan,” he said, “I’m a compulsive overeater. If I had to learn to eat with my elbows, I would.”

Of course, Dan is far from perfect. Once I had to say to him, “Please don’t use power tools after I’ve gone to bed.” (It was one of those things you never expect to hear yourself saying, then one day there you are. But I digress some more.) And he’s not good with directions. When I draw him a map to somewhere (he can’t use a GPS), I have to draw another map on how to get back (he can’t reverse directions either).

(As I was writing this, it occurred to me that there might be an actual Saint Dan. A quick visit with Mr. Wikipedia revealed a few possibilities, the most likely of which seemed (to me) to be St. Daniel of Padua, feast day January 3rd. Possibly of Jewish lineage, he was martyred by being dragged behind a horse. He is called on by women whose husbands are away at war and is often depicted carrying a towel, which might make him the patron saint of Douglas Adams fans. So now that’s something we all know. And I have digressed pedantically for the last time this week. See you next Sunday for more stunningly useless info and digressions!)