Thingy's and stuff like that.

For someone who loves words as much as I do, I suppose it could be considered a bit surprising that I am so lazy about the use of them in conversation.  But often, I seem to be unable to drag the appropriate word out of my cluttered little mind in a timely fashion and so I simply resort to the use of "replacement words".  You know what I mean... we all do it from time to time. Here are a few examples of what I'm talking about:

"Pass me the "thingy" on the dresser, will you?"
"Dana's bringing "whats-his-name" with her again, is she?  He seems nice"

The reality of the situation is that quite often, use of replacement words doesn't make any difference at all to the understanding of the listener.  If you are actually in the room with the dresser, the "thingy" is likely easy to identify.  If you know Dana, process of elimination will provide "whats-his-name" with a moniker soon enough - especially if you know him well enough to comment on his nice-ness.

But there are other times when this type of verbal "fluffing" can get a bit trickier.  Case in point - you just got a new toy, appliance, backyard shelter, crib... and need to describe putting it together for someone who's never seen it before.  Usually, with me - it goes a bit like this:

"It's easy to put back together... fold the doo-hickey up and slide it between the beige flangy-thing and the silvery piece on the left hand side.  Then use two of the thing-a-ma-bobs in that blue cup to tighten the leggish-bits. Can someone hand me a "star" screwdriver?"    Yes - ask anyone... I really talk like that.

My father is proud of his 3 girls - and will tell anyone who listens that we out-class most men when it comes to common sense and technical abilities.  (He exaggerates... we're good, but I don't think we're that good.) 
But poor Dad has struggled for years to impress upon me that it isn't a "star" screwdriver, nor is it a Robertson. It's a Phillips.  (I had to look that up on Google just now - for even after 40 years of reminders (some delivered with an astonishing number of swear-words attached), my grey-matter refuses to glom onto this fact.  Its as if my brain is a teflon frying pan and that information is a freshly cooked egg in a '70's TV commercial.)  He also despairs of ever getting me to do a proper measuring job.  The measurement of  the window sill?  It is thirty-two and a half inches and 3 little "dibbies".  Check it yourself.

In recent years, I've flung away all pretense at trying to remember the correct words or terms.  Our time on earth is limited, and I firmly believe that life is too precious to waste on worrying about making sure we give things the proper labels.  And so if you ever find yourself pitching a tent with me as a helper or (heaven forbid) putting up stove-pipe while I'm in the room, you'll just have to bear with me. If its blue - its the "blue thingy".  You're smart - you'll figure it out.

Open Book Syndrome

Like most Canadians, I live a very busy life.  DH (Darling Husband) and I have two kids (DS & DD) and run our own business.  We also own an older home on a fairly large country lot.  Did I mention that the house requires a lot of renovation?   That my Dad & one sister live here too?  Or that I also sit on the board of directors for Green T Environmental Awareness, and on the Advisory Group for the new Caledon Farmer's Market?  And of course, I should mention pets and school activities, tutors, drum lessons and 4H club.  And point out that - because our business is a member of the local media - I also spend time interviewing and photographing people, and attend a fair few local events, wearing my reporter's hat.  I also try to do a bit of yoga, walking, drawing and reading (the former few in sporadic bursts, the last item - sadly - is usually now relagated to taking place in the bathroom, as that is usually the only time I don't have 20 other things to do).

It's a busy life, but no more busy that anyone elses, I'll warrant.  However, there is one thing about my life that is a bit different than anyone elses.  I am sad to admit that I suffer from Open Book Syndrome.  And I have a very bad case of it.

Open Book Syndrome (OBS) - for those of you who've never heard of it -  is something that I diagnosed in myself some 20-25 years ago.  I have explained it to a few people by using the "open book" example (hence the syndrome's name): If a book is open on a desk and another is opened on top, you no longer have access to the first book. If a third book is now opened on top of the second, books one and two are now no longer available. By the time you get to a fourth book, you not only have lost access to the other books, but have likely forgotten all about them and anything they contain.  In effect, everything underneath the top item has disappeared.  Lost.  Gone.

My OBS first started rearing its ugly head while I was finishing off my education.  I started to notice that I was afflicted with an inability to remember what was open on my desk if anyone set anything else on top of it.  So, if I was working on my english essay and someone dropped a great magazine down on top to show me, the english essay might as well have disappeared.  Similarly, my watercolour palette would vanish if my portfolio got laid on top.  And if I was balancing my cheque book and the new Sears catalogue arrived... you guessed it!  The cheque book disappeared.  Throw a pizza box on top of both and all is lost - except the pizza.  Funny - it isn't often that anything gets thrown on top of pizza... and so it seldom disappears unless eaten.

Over the years, I've suffered greatly with my unusual affliction.  It has had a profound impact on my life & my career - it is hard to be taken seriously in an administrative role when your employer's travel schedule disappears if the company holiday card mailing list gets set on top of it. It's difficult to keep the dishes done up if they vanish when covered by a tea towel. And when you have small children, life starts to get very unwieldy... its easy for things to disappear when they are covered by receiving blankets, diaper bags or piles of laundry.  I confess - I sometimes worried that the children themselves might disappear.

I spent years resigned to my sad fate.  I thought parts of my life were gone forever and was thinking perhaps I should apply for a government grant to look into possible cures when one day recently, something occurred that has essentially cured my OBS.  I had time to kill between appointments and I picked up a magazine that was lying open on a table.  Underneath the magazine was a box of Kleenex that had disappeared a few days earlier!  I picked up the tissue box in wonder and saw a lottery ticket I'd lost underneath.  Under the ticket - a business card I thought had vanished.  A light went on in my brain!

Item after item, pile after pile - I discovered that if you remove the top item on the pile... things start to reappear!  Its almost magical how it happens!  Pizza boxes can be lifted to reveal catalogues.  But taking it a step further, catalogues can be moved to reveal (wonder of wonders) cheque books!  I call this new discovery DOBS (Deconstructing Open Book Syndrome).

Why, its like I've been given a new lease on life!  I have spent a great deal of time lately deconstructing piles for the sheer excitement of seeing what is underneath!  I wish I'd known about this years ago! 

Now if only there were an easy cure for my other severe affliction - Intensive Unnecessary Procrastination (IUP).  But I'll tell you about that some other time.