My life has been ravaged by niceness.
The most recent episode happened last Sunday morning. As I headed to the garden to plant dozens of daffodil, allium and tulip bulbs, I got a phone call from a friend of a friend. I met her once.
Next thing I know, instead of eyeing places to plant those bulbs, I’m listening to an organ recital – a litany of all the things that are wrong with her different organs.
One of these days I’m going to say exactly what I think. Out loud. That’s frowned on where I grew up – Minnesota. You’ve heard of “Minnesota nice?” You’re polite. God forbid you ever disappoint anyone by saying what you really think, even if that means disappointing yourself.
And while I’m at it, you also don’t make comments about odd behavior. When you see someone in church making change from the collection plate you just say, “Oh.” And you look away.
Or, when that farmer expresses an affection for his sheep that makes you squirm, you say; “How interesting.” See what I am up against with this ruinous background? And believe me, the needy, the chatty, and the bored can spot me. They seek me out and they find me. Even by phone. My husband says; “You’re like a magnet.”
But back to that phone call.
So, I say the nicest thing I can think of and I do mean it. I do.
But this doesn’t stop me from thinking what I might like to say.
What I said: Of course, I don’t mind that your therapist is out of the country. No, it doesn’t matter that you've called six other friends and none of them are home.
Thinking: Do I mind boils on my posterior? Your friends and your therapist must have Caller ID.
What I said: Your bladder collapsed? No, prolapsed? Are you okay?
Thinking: Here comes her organ recital. Which organ comes after her bladder? Kidneys?
What I said: You cancelled your hike up Mount Everest, you say, because you passed a kidney stone? Can I guess the size of your kidney stone?
Thinking: Not knowing is eating me up. Just tell me and I’ll die a happy woman.
What I said: Thank God you didn’t pass that kidney stone on Mount Everest – although you might have broken a world record. (Minnesotans also like to find something positive to say in a bad situation.)
Sixty-seven minutes later she sees a call coming through from someone else and drops me without so much as a goodbye.
Thinking: Sweetie, you’ve got my vote for President of Time Wasters of America (TWA).
Wait, I am off the phone. I can say that out loud. See, old habits die hard when you’ve been schooled in Minnesota.
I’m finally in my garden among the Autumn Joy sedum, planting those bulbs.
And let me tell you what I think. It’s a joy.