Ms. Interpretation

Just call me Ms. Interpretation. In my haste to interpret all that is going on around me, I often get it wrong. It’s as if I’m channeling Gilda Radner’s Saturday Night Live character, Emily Litella. I start stating my concerns with self-righteous indignation, only to be told that I got it wrong. That I, Ms. Interpretation, totally misinterpreted the situation.

My son, Zach, took on the role of the SNL Weekend Update news anchor, to my Emily Litella. He called, just as I turned the newspaper to a page with a photo of a young person wearing a mask with the words, “I can’t breath,” on it. Before reading the article, I said, “If I see someone wearing a mask with the words, ‘I can’t breath’ on it, I’m going to tell them that a little discomfort is a small price to pay to protect the health of others in our community.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Zach said in his gentle my-Mom’s-losing-it voice, “Mom, that’s not about masks being uncomfortable. That’s in response to George Floyd’s unjustifiable death.” I replied, “Well, that’s different. Never mind.”

Truly, that’s different! I have more time in retirement. I need to take a break from mask making (NOT from mask wearing!) to hone my socially-responsible behavior and sensitivities.

Friend Shari and husband Steve sold their camp trailer last week. Their self-proclaimed “Redneck Honeymoon Cottage on Wheels,” had facilitated many a good time. I loved receiving postcards from their various destinations. Shari shared news of the sale via an email with the subject line, “…end of an era.” Shari and Steve were comforted by the purchasers’ enthusiasm and delight at having found a camp-trailer in such pristine condition. Wouldn’t it be great if we were at an end of an era of hate, misunderstandings, prejudice and racism. We could be. It’s up to us.

Whether working or retired, I still have a lot to learn. Life is good, but it can get better.