Many folks know my late husband was a musician, but they might not realize he was afflicted with Musical Tourette’s. It’s highly contagious. I caught it. I had a severe case.
For decades, Kirk and I would involuntarily burst into song. We really couldn’t help it! To illustrate, imagine we encountered the public posting of a new city ordinance requiring the removal of canine bowel movements from the ground. Kirk and I would spontaneously sing, to the tune of “I Heard it Through the Grapevine,” I read it on the green sign. Dog poop is a new crime… and we would shake hands acknowledging our simultaneous cleverosity.
Yes, cleverosity. Another family affliction. Being linguini (linguistics) lovers, we were prone to addilating (adding) affixes to words, and twisting syllables or phrases. I think Kirk was born this way. He would inadvertently say “hot” when he meant cold and “in” meaning out. His family was simply supposed to translate — which we usually did.
Kirk brought the phrase “shrub your theets” (brush your teeth) from his childhood Backward Language. Thus, in our family, Shredded Wheat became “Wedding Sheets,” we moved slowly as “a turd of hurdles,” and diapers were “diaperonis, until full of excrement—then they became “ripe donuts.” He’d “hotten” the coffee. I’d “ironize” clothes.
This was normal speech in our household, but some utterances became family legend. Because we spent school terms in New Mexico and summers in Mississippi, we spent years driving across Texas with kids, dogs, and musical instruments crammed in the car. We played word games to keep our minds off the lack of leg room. One game required a clue such as “obese feline,” and the responders would guess a two-word rhyming answer “fat cat.”
Kirk came up with the clue “jet-fuel highway.” The kids and I pondered it for quite a while and finally gave up. The answer? “Diesel Weasel!” ????! What??!
We never let him forget it. We could holler “Diesel Weasel” anywhere, anytime, for a good laugh. My daughter and I did just that the other evening—then missed Kirk terribly. We lamented we’d never again get to razz him about his bad dad jokes and old man habits. We might even miss our mandatory stops in Fort Stockton, Texas, so Kirk could visit with Paisano Pete—a 22-foot long, 11-foot tall roadrunner.
And we will fondly recall stock family conversations: If I said, “I had a thought…” Kirk would say, “It’s about time!” If Kirk said, “I had a thought…” and I said, “It’s about time…,” Kirk would reply “I’m not as dumb as I look!” Then the kids would chime in, “Nobody is as dumb as you look!”
But recently I’ve noticed my Musical Tourette’s and Backwards Language symptoms have diminished, and it saddens me. I know Kirk would say I am just being “sedimental,” but I really miss uncontrollably bursting into song and having a linguini playmate. I don’t want these parts of my brain to grow dormant.
But hope springs eternal! I have a friend with whom I email daily. She emails at night. I email in the morning. So, the opening greetings became confusing. Good Morning? Good evening? We invented a new word: “Morvening.” This is the time of day when the sun tickles the horizon, whether it is rising or setting. I suspect “morven” can also serve as a verb—but I haven’t yet pinned down what it means to morven. I’ll keep you posted.
In the meantime, Good Morvening, and Diesel Weasel to all!