Tuesday, July 18, 2017

No brainer

While we were playing UNO we were treated to a terrific storm this evening, which was ushered in with a percussion prelude before the rains began. Benjamin wondered how there could even be thunder and lightning without rain, so I explained a bit about dry thunderstorms and then said, "Dry thunderstorms have been happening quite a lot in British Columbia recently, which has started hundreds of forest fires, and that's no bueno."

Now, I realize that "no bueno" is an Anglicized slaughtering of the Spanish language, but we fairly regularly throw in phrases from other languages at our house while we speak English. "Shall we turn or go ʿala ṭool?" while we're out walking, for example. Or "Ostorozhno, don't walk in front of the swings." Or "Ciao, bellissima! Have a nice day!"

I don't know why....just whatever comes out comes out. So, anyway, I've been saying "no bueno" for years.

Tonight, Rachel—who will be ten years old on Thursday—paused and very carefully repeated, "Wait. No bueno?"

"Yup."

"What?! I have always thought you were just saying 'no brainer' in a goofy voice! What does bueno even mean?!"


"It's the Spanish word for good, but, 'no bueno' doesn't really mean anything in Spanish."

We had a good laugh over this and spent the rest of the evening talking like Elmer Fudd: "What!? You changed it to gween?! Well, that's no bwainew!"

My ears have forever been altered and I'm going to laugh every time anyone says this now, I'm sure.

But seriously, what's going on in BC is no laughing matter. Here's what my friend Kim had to say about it:

My brain hurts as much as my heart. These are my people. My neighbours. And while I keep saying that our family is the luckiest of the unlucky, being displaced is hard. All the not-knowing is wearying. All the speculating and wondering (Will the winds push the fire towards our town? Our homes? Will more dry lightning come? When the fire dies, will our homes be safe?) . . . it's wearing me down into fitful half-sleeps and chronic fretful phone checks.

We're okay. But we're not. We are safe but I don't FEEL safe. It's exhausting.

And admitting that feels like whining because we are SO lucky....But I'm a firm believer in the notion that "This is hard" admissions are important, regardless of how much harder others have it. This is MY hard. Caring but feeling helpless, and needing to know the unknowable.

We aren't being displaced due to fire. In fact, we're being displaced due to rather joyous circumstances (a real job!!). But it's still hard.

We're going through some other things in our (extended) family that jumped into my mind when I read Kim's post. "All the not-knowing is wearying. All the speculating and wondering...it's wearing me down." It felt good to take a deep breath and allow myself to admit that right now feels hard—"regardless of how much harder others have it."

Sometimes you just need permission to recognize that your feelings need no other reason to be valid other than the fact that they are your feelings. 

1 comment:

  1. "All the not-knowing is wearying. All the speculating and wondering...it's wearing me down." My life right now; I'm exhausted.

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