Blahs, bees and Bob

I woke up today with an old children’s song stuck in my head. We had a few friends over Sunday – the first lovely weekend afternoon in a very long time – so recalling a traditional, repetitive folk/drinking song in my dreams may have been the result of too much folk and drink. You’ve heard it: “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it, then your face will surely show it … (blah, blah, blah) … clap your hands.” Wikipedia says the song first appeared in a 1938 Soviet musical comedy called “Volga-Volga,” which centers around a group of amateur performers sailing on a steamboat traveling to Moscow for a talent contest. The film was said to be former Soviet prime minister Joseph Stalin’s favorite.

I swear I am not making this up. Here’s hoping for a modern remake, though. For now, the song is sometimes found in nursing home manuals, which could make for an interesting plot twist.

Honestly, once the song’s cheery verses end, there’s a good reason you’ll hear no applause from me and simply crickets chirping. Look at my face, dear readers. Do I look as if I’m happy and I know it? Not.

If I appear even remotely happy about the current state of affairs in our imperfect union, then my hard head has surely betrayed my bleeding heart. Sort of like the ever-rising muffin-top that protects my midsection despite years of herculean efforts to deflate it.

The world has gone mad, and frankly, I’m pissed about it. This is no time to put on a happy face, an old Bob Marley CD and pretend “everything’s gonna be alright.”

It’s not. At least not right now. It will be. Eventually. But I’m afraid it’s going to take some time.

Just the other day, I tried to sign in to my online login.gov account to check on my next Medicare statement (shut up), and I couldn’t. “Try again later,” it said. So, I did, and it still wouldn’t go through.

Then my mind wandered, as it often does, into tyrannical territory, and I logically determined that a jacked-up billionaire’s bro techs had likely stolen my info, taken over the system and purged my existence. Made perfect sense.

How did we get here? I have no idea. It wasn’t always like this.

The whole world wasn’t such a bitter pill to swallow. There was some occasional sweetness to savor, or at least a free packet of Stevia now and again. (That one was for Rebecca.)

How did we not see this coming? Oh, wait. We did.

On a lighter note, I read something not too long ago about what your current self would say if you met your 18-year-old self and were allowed to give advice in only a few words. What would you say, Boomer?

Most advice was predictable, the usual stuff about cherishing family more, taking better care of yourself and not making money the be-all/end-all of your existence. Blah, blah, blah.

Me? I’d tell “Jinny John, my 18-year-old, naïve, size 10, career-driven straight-A student” self to have more fun, worry less about what people think, trust your instincts and get some therapy. Not necessarily in that order. Oh, and this: Be yourself.

Always a fine piece of wisdom at any age.

Which brings me to the second (or is it third?) topic in this mish-mash of a blog post, yet another indication of what’s happening in my overwrought cranium: spelling bees. As in, the 2025 Scripps National Spelling Bee, held in Maryland in May. It’s the bee’s hundredth anniversary.

A gifted young man named Faizan Zaki, 13, of Allen, Texas, about 20 miles north of Dallas, won the championship by correctly spelling this 15-letter word, while typing it out on an imaginary keyboard floating in midair (not him): “eclaircissement.”

Sound it out. It’s a French word that means clarification or enlightenment. (Note to 65-year-old self: It is not a low-carb éclair.)

Pretty impressive since that same teen was runner-up last year and has been competing in bees since he was just 7 years old. His dedication and perseverance deserves much praise and admiration. Let’s hope he puts his talents to good use. His $52,500 grand prize should help.

Some of you may know that as a young girl, I was quite the accomplished speller. Certainly not in Faizan’s league, but still. I have fond memories of how proud my parents were, and the important role spelling and words played in my career choice. (Editors have one less beef with reporters who can spell.)

I won a Detroit News dictionary for a 1976 interview with then-first lady Rosalynn Carter, but a coveted trip to the Scripps national championship was not to be in 1971.

Here’s the link to a 2019 blog post called “Spelling bees bite,” detailing further evidence that therapy may have been warranted: https://heartmattersblog.com/spelling-bees-bite/

Fifty years later, I have to wonder if stuff like spelling even matters nowadays. Some of the emails and texts I have received, not only from younger relatives, but also well-read grownups, give me pause. But I’m not judging. Or am I?

In this golden age of spellcheck, we have cryptic text and emails filled with a fruit basket of emojis and a word salad of acronyms. Who gives a rat’s fandango about spelling? OMG. LOL. (Hair on fire emoji!)

But when I’m reading something “official and important” that’s full of careless misspellings, it stops me. For good. If I can’t trust your spelling, then how can I trust the rest is accurate?

Proofreading is a lost art. Perhaps artificial intelligence bots will do that, too, after they or compose the content. Good grief.

Anyway, time to wrap up this hard slog of a blog.

If you’re so inclined, let me know when you are indeed happy and you know it, because that will be the time for us all to clap our hands. And stomp our feet. And shout hurray!

Meantime, I’ll be eating a mini-éclair from that French bakery with a name I can’t possibly spell.

(YouTube video: Jamaican singer-songwriter Bob Marley & The Wailers perform “Get Up, Stand Up” live at The Open Air Festival in Munich, Germany, on June 1 during their 1980 Uprising Tour. Fleetwood Mac also performed at the festival. The powerful anthem encourages people to fight for freedom and equality, and to stand up against injustice. As Marley sang: “You can fool some people sometimes/But you can’t fool all the people all the time.” Marley died of melanoma in May 1981. He was 36.)