Dear Waldo,

I have been married for 36 years, yet I had never seen my husband cry until his best friend Coco died. At Coco’s funeral, I thought my husband was choking on a bug because it was hot and there were gnats. But then he began whinnying like a horse, followed by noises that reminded me of a Tarzan movie I’d seen as a child in which the guide slowly sinks into quicksand and then disappears, leaving his pith helmet behind. As I tried to stand my husband up and lead him out of the chapel with my hand over his mouth, he emptied his lungs of everything that wasn’t lung and then inhaled with such a flapping sound that the organist lost her place.

What he was doing, I found out later, was crying. Now his mother has died, and there’s another funeral coming up, and I’m wondering if you might have any advice about what I should do if my husband begins to cry again.

Sincerely,

Lucinda in Colrain

Dear Lucinda,

It is so sad when someone we love dies. Just as eating is what our bodies ask us to do with hunger, crying is what our bodies ask us to do with sorrow, or with certain kinds of joy. If we don’t cry, a part of us starves. So I say that whenever you feel a good cry climbing up your throat, release it. This is what your sweet husband did. He couldn’t help it. He was unpracticed at crying, as most adults become, and so he just winged it. Good for him. I say let him wing it at his mother’s funeral too. If he sobs he sobs. If he bawls he bawls. If he mewls he mewls. If he blubbers he blubbers. If he laflubbers (which is making the sound of the word “blubber” while blubbering, causing nearby mourners to laugh) all the better. If he howls and/or hoots and/or chokes and/or gasps, just sit with him and pat his knee. And if he ever discovers the ecstasy of caterwauling, you are invited to my funeral and please be sure to bring your husband.

Your Fan,

Waldo Mellon

Sir:

With regard to your appeal in the Daily Hampshire Gazette for questions: In his 1976 bestseller “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues,” Tom Robbins posed a question that has nagged at me for 47 long years: “If it takes a chicken and a half a day and a half to lay an egg and a half, how long does it take a monkey with a wooden leg to kick the seeds out of a dill pickle?” Waldo, how long does it take?

Curious George in Leverett

Dear Curious George,

I had to read your question three times before I had any idea what you were talking about, and then I finally realized you had lured me into a good old fashioned kerthunkle. A kerthunkle is not a real word but it should be. A kerthunkle is any question that has no interest in getting a real answer. A kerthunkle gets everyone involved absolutely nowhere.

If I may, Curious George, I’d like to try out a kerthunkle of my own on you. Here goes: If you were me, sir, would you like yourself less or would you like me more?

See Curious George? Kerthunkles are just goofballs tapping on your window, inviting you to waste a little time. But let’s face it Curious George. You started it.

Your Fan,

Waldo Mellon

Dear Waldo,

I’m in the eighth grade and I gave everyone in my homeroom the finger because I used to have long hair and I got a really short haircut that I really really like and I was excited to go to school and when I got there most of the kids in my homeroom laughed and I got suspended until I write some stupid letter. Will you help me write my stupid letter?

Signed, BW

Dear BW,

You bet I will. First, I suggest you admit that giving everybody the finger was not a good idea. It rarely is. I suggest that you ask them to put themselves in your shoes: You came to school excited about your new haircut and when everybody laughed you experienced the horrors of blushing and embarrassment and you did what you did with one of your fingers and you’re sorry about it. My next note is more general. All opinions of you – both good and bad — have no more substance than the dreams of the Easter Bunny in a dream of the Easter Bunny dreaming. They are just noise released into the universe, most of which will never make its way into your head. Those opinions of you that do enter your head — especially the bad ones — are rare and valuable gifts. If you are even slightly wounded by a bad opinion of you, then tend to it. Nurse it. You may find yourself improved because of it. If the bad opinion of you draws no blood, dismiss it. And then, BW, when you’re ready, march into school with that new haircut of yours and deliver in person that letter you’ve written, and don’t forget the Easter Bunny.

Your Fan, Waldo Mellon

Waldo’s Thought Trough: Could it be that evolution is just a game played by kids fooling around somewhere in the universe, pushing buttons with their thumbs?

Have a question? The realer the better. Send it to waldomellon1@gmail.com. Waldo is the author of the book, “What’s What and What To Do About It” (Seven Stories Press).

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