Column: Move over Weird Al, Tone-Deaf Tammy is here

Community editor has a voice best heard through newsprint, so if she starts singing, stuff some in your ears. Fa la la la la, la la la la.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Community Editor

Published on December 22, 2015 2:06PM

I can’t sing. I take the Bible literally where it says, “Make a joyful noise.”

And my co-workers can attest to this fact. I presented a short stand-up comedy routine for our office Christmas party, which included a couple of parody songs. I twisted — twisted is the key — the words to “The Little Drummer Boy” and “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer” in a way that was truly amusing to “all of the other Heralds.” I’m pretty sure my co-workers were laughing with me, not at me ... .

As I’m typing this I’m hearing the off-key words in my head,

“Write they told me

Pa rum pum pum pum

A new story to file

Pa rum pum pum pum

Our finest words we bring

Pa rum pum pum pum

To lay out the paper

Pa rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum

Rum pum pum pum.”

Maybe, that’s why I like Bob Dylan so much. A brilliant songwriter, but with his raspy baritone voice his rendition of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” is more like a funeral march than the joyous song it’s meant to be.

Also, it took several times of listening to “O’ Come All Ye Faithful” before I realized Dylan wasn’t singing the opening stanza in English.

Despite my singing handicap, I enjoy music and I like to make up parody songs.

When I ran residential programs for adults with developmental disabilities, I teamed up with Suzy Tosten, one of the group home managers. As The House Mommies, we co-wrote and recorded a Christmas CD for our boss, Candy Lukens. She played it during their family Christmas gathering, which included Jim Stearns, a former Hermiston fire chief.

After hearing the songs, Jim expressed amazement at how well Suzy and I harmonized our off-key voices together.

“They can’t really sing, but they are funny,” he said.

Weird Al Yankovic ain’t got nothing on me — well, except of course, he can carry a tune.

Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.

The 12 days of post-op, my true love asked of me ...

It's easy to take for granted a spouse's contributions until they aren't able to help around the house.

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By TAMMY MALGESINI

Inside my Shoes

Published on December 8, 2015 11:27AM

After many years of marriage, sometimes you don’t recognize all the things your spouse does in contributing to the management of the household.

Well, I got a recent reminder as John was laid up after having foot surgery. Overall, he was a good patient, focusing on his recovery and staying down.

However, at times he’d feel bad that he was asking me to do too much and I’d catch him hobbling around. To further complicate matters, we have a split-level house, which isn’t very conducive to someone who is non-weight bearing with a surgically repaired foot.

A couple of times, I swear John’s dog, Lucifer, knew his papa shouldn’t be puttering around and would trot upstairs to get my attention.

I had to start anticipating what things John might do before I got a chance, like the night he told me we were low on toilet paper. I figured I could get some from downstairs in the morning — nope, too late. And then there was the time the garbage was “over-flowing.” From that point forward, I took the garbage out when it was three-quarters full.

One thing that posed a slight problem is that I’m not a morning person and John is. I like to wake up and melt into the morning. As soon as John would hear me stirring, he’d call out for assistance — usually with his morning cup of coffee.

Also, neither of us are big breakfast eaters. However, because John doesn’t do well with pain medication, I became a short-order breakfast cook. This enabled him to take his medication, which was a good thing because I don’t really like cleaning up barf.

Prior to this past month, I can’t remember the last time I made a cup of coffee for John. Also, I did more dishes in November than in the entire year and the multiple trips to Wal-Mart have resulted in Post Traumatic Shopping Disorder.

To summarize the experience, I’ve written this ditty (feel free to sing it to the tune of “The 12 Days of Christmas”):

On the long days of post-op

My husband asked of me:

12 Loads of dishes

11 Leftover foods

10 Check the mailbox

9 Jugs of water

8 Library books

7 Trips to Wal-Mart

6 Scoop the dog poop

5 Take-out meals

4 Bags of ice

3 Pancakes

2 Vicodins

And a big cup of black coffee.

———

Tammy Malgesini is the community editor. Her column, Inside my Shoes, includes general musings about life. Contact her at tmalgesini@eastoregonian.com or 541-564-4539.