The Giddies


The sip of water I swallowed is now dripping out of my nose. I can barely catch my breath. My face is a kindergartener’s Christmas ornament red. Snorting water and barely breathing is a sure sign that I am in the middle of a GREAT giddie!

The experience is body total. My toes tingle from gripping inside my shoes, my rib cage aches a bit from trying to breath and giggle at the same time, my mouth is a bit dry from gaping open for so long and from the loss of fluids by the bit of spit that projects out with each guffaw of a laugh, and my head has a slight buzz from the sheer release of it all.

The subtle mix of silliness, relaxed attitude and joyful intention for fun, are needed to have a great giddie. I can have a satisfying chuckle on my own, reading a humorous passage in a book or watching comedy on TV or in the movies, but to have the true experience of a great giddie you need to have at least two people. It’s that community of silliness feeding off of one another that creates a great giddie.

A true giddie is never demeaning or at the expense of another person. The main subject of a giddie is usually based on a shared memory or experience, observation in life or the joint invention of a scenario for a future event or practical item needed.

Some people are more attune to giddiness than others. My sibs and I are well schooled in the way of a giddie high. My mother and her sisters were old school models for how to create a great giddie. They sat around my grandmother’s table, remnants of a home cooked Italian dinner lingered. Splashes of tomato sauce dotted the white starched linen tablecloth. Bits of grated cheese jumbled with breadcrumbs caught in tiny piles near salt and peppershakers or the butter dish. Each sister had a cup of coffee in front of her, the tiny good silverware spoon resting on the best china saucer.

The conversation was loud, a pigeon mix of English and Italian, each sister tripping over the words of the others, with peals of laughter punctuated by broad hand gestures. The sisters each, held in one fist a crumpled tissue needed to dab at the corner of their eyes to stop the tears from rolling down their cheeks.

My sisters and brother could easily get my mother into a giddie. My father was a befuddled, sporadic contributor on the sidelines. It was fascinating to observe the newest boyfriend or girlfriend that came into one of my sibs or my life. Sometimes a look of panic would wash across their faces as the family slipped and slid through a great giddie. Others found their sea legs faster and handily rolled right along with us.

When going back east for visits, one item of top priority on my list is to have a great giddie with my family. Even when the situation is of the grieving nature, as if to cement our common bond of experience and love for one another, we find a way to squeeze in a giddie. It’s something I’ve come to count on from my family.

When I come back to the west coast, I often go through a mini giddie withdrawal. I become desperate to get a giddie going. A giddie can’t be forced even though I have tried it a few times. Often when forcing a giddie, the people I’m with scrunch up their noses and wrinkle their foreheads as if a blaring warning message is sounding in their head, “Michele is being weird and inappropriate. Bale now!”

For many years I didn’t show my giddie creating ability with everyone. I projected a much more restrictive side. Laughter yes, limited joy but rarely to the point of outright silliness. Maybe that’s why my west coast giddies were few and far between.

Today, as I enjoy a giddie with a circle of friends, I savor the unbounded joy in it all. I titter away the thought of how I must look with water snorting out of my nose. I observe through my mirth, the one or two friends that seem less eager to giddie it up with me, but I don’t feel as if my giddiness is out of place. I allow the openness of my being to move me. And I am in deep gratitude because a great giddie is a precious gift.