Peggy’s Prompt—030211—hum—40 minutes

Peggy’s Prompt—030211—hum—40 minutes


Hum, hmmmm.

I once had a short Instant Messenger relationship with a rediscovered old friend. He’s a male. I’m a female. True to stereotype, I would send messages long enough to require two sendings, as I would run out of room on just one. He, on the other hand, was the master of short answers. Yep. Nope. Or my least favorite, hmmmmmm. Or sometimes, hmmm. Now how do you interpret hmmmm? Does it mean “I’m thinking about this, don’t push me” or perhaps “I really don’t agree, but I don’t want to say so,” or maybe even a shorthand way to say “uh-huh” which would mean “yes, I agree.” If ever there was a conversation stopper (and maybe this was the intention), it was “hmmmm.” And eventually the IM relationship did end, mostly because he really elaborated one time about a subject, and I didn’t like his take on it. So, maybe hmmm was just a way to stall the inevitable. Or, maybe it was a way to keep the IMs coming until he figured out what he thought of me. Anyway, it’s another of those past experiences that doesn’t seem to have much effect on my life today, except that I still don’t really like “hmmmmm.”



Hum. I sometimes hum (or sort of sing) quietly under my breath without realizing I’m doing it until I’ve been doing it for awhile. I’m not sure what that means, except that I seem to only do it when I’m in a pretty good mood, so maybe it’s a symptom of happiness, or satisfaction. My sister has little quiet, but out-loud conversations with herself, as did my Mother. “Gotta get the butter out”, she’ll say, while setting out dinner. Then she’ll retrieve the butter from the refrigerator and say “That’s done. Now the drinks.” On and on she goes until dinner is served and she turns her attention to the other folks. She’s done talking to herself for the time being.

I’ll admit to occasionally talking to myself. I usually only say something out loud to myself with I’m aggravated with myself, as when I forget to lock the back door (which goes into a locked garage, so it’s not really such a serious matter). I’ll notice the unlocked door in the morning when I come into the kitchen to make my coffee, and I’ll say, not under my breath, but out loud as if I were talking to someone else, “Gee-ma-net-ly, Gwendie, you did it again.”



My Dad used to whistle when he was standing at the bathroom sink shaving. I don’t know whether that helped or hindered the shaving process, but it probably was related to the fact that he was getting cleaned up to go out beer drinking with his buddies. He was cheerful, as opposed to my Mother’s reaction to his whistling, which was to turn down the corners of her mouth and exaggerate the frown line between her eyebrows. Interesting how the same sound could mean two completely different things.



I have a friend who makes little puffy grunting sounds when she’s thinking, not loud enough to be heard unless it’s very quiet and you are sitting very close to her. I wonder if she even knows she does it. Maybe it’s one of those Pavlovian learned behaviors. Somehow she associates the puffing sound to serious cogitation, and does it unconsciously.



Anyhow, we often seem to feel the need to orally communicate with ourselves. A little hum, a few quiet words, a series of puffy noises, a few whistled bars of a song….lots of us do it. Lots of us over fifty, that is. Except for tiny children talking to their dolls or toys, you don’t hear a lot of younger people talking to themselves, at least out loud. My explanation for that is that their hearing is still good enough for them to hear their thoughts so they don’t need to give voice to them. Their turn will come, though, and their children will be saying, “Mom, what did you say? You’re mumbling.” And they’ll be forced to reply, “Oh, nothing, I was just talking to myself.”