Denise would be the first to tell you, she can hold up her end of a conversation; and, if for some reason as you talked to her you were stricken dumb, the average number of words spoken per minute would not noticeably decrease. I’m not saying she is a talker, but then, yes by golly I am too, she is a talker.
Denise is a story-telling talker, not the gossipy kind, although she will receive and pass along information too; not the teenie-weenie detail sort, although she can be descriptive when it’s called for; no, she tells stories having to do with dumb things done by others, dumb things she has done and her favorite, dumb things done by her husband Phil. If you do something dumb around Denise, you will be featured in one of her upcoming stories, a story more interesting than you recall the events. She does not lie or exaggerate, she embellishes - a slight understatement.
Denise embodies the best of Kentucky, in particular, Carter County Kentucky; meaning almost West Virginia and almost southeastern Ohio; meaning loyal to family and either church or the devil - more the former in her case; meaning kind-hearted servant of those in need; meaning wry observer of the rest of the nation’s people and not a little mystified by their shenanigans; meaning an endearing acceptance of her own shortcomings but a fierce defender of her right to be different.
I have known Denise since the “ball-and-chain-gang” days – I will let the members of that gang on Facebook explain what that was; the Farah Fawcett hair days – sometimes referred to as the Skunk-hair days; days before she and Phil had exchanged the first harsh wordshttp: (for a lump in your throat, see them here: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=4519575&op=1&o=global&view=global&subj=527596122&id=739548697 ); before they married and started producing intelligent, sensitive and comical young men. Speaking of harsh words, I often wonder if they banter in bed with such things as: “If you don’t go to sleep pretty soon I’m going to knock you out”, or “I don’t want to hear about your stupid dream unless it involves you getting some sense”, or “When was the last time you used mouthwash, Morehead?” Before you ask, no; I do not spend a good deal of time thinking of Phil and Denise in bed, just enough to write this paragraph.
Recent logical-positivistic research on the correlation between human intelligence and happiness suggests as one rises the other declines, a fact which if easy for you to comprehend is apt to make you sad but which if baffling to you, may render you giddy you do not sit around mulling over such things. Somehow Denise Ashcraft is both happy and smart, so smart, I believe, that; although not immune to it, she usually wiggles free of unhappiness.
This is an irony of Denise, that she can be both smart and happy. Another is how she can be totally focused and ADHD at the same time. When she is telling a story, you can interrupt her as often as you like and she will respond with something witty to your comment and be immediately back on to her story. She invites your comments and accepts your challenge to distract her and will even help you by interrupting her own story, but she will get back to the story, finish and you will enjoy every minute of it, unless you are the subject of the story.
Another irony of Denise is how she can seem so hard and cold yet so sensitive and loving. A couple of stories may help explain this point. After our graduation from college, a group of thirty or so of us from the Morehead State BSU continued to have annual reunions for 13 consecutive years. Incidentally, a smaller group of “MSU BSU-produced” couples continues to be close and see one another on a regular basis after 30 years. During one of the first reunions at Kathy and Whamo’s house, someone, probably Randy Howe; had a large motorcycle sitting in the yard, which Phil decided to take for a spin. Unfortunately, he was not savvy enough on the use of the throttle and went from zero to thirty in about forty feet, leaving him beneath a still-running motorcycle at the base of a large shrub. We are all yelling and running to help, when Denise’s voice from the kitchen window sounds above the motorcycle’s blare and everything else with: “Phil Ashcraft get up from there, you know you can’t ride a motorcycle, you are embarrassing me.” That is the hard and cold side of Denise, if I have time I will illustrate the sensitive and loving side.
Denise is what I would call an oral blogger. By blogger I mean someone who gives a running account of his or her life. Denise does not do it online, but orally. A few years ago as she was helping Phil get stuff in their car to leave our house from a visit, our welcome matt slid out from under her and she went down on our brick steps. She was up in a flash and said, “Oh, that’s embarrassing, I usually fall much more gracefully “. Denise falling is funny (as long as she is not hurt), but having her provide immediate commentary, is hilarious. Most of the time when someone falls, everybody else kids them, but when it is Denise; no one else has to say anything, she tears in on herself.
With my several introductions of old friends to new ones on Facebook I have tried to avoid comparisons; since having friends is not a competitive sport. However, in this case, I will make an exception and say Denise Holbrook Ashcraft is, minute-for-minute, the funniest friend I have and furthermore, I would put her up against any of your funny friends, without it getting too messy for all involved (I am illustrating Denise humor with that line). Knowing her, she would probably get quite the thrill being put against your friends, literally and figuratively.
I declare Denise my funniest friend minute for minute at the risk of having the rest of my friends who consider themselves funny start bombarding me with “their best material”; a risk I am happy to assume, since lord knows I can always use a good belly laugh, laughter being the best medicine and medicine being so expensive these days. (again, can’t you just hear Denise delivering that line?)
Denise’s greatest comedy competition might well come from the other three members of her immediate family. Having the four of them to your house is probably a bit like having Chico, Harpo and Groucho drop by with their hilarious sister Deniso, except none of them is as quiet as Harpo and none of them plays the harp.
When we have a large group of our friends at our house, the ladies get together in the dining room and do a craft project, an event almost certainly detectable by seismological instruments. It takes several days for the sound of laughter to subside after they all leave. The majority of the laughter is inspired by Denise, which is good, because I suspect she can only claim around 10% of the craft productivity.
All our mutual friends are funny in different ways, but Denise is the most relentlessly and overtly funny of the group. No matter the topic, she will probe it for all its humorous angles and unless you are a really frigid type, she will have you joining her in pursuit of this humor climax (ooh la la, that sentence had an exciting ending, huh?).
One on one, Denise tries to match you. If you are being serious, she will join you, although in my case, I know the funny Denise is always just a slip of the tongue away. But to offer testimonial to the sensitive, soft side of Denise, she and Phil and I walked along the river, just the three of us, in Augusta, Georgia at Nathan and Kathryn Evans’ wedding in October, 2006; after my dad had died earlier that year. I told them of my having preached on the street in Augusta with my dad nearly forty years before, when I was ten; and how great it felt to be back for such a joyous occasion, but how it seemed like I was coming to get a monkey off my back. They listened compassionately, and as only the great friends can, made my account seem deeper and more meaningful with their heartfelt appreciation for what I was trying to describe, namely; how far I had come in my life. I suspect they understood it so well because of the distance they too have traveled. We went back in for the reception and danced the night away, my first-ever episode of dancing in front of friends. Thanks you guys for listening me to a type of freedom.
I rode in the backseat with Denise to a restaurant recently and it was like being beside twelve people, and no, I do not mean literally, but figuratively; because of the energy she possesses. Talking to her is like pouring gas on the flame of your mind, at least it is for me; because all of a sudden I am trying to match her wit for wit and if for a little while I do, it is exhilarating.
When our group is together and Denise leaves the room for a few minutes, I have noticed we tend to take a few deep breaths and pay attention to the birds singing or notice the air conditioning running or cars passing. And on those rare times when we have gotten together without Phil and Denise, we may go for long stretches with little or nothing to say. (Just the thought of absences from the gang sends cold chills, so as Denise might say, “We got to stop NOT meeting this way.”)
I must end with the acknowledgement that it is Denise’s fault (to her credit?) I have written these things about our friends, because she has said for years: somebody needs to write our story; and she has also said, I might be the one to do it. When someone who communicates as marvelously as Denise suggests you are able to communicate well too, it is inspiring. Denise, you keep talking and I’ll keep writing.
Happy Birthday my Dear Friend.
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