Erma Bombeck keeps coming up as an answer or a clue on crossword puzzles lately, so I figured I'd go and read a few of her essays. Pieces. Columns? Chapters, whatever.

I say 'lately' but the truth is I've been doing archived New York Times puzzles. I'm currently working my way through April, 2018. So I'm about three years late on reading the “signs.”

And I've been doing them online, a privilege I have to pay for. Note: I am not really good at these puzzles. Monday through Wednesday I average about ten to fifteen minutes. Thursdays through Sundays I average about 45 minutes to an hour. There's this guy who writes a crossword blog, Rex Parker, and he finishes Saturdays faster than I finish Mondays.

You could say that I get more value for my money.

It's the same when I golf– I pay less per stroke than those so-called “pros.” And when I run. What's the world record for the marathon, something close to two hours? Pshaw. I'm out there for five. That's, technically, two and a half times more running.

All kidding aside (footnote: this is a lie; kidding will continue) I enjoy the crosswords and the time I spend doing them. Honestly, one of my favorite things to do is drink beers, listen to stoner rock, and solve a couple weeks' worth of puzzles. Sure, Rex Parker can finish a Friday themeless in less than four minutes, but can he do it drunk?

(Yeah, he probably can).

But back to Erma. Her name popped up more than once, and I took that as a sign. I've been toying with this idea of using crossword puzzles as a kind of fortune-telling device. You know how horoscopes are rather vague, and can be interpreted to fit anyone's life? Like that, but without the predisposed personality traits.

(Here's a joke I wrote about horoscopes and predisposed personality traits: “The other day I was in a bookstore, and I wandered by the horoscope section. Almost all the books for Taurus were sold out! That's just like a Taurus, to believe something stupid like astrology!”)

(Also on the subject of horoscopes: I used to write a horoscope column for an actual weekly newspaper! Satirically, of course, entries like, “Scorpio, this week you will find difficulty with pants. Yours or someone else's. Nudity is advised.” And what's more, a reader actually wrote a letter to my Editor, and complained that my column was too “by the book” and lacked creativity! It was very flattering. I bet he was a Libra. Libras are such sweethearts.)

But back to Erma. Friday, April 27, 2018. 44 Across, “Humorist Bombeck.” 4 Letters. Pretty easy clue for a Friday, which was good, because it was one of only two answers I knew on my first read-through. From the standpoint of “crossnostication,” Erma was clearly trying to tell me something. Clearly.

So I went to the website of my local library, checked out an ebook, and started reading If Life Is Like A Bowl Of Cherries, Why Am I In The Pits?

(By the way– how cool is that? Getting a library book faster than I could even solve a NYTXW Monday? Look, I'm 49 years old. When I was a kid, there were no e-books. Libraries didn't have computers; we had to look for books using something called a 'card catalog.' So forgive me if I gush. Back then, 'knowledge“ was this sacred, protected thing. Now it's sort of taken for granted… which is not a bad thing, not at all, and not the subject of this essay, I know. My apologies. Since I no longer need to drive to the library and navigate a two-foot-deep drawer just to find a book, that leaves more time to ramble. Now that I think about it, maybe that's why, stereotypically, old people bore younger generations with all their gum flapping. Old folks don't know what else to do!)

But back to Erma. I've “tried” to read her stuff in the past, but didn't get much out of it. This time, however: very relatable. Very funny. Well it turns out Erma was 40 before she started getting published. And let's remind ourselves that 50 is the new 40, which means 40 was the future 50, so me and Erma: same page.

E.g. my marriage sucks too.

Kidding! My wife and I have our ups and downs, sure, but even Rex Parker flubs a Wednesday and takes longer than 5 minutes. People are people. Nobody's perfect. Perfect isn't even perfect. (Okay I don't know what that's supposed to mean).

My point is, crossnostication told me “Go read Erma” and then Erma told me “marriage is tough” and that made me laugh. Which is good medicine for a person like myself, who has depression, anxiety, ADHD, a person who's idea of a good time is slurping down a few double IPAs while listening to “Uluru Rock” and trying to find a seven-letter word for “Charming.” (footnote: it's 'Winsome.' Fridays are hard!)

Or, more succinctly: “Laugh more.” Which doesn't sound all that deep or wise. (But only because it isn't.)

Laughter may be the best medicine, but it won't cure your mental illness. Laughter won't make your spouse see the error of their ways and say sorry and dedicate the rest of their life to supporting your obvious genius.

But laughing does make things better. Laughing makes life worth it.

Worth what?

Let me put it this way: you're dying. There's nothing you can do about it. It might take a few years, or a few decades, or many many decades. But friend, your situation is, in a word, terminal.

Rather than say “Laughter is the best medicine,” we should say, “Laughter is the best hospice.”

And in case you were wondering, the second best form of hospice care is crossword puzzles, loud music, and booze. You're going to have to trust me on this one. My wife doesn't agree with me, but then again, she doesn't laugh at my horoscope jokes either, so what does she know?

Just kidding. She's a Gemini, Those people will laugh at anything.