Lusting for Lexicons

What is it about books?  How is it that some seem to grip us so?  Why are there those that transcend time and remain pertinent throughout the ages?  Is there one common denominator found within the literary classics?  Think about it – from Homer to Shakespeare, Margaret Mitchell to Louisa May Alcott, even Jane Austen to, dare I say, M. Hill – what is it about the way a story is constructed that makes it last? 

 

Well, I think the answer is fundamentally simple.  It's in the words.  Yup, the words.  Words are magical; and the way they're strung together on the page, if done right, can almost be like dancing – one continual fluid movement that takes you from one place to another.  Step by step, word by word, we vicariously experience different worlds, times and places with the turning of each page.  This is why those that resonate with us, emotionally, are always our favorite books.  We feel connected – and it's the words that are the connecting sinew.

 

I love words – they are an unending source of wonder for me: homonyms, synonyms, antonyms.  Nouns, verbs, gerunds.  Adjectives, adverbs, participles – dangling or otherwise.  What kind of a world would we live in without words?  Pretty quiet, for one thing – but the question was rhetorical…

 

I'm not the only one who marvels at words.  Take a look at what some others have said regarding these versatile intellectual stimuli:

 

"Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by man."

 - Rudyard Kipling

 

"To speak mere words is much like speaking of mere dynamite."

 - C.J. Ducasse   

 

"The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug."

 - Mark Twain

 

I'd be remiss if I didn't include the partial lyric, "Words to memorize, words hypnotize, words make my mouth exercise…"  Hey, what ever happened to PWEI?  Never mind that…

 

Anyway, I recently had the opportunity to sit in on a writer's group where one of the exercises was prompted by loose dictionary pages – I got an H page.  We were supposed to write something inspired by one of the words, but as I looked at my page, my eyes found focus on a picture of a hawk.  Here's what I wrote:

 

I love the dictionary.  Not only is it chock full of information, but it is an endless source of amusement, as well.  Yes, that's right, amusement.  Looking at page 119 of some disemboweled dictionary, it's the picture of a hawk that catches my eye.  A hawk, as almost anyone knows, is any of several predatory birds with blah-blah-blah, ya, we all know what hawks are.  The thing about this hawk is that it recalled a memory of mine from many years ago. 

 

One time I came across the word grebe, and coming from a more urban than rural background, I was not familiar with this word so, naturally, I went to consult... The Book.  A grebe, as it turns out, is a very small dabchick.  Hmph!  A dabchick – how 'bout that.  See, the thing is, I had no idea what a dabchick was – the dictionary is like that, one word often leads to another; honestly, you could spend days within the pages of a dictionary.  I went straight to the Ds – d, d, d, dab, dabchick – there it was.  A dabchick is a noun; it is one of any variety of small grebes.

 

So there you have it – the dictionary – a funny, funny book!

 

It's probably no wonder, with my affinity for words, that one of my favorite books is, in fact, the dictionary – that massive collection of words, those teeny-tiny building blocks, just waiting to be assembled in such a way as to tell the next story, to transport you to the next place, to reveal to you completely new worlds and experiences… don't even try telling me that's not magical.

 

 Forever mystified,

  - M

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

Change is inevitable.  There's no escaping it.  In fact, we can actually rely on it as surely as we can trust that the sun will rise tomorrow.  And, I'd probably go as far to say that most change is good.  Most, of course, is not all.  There are those changes that occur that we cannot seem to stop – those that don't really fit the definition 'for the good.'

 

If you recall, I previously shared that in spite of my slender arms, my triceps flap like a billowing flag when I either wave a hearty hello or enthusiastically season my food.  I'm in my 40s – it's just the way it is. 

 

Here's another horrifying tidbit of mid-40s self-discovery.  First, you should know that my bathroom is a room chock full of reflective surfaces – between the mirrored closet doors, the giant vanity mirror and the glass enclosed shower stall, it is nearly impossible to be in that space and not see yourself everywhere you look.  So, the other day I'm getting dressed for a hike and, for whatever reason, after dispensing with my PJs, the first thing I put on was my socks – from a standing position.  (I don't know why.)  As I bent over to put the sock on my foot, my reflection caught my eye.  And, as if being bombarded by the multi-faceted images in a Fun House Hall of Mirrors, I had nowhere to look to avoid seeing this shocking brush with reality – Elsie the Borden cow was all I could think of.  When the heck did this happen?  UGH!  I immediately put on my bra.  Then my T-shirt.  Then the fleece. 

 

Okay, so there's apparently an unavoidable toll that gravity takes on the body.  What's next?  I'm almost afraid to ask, wrinkles?  So far, I've been pretty lucky with that one. 

 

What I haven't been spared of, however, is waking up in the night to use the bathroom – at least once, often twice, sometimes three times in a night.  Is this part of the aging process, too?  If so, it certainly would account for all the crotchety curmudgeons out there.  Apparently, after a certain age, a good night's sleep is a thing of the past.  A thing of the past like toned arms and perky boobs, I suppose. 

 

There is something else, though, about the bathroom experience as we age.  Has anyone else begun to notice a change in… well, in… velocity?  Seriously, this latest development could easily be parlayed into a game show – albeit a disgusting game show, but a game show all the same.  It could be called something like The Speed of Your Stream or How Slow is Your Flow?  In it, people of all ages would enter a bank of bathroom stalls, sit and, after a buzzer sounds, commence urinating.  The contestant, placed on the opposite side of a partition – similar to The Dating Game, would have to guess the participant's ages by – you can see this coming, right? – by the speed of the stream:  fast and furious = teenager (male, likely); smooth and steady = your average adult; trickling tinkle = senior citizen.  See?  What?  You don't think this would take off?  It could.

 

It's not really any worse than those sadomasochistic, esteem-eradicating carnival Guess Your Age & Weight games.  In those you're on public display while some dorky guy in a red and white striped vest tries, by assessing your physical appearance, to guess your age and weight.  He looks around, picks out some poor unsuspecting victim, then, after asking for a name, he addresses the crowd.  "Well, folks, whad'ya think?  I'd say Karen, here, is around 42 years old and about a buck fifty.  Let's see, shall we?"  Goaded by the mob around her, Karen begrudgingly steps on the scale saying, "I'm 26, jackass," when the needle redlines, at which point, the smarmy barker yells out, "Owhhh, Karen – 220!  Here's a Twinkie, thanks for playing."  Okay, maybe my little pee game is worse.  I've digressed. 

 

See, there are just some things we cannot escape as we age; but here's something unexpected that's happening to me that I never really heard anyone talk about before.  Lately, when I hear of an issue that strikes a chord in me, or of something that tickles my fancy (tickles my fancy? How old am I? Wait, let me…), I've begun to write in to people – radio hosts, magazine editors, newspaper columnists.  I don't know why; I never used to do things like this – and, honestly, I don't really have the time for it – but I'm 44 now and I'm beginning to think that, perhaps, this is just another step in the aging process – one taken on the way to becoming a cantankerous, golden girl who will invariably complain about the cost of a gallon of milk or the continually rising cost of a postage stamp.  I wonder how long it will be before I start to write my local politician about similarly inane bits of personal interest.  At what age does that happen?  

 

I wonder what other changes I have to look forward to.  Who knows?  I guess I'll just have to wait and find out – time will tell!     

 

 - M

 

Achoo

I cannot seem to concentrate

Everything's a chore, of late

My head is pounding

And I can't think straight

 

Itchy, runny eyes that tear

Discomfort fills my inner ear

Inflammation grows

And I can barely hear

 

My eyes flutter and almost close

As pressure in my sinus grows

Tingling sensations

Tickle my nose

 

I'm sneezing, wheezing

And barely breathing

My lips are chapped raw

From chronic mouth breathing

 

Pain in my throat makes me weak

Easing comfort is all I seek

As I'm unable to swallow

And can't even speak

 

Yes, laryngitis – that's my thing

With a choking phlegm that really does cling

I pray for the relief

A healing would bring

 

It's every day stress

And mental duress

That's making me

Such a physical mess

 

I gargle and sleep

And try not to weep

I don't complain much

Since I can't make a peep

 

The dry cough I could do without

Hacking like that just wears me out

But that's what's next

I have no doubt

 

Time after time

It's the same, I find

So I know I will fight

This mucus and slime

 

Getting better, I cannot force

This just has to run its course

And when my voice returns

Naturally, it will be hoarse

 

That's okay, I say to myself

Thinking about what is true wealth

It's certainly not riches

It's more about health

 

So, this will pass and go away

And I'm looking forward to that day

But until it gets here,

What can I say?

 

Winter colds suck!

 

Muculently Yours,                              

- M J

 

 

 

 

 

Hey, Optimist! Who me?

I've never really had a definitive answer to the age-old question, "Is the glass half full or half empty?" 

 

I know the way you answer that supposedly determines – or identifies – whether you're an optimist or a pessimist; but what would you be if you just can't answer that question without first having some other additional facts regarding the glass in question?  To begin with, where did this glass even come from?  Is it sitting on a counter beside a lunch plate?  If so, I'd have to go with half full.  Or, is it sitting in a sink?  If that's the case, I'd go with half empty. 

 

See, we don't live in a black-white world.  There are always shades of gray that must be taken into consideration.  If pressed, say, to look at a still life of the aforementioned glass and come up with an answer, I guess I'd go with half full.  Glasses always start out empty; so whether the one in question, at one time, was full, doesn't matter.  The glass is a vessel that has half its available capacity filled – keyword – filled with liquid.  Half full. 

 

That mental stream of consciousness is hardly screaming optimism, is it?  When you hear optimism don't you generally think sun-shiny, upbeat and peppy?  The way I arrived at 'half full' was anything but; no, my approach was more dogmatic – a tiresome, analytical drudgery.  Welcome to my world!

 

I did realize the other day, though, and without the help of this psychological visual aid, that I am, without a doubt, an unwavering optimist.  And the answer was right in front of me – for years – right in my own bathroom.  Yes, bathroom.

 

See, every morning I typically go through the same personal hygiene regimen, day in and day out – every day – the same. 

 

After brushing my teeth, I discard the junior-sized 3 oz. Dixie cup into the wastebasket that sits on the floor just inches from my sink cabinet.  I begin by tapping out any remaining water, then I move my arm to the left, positioning my hand directly above the trash receptacle and then, like the Triple Crane in an arcade machine, I release my grip letting the cup fall to rest… on the floor!  Huh?!?  With a disgusted sigh, I bend over, pick up the cup and place it in the can.

 

I continue with my routine.  For whatever reason, as I age, I now blow my nose after brushing my teeth.  I pull up a tissue from the boutique box, then blow, crumple and toss into… you guessed it – the mind-numbing, elusive vortex of trash collection.  I watch, almost with pride, as the tissue initially flies through the air, arcing at just the right moment to make a perfect two-pointer – SWISH – but then, for some inexplicable reason, it hooks off to the left and lands on the floor quite a few inches from its original destination.  Huh?!?  With a disgusted sigh, I bend over, pick up the tissue and place it in the can.

 

As the ENT portion of my morning ritual nears completion, after removing the towel from my head, I use Q-Tips to wipe the excess water from my ears.  I swab, turn, swab again and then toss.  Defying the Laws of Physics, these cotton-topped sticks perplex me the most.  They actually make it in the can, but it's only for a second before "plink," and with that, they jump right back out and land on the floor!  Huh?!?  With a disgusted sigh, I bend over, pick up the Q-Tips and place them in the can.

 

Well, it dawned on me the other day that, in spite of my apparent deficiency in eye-hand coordination, the fact that I continually discard these items, expecting them to go into the wastebasket – even though history dictates that they won't – is the purest act of optimism there is. 

 

Maybe that damn Dixie cup would go in if I left half the water in it – or if I dumped half out – I don't know.  What I do know is that I will continue to optimistically make my tosses, and if the discarded objects wind up on the floor, well then, with a disgusted sigh I will bend over, retrieve them and place them in the can. 

 

Until the next time.

 

 - M

 

 

44

Let me put to rest any assumptions that readers of my book, The Ones That Got Away – A Dating Memoir, may be formulating by the title of this post. 

 

When I write '44' I am not referring to Kenny, my football player boyfriend from Jackson who proudly sported the number 44 on the back of his jersey.  I am referring, of course, to Barack Hussein Obama of Illinois, our newly inaugurated 44^th president of the United States of America. 

 

To say the hoopla leading up to the inauguration was frenzied is probably an understatement.  It seems that everywhere you looked – TV, newspapers, magazines – everyone was abuzz with anticipatory excitement and glee, and yet, I couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Obama had begun to feel like the pretty girl who's given no credit for having a brain in her head – you know, like a model who's judged solely on her skin-deep beautiful packaging.  Don't get me wrong, this is an amazing milestone in the history of our country; but don't you think he must have felt like screaming, "I'm more than just the color of my skin."?  Honestly, no one was really talking about anything else.  It would have been nice to hear a little more about his achievements and accomplishments, as well as his future plans; after all, he does have some big issues to tackle.

 

-         He needs to create stimulus plans (hard to believe, but there was a time this wasn't a familiar colloquialism) that will hopefully boost our economy by creating jobs, restructuring taxes and curbing government spending.

 

-         There are domestic issues that vie for his attention: Healthcare, Education, Environment – of course, we can't mention the environment without bringing up off-shore drilling. (Drill, baby, drill!  I can't be the only one who has that chant lodged in her head – it's in there like Disney's "It's a Small World.")

 

-         Foreign issues still loom large:  We have the on-going war in Iraq, rampant terrorism and our sullied worldwide reputation.

 

Yes, the issues are certainly big and, as a nation, we are all hopeful for change.  Just look at some of the headlines from that monumental day:

 

   "MAKING HISTORY – DAWN OF A NEW ERA"

   "ON THE BRINK OF CHANGE"

   "HIGH HOPES, HARD TIMES – BOLD PLANS"

 

They say that just as in FDR's administration, the first 100 days will be key.  So, how did it all begin?  Well, we had the first ever inaugural oath hiccup which was followed by a whirlwind of parties, parades and celebrating; but after that, it got a little more serious. 

 

Day 1 started with taking the oath – again (an oath do-over, if you will).  Next he read the note left by George W. Bush.  (I wonder what that note said.  Do you think he quoted George Washington saying, "I am fairly out and you are fairly in! See which of us will be happiest!"?  I bet every president has probably used that line – and rightly so.)  Then, after 10 solemn minutes alone in the Oval Office, he emerged – I imagine with someone announcing in the background, "Let the term begin!" 

 

How to start? What to do first? Well, if you vowed to "begin again the work of remaking America" then you need to hit the ground running; so why not begin by signing a series of executive orders? A series. (Well, he is on the clock – 100 days and ticking…)

 

So let's see, where does this leave us, really?  We all know where we are now, and we know where we've been – but do we know where we're going? 

 

Vow of change?  I don't know what that means.  I hope it's for the good because we are in quite the pickle right now.  He does seem to have tremendous support – he was elected, after all.  It was reported that over 1.8 million people flocked to Washington for his inauguration, and 38 million more watched it on TV.  As Colin Powell said, "The whole country is excited."  And it is – about what, exactly, I'm not sure; but it is like Obama-mania has set in. 

 

True, our economy may be on the verge of collapse, but the fashion industry is buzzing about 'who' Michelle is wearing.  And, of all the pertinent topics of interest out there, a fair amount of reporting was done about the new First Dog – in fact, President Obama had called the issue of choosing a family dog "major" and said that it generated "more interest on our website than just about anything."

 

I sincerely hope his use of the word 'major' was taken out of context because he really has much bigger issues to deal with – ones that truly deserve the adjective 'major.'  It is nice to see, though, that Americans are checking in on what matters most to them. 

 

So, as America amuses itself with dogs and designers, he's busy signing executive orders – somehow I can't help but think of Billy Flynn's show-stopping number, "Razzle Dazzle," from the hit play Chicago.  (Chicago? That's kind of funny, huh?  Believe me when I tell you, that was not intentional.)

 

In any event, I wish him the best of luck – popularity is, after all, a fickle friend. 

 

Hail to the Chief!

 

 - M

Resolution Smezolution

Well, we're a good two weeks or so into the new year.  Hard to believe, huh?  But think about it, January is more than half over already.  Christmas decorations have been stowed, the leftover sweets and goodies have been tossed and resolutions are already out the window.

 

I've been thinking about resolutions lately – resolutions in general, and mine in particular.  If you recall, I purported to try and improve my patience this year.  Well, as I once learned in a seminar, 'trying' is merely looking good failing.  Oh, the sympathy that's garnered when you say, "But I tried."  Don't believe me? 

 

You know that person who's always trying to lose a few pounds?  What do you say about them?  "Look at poor so-and-so, still trying to lose that weight, my, how they try – and it just doesn't seem to come off."  The reason it doesn't come off is because they're actually 'not trying' to lose weight – they're only 'wanting' to lose weight.  In order to really 'try' one must take action – do something, like say, modify your diet and, oh, I don't know, perhaps add a little exercise.  But most people don't do that.  They just continue on in their Frito-Lay lifestyle and lament how the pounds are there for good – no matter how hard they try.  See, looking good failing…

 

My attempt to temper my Type A or Driver – whatever they're calling it now – personality is no different.  I claim I'd like to have more patience, but do I do anything about it?  Not really, nothing other than curse and swear when I lose it, that is.  I try, but I just can't seem to do it.  Oh, poor me – I try so hard. (Looking good failing – see how it works?)

 

And so, with that in mind, I get to what I've been thinking about these past two weeks.  I am beginning to think that people are not unlike (you're probably not expecting what's coming next) reinvented household products that are constantly being touted as "New and Improved."

 

Toothpastes have gone through so many incarnations of being 'new and improved' that, by now, our teeth should have all the sparkly shine of white twinkling Christmas lights.

 

And how about fabric softeners?  If they actually added half the soft, fluffy nap-restoring quality to fabrics that they claim to, we'd all be clad head-to-toe in the fuzziest fleece you've ever seen – think cotton Michelin Man on steroids. 

 

Then, of course, there is an endless stream of aromatherapeutic fragrances infused into these products: We have Mountain Rain, Spring Rain, Morning Rain – see what I mean?  Well, I live in the desert and all our rain smells like dirt, so I go for the lemon scents – Lemon Zingers, Lemon Boosters, Now 25% MORE Lemon – so freakin' lemony that you'll think you have an actual lemon grove right in your own home!

 

I'm very loyal to my products – much to my mother's chagrin (she is a marketer's dream – she'll try anything new).  I've been using Colgate since I was a kid – and teeth whitening formula or not, my teeth are not getting any whiter.  Likewise, even though I add a capful of Downy to every load, I still have washcloths that are so thin I can almost see through them. And, the lemon scent from my Pledge dissipates almost the minute I wipe the polish off the furniture. 

 

Does this mean that I stop using these products and go on a search for a toothpaste that will actually acid wash my tooth enamel, or for a fabric softener that will reinvigorate a 10-year old washcloth, or find a Pledge substitute that will squirt out actual lemon juice?  No, I don't.  And, why don't I?  Because they don't exist – and neither do 'new and improved' people.

 

If you're a smoker – you're a smoker, and the turn of a calendar page is not going to change that.  Now, when you get some sense into your head, you'll quit; but it won't be because of a resolution – it will more than likely be because your doctor found a spot on your lung.  Poor guy, he 'tried' to quit for years and now this.  

 

On a related topic, I happen to be an ex-smoker.  I 'tried' to quit several times in the course of the 13 years that I smoked – and did sometimes, for several months at a clip; but do you know what finally worked?  I just decided I didn't want to smoke anymore – not that I shouldn't smoke because of blah-blah-blah, but that I didn't want to; and that was that – pretty much anyway.  Oh sure, I still had moments of habit-conditioned desire (hard to imagine, I know), but I made up my mind.  That was 13 years ago.  So anyway, here's what I'm wondering about: I don't know if Nicorette actually works or not, but if it does, then maybe someone could get going on Choco-rette.  What do you think?

 

So, I managed to quit smoking – that was in October, though, and had nothing to do with resolutions.  I already eat right – generally (damn you Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough) – and exercise.  We've established that I am impatient and probably always will be – it's just how I'm wired. 

 

There is one thing I may be able to work on, though – and not as a resolution, necessarily, but just as an overall improvement, and that would be to stop cursing.  I realize that cursing is an unsophisticated way of expressing oneself… and I've never really been at a loss for ways to express myself, so I don't know why I struggle with this one.  Of course, I am from New Jersey so there's a good chance it's in my blood.  You know, it may actually be in my blood – men typically curse more than women, don't they?  I recently shared this theory with a fellow author:  I have come to suspect that I may have a ball gene lurking somewhere deep within my chromosomal makeup.  

 

You know, if that's really true then I'm off the hook for a lot of stuff – I may be an impatient, vulgar-mouthed, opinionated Jersey girl, but it's not my fault.  I try – but, seriously, what can you really expect from a girl with a ball gene?

 

 - M

Happy New Year

Christmas is over.

The new year's begun.

I've had it with winter;

I'm ready for sun.

 

I'm spoiled rotten –

I know it, it's true;

but I've lived here five years now,

so what can I do?

 

Temps in the 40s!

I can't take it that chilly.

I'm from the Northeast

so I know that sounds silly.

 

I don't mean to cry,

whine, mope or sulk,

but who can move

wrapped up in this bulk?

 

The turtlenecks, fleeces

and warm woolen sweaters

get the job done

but what would be better

 

Is if temperatures rose

up, just a bit, see

60 or 70

is quite nice to me.

 

But alas, I must wait

a little while longer

for our hot desert sun

to grow a bit stronger.

 

Just a few more weeks now –

not as long as you'd think.

In fact, summer will be here

before I can blink.

 

Why do I rush things

the way that I do?

Because I haven't got patience –

It's an elusive virtue. 

 

I'll work on that this year;

yes, that'll be fine

for a good resolution

for 2009.

 

I welcome the new year –

it's got a good start;

I heard from an old friend

and that warmed my heart.

 

So the future's before us –

wide open and clear;

embrace it fully,

and have a Happy New Year!

 

Here's to 2009…

 

 - M