Sortilege and Selection

 

sortilege - noun - practice of foretelling the future from a card or other item drawn at random from a collection

I have to admit that I don't believe in coincidence. Things happen according to plan, not haphazardly. If you have been reading this blog consistently, you know that I have written a few paragraphs on this topic before. Over the weekend, I had the pleasure to spend time with a beautiful, hypnotically interesting man, a psycho-therapist by profession, a man whom I met forty years ago and reconnected with two years ago. I flew almost three thousand miles to be with him on his birthday this past weekend. Romantic? You betcha. But I digress in a sense. D. Rick took me to his office to give me an idea of his methodology, all legitimate but seemingly unorthodox to a layperson, which I happen to be.

 After the extremely educational tour, he resorted to sortilege (as if he needed to entertain me, which he definitely didn't because I was already way beyond the brink of fascination, at the point of no return in terms of enchantment). I chose a very tiny card from a vast selection of mates and noticed right off the bat that it had an angel on it, a symbol to which I have always been attracted. D. told me to turn it over, and when I did, I read one word: healing. Okay, didn't I just feature this concept in my last entry? Yup. Of the hundreds of cards that I could have chosen, I picked the one that has the most relevance in terms of how I spend my time these days: healing others through music. Wow. Random? It sure looks like it, that's if you believe in an accidental, incidental, desultory, fluky universe. I don't, mainly because I have no luck but also because I am the one who notices patterns. You already know this about me, though. D. Rick didn't really intend to involve sortilege as he didn't attempt to foretell my future with the card. The word had enough of a prescient presence to portend the positive so that anything he might have said would have been redundant. 

What's the takeaway? The next time someone wants to indulge you in sortilege just for fun, see if what he or she or they have to say after your choice of cards makes any sense at all when it comes down to your life, where you are in the moment. You may wind up like me, figuring out the mysteries minute by minute. Ah, what a mesmerizing ride life is! 

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Musical Motifs

 

motif (IPA) - noun - musical phrase, a recurring figure, succession of notes that has some special importance or thematic identity (Google)

Motifs occur on the surface of art. They are often obvious–but sometimes, not so obvious–in paintings, literature, and also in music. (As I mentioned in another entry, patterns are also apparent in everyday life.) As a professional vocalist, I sing songs with clear motifs, and as I do, I witness listeners' reactions that are uniform enough to point to themes, one in particular: healing. 

Lately, through music, my musical counterpart and I have been reaching and touching many fairly lost souls in halfway houses and nursing homes. Because I tend to keep my eyes open for patterns–something that I once had to do when analyzing texts as a high-school English teacher–I concentrate on the reactions of the audience members when performing tunes with which they are very familiar. No matter how damaged their minds may be, there is usually one song that they can recall all the words to, and it is usually "It Had to Be You," a slightly upbeat, catchy ballad written in 1924 by the songsmiths Isham Jones and Gus Kahn. Something else I have noticed is that when a favorite composition is heard, some will allow themselves to become meditative, entranced. They close their eyes and rock to the tempos presented. It is this state of mind that I believe is the most beneficial as the persons remove themselves from reality and enter a safe space somewhere within the music. Of course, some tend to fall asleep during the slow numbers, but are quick to awaken once we launch into steady, rapid rhythms. All in all, the face of melioration through music has a few distinct, common looks, no matter where we travel as performers. 

Naturally, I feel blessed to be the musical magician motivating the mitigating magic (Like the alliteration?) in these audiences. My occupation truly is a purpose, a "mission from God," as Jake and Elwood Blues would say. 

Can you find motifs in what you do on a daily basis? I bet you can if you look hard enough.

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Hopeful Dreams

 

chimera - noun - a thing that is hoped or wished for but illusory or impossible to achieve (Google)

I don't know about you, but I don't believe in chimeras. Call me naive; call me a blind optimist, but I feel that just about anything is achievable in life. You just need what it takes to realize it. 

The reason why I am standing behind Cervantes's Don Quixote as his shadow is because I happen to be my own best example that impossible dreams can come true. All my life, I have wanted to work in the music industry full time. Although I began singing professionally when I was only 22, only once did I perform full time and that situation lasted a month. Only when I retired from teaching did I dive head first into the pool of deferred dreams that had been left on the back burner to dry out like Langston Hughes's "raisin in the sun." Not only did I begin singing more and more for decent pay after I had put myself out there, I gathered up the confidence to write and record my own music, which I plan to keep doing until I drop. And at nearly 63, that may be sooner than later. BUT the point is I made it all happen. Better late than never. Okay, granted the dream was realistic as opposed to something totally farfetched, yet still. It took a lot of tenacity and hard work to get the ball rolling down my alley. 

What do you need to accomplish the impossible? Motivation and imagination are definitely key ingredients to achieving success at anything. Passion, curiosity, persistence, and creativity (all of the components that exude from an excellent college essay) have to be on board as well. All of us have the potential to summon these forces within us so that we can realize our dreams. Often, we just must own the confidence to believe that we can.

Realistically, there are chimeras out there–just not in my neck of the woods. I hope they aren't in yours either. 

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Wino Hobbyists

 

winebibber - noun - a heavy drinker (Lexico.com)

I don't know about you, but I seem to have a short list of friends who qualify as winebibbers. Most of the ones that I worry about tend to be wino hobbyists. You know, those who see the imbibing of fine wines as more of a pastime, a hobby. They travel distances to find wineries and spend weekends in them, sampling dozens of whites, reds, chardonnays, pinots, cabs, sparkling wines, roses, etc., and wind up getting pretty sauced, all in the name of serious fun. The alcohol industry in this country is huge and getting bigger due to winebibbers that sidestep the fact that what is making them elated is really poisoning them slowly. Years later, after the consumption of hundreds of bottles, they wonder why they have kidney or liver disease, cancer, heart disease or even dementia, as alcohol deconstructs the mind as well as the body. 

I'm praying for an about face, though, and I am noticing some positive changes. For winebibbers who like beer, Heineken just came out with 0/0, their fabulous concoction of wheat, barley, etc. sans the booze. Millennial athletes who are concerned about their weight (Oh, yes, alcohol does make you fat as well.) are beginning to take to the brand because guess what? It tastes the same as the regular stuff and has way fewer calories to boot. Those of you who are affected by peer pressure may appreciate that the packaging looks the same as well. No one in the bar room will know that you are not getting as bombed as they are and will be impressed with your increased capacity to maintain equilibrium after drinking a case of Heineken 0/0. (You can hide the 0/0 mark on the can with your right hand.) It's all good. Maybe some of the wine companies will come up with something similar as well. 

I know some of you are thinking that I am a total square, a teetotaler, and you are right. But I have reason to be as I have one friend in rehab right now with cirrhosis, one who died last year from it, and a few more who may very well pass away from alcoholism in the near future. It's plain tragic that the wino hobbyists aren't thinking about those who love them. Maybe they should. 

Sorry to be a downer. I'm just trying to save a few lives. 

See if you can get past the day sans a glass of your favorite vice. Good luck. May the Force be with you.

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What We Carry

 

bandolier - noun - shoulder belt with loops or pockets for cartridges (Google)

Immediately after finishing reading Vladimir Nabokov's Pnin, I transitioned into Tim O'Brien's contemporary novel realistically depicting the Vietnam War entitled, The Things They Carried. In it, the focus is on a small group of soldiers and whatever has accompanied them into war. One of the obvious corporeal belongings includes ammunition in bandoliers and one of the spiritual? Love. So far (I am on page 60), the concept of what can be toted along no matter where one travels is a motif in the fictive story that could easily be autobiographical. Unlike Nabokov's, O'Brien's voice is simple, yet the syntax flows readily like water in jungle streams that the soldiers traverse in Nam. Last night while reading the book, I couldn't help but ponder what I might hide in my bandolier if I were one of the characters. Maybe nothing original. Maybe exactly what the protagonist First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carries: a letter from a woman who occupies his heart and photos of her. I don't know about the letter, but I would definitely carry pictures of those near and dear to me. 

What we take along with us in life says a lot about who we are. I tend to stuff quite a few useful things in my purse that most women would never think about including in theirs. The last time I was at a bridal shower, I won the pocketbook scavenger hunt because I was able to unearth passe contents, such as a pocket address book and mini pad and pencil, from my bottomless pit of a handbag. No one else had anything close. Since when did these things go out of style? Anyway, those two items alone speak at least two paragraphs about who I am as a person.

Yet perhaps it is what we carry inside of us that is more significant, the contents of our hearts, our souls. Fictive Jimmy Cross has undying affection for a woman who doesn't return his feelings, and that is okay. It doesn't matter. What does matter to him is that his unrequited devotion helps to keep him alive through the thick and thin of his tour of duty. Maybe it is not important whether or not we receive love. Maybe it is important that we give it without expecting anything in return.

If we carry love in our metaphorical bandoliers, we won't need any other ammunition or anything else. It alone shall sustain us.

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Defining Contretemps

 

contretemps -noun - an unexpected or unfortunate occurrence or a minor dispute (Google)

Contretemps is a French word meaning "against time." Which clearly makes sense given the initial definition. Surely, anything unexpected conflicts with time or what is expected within it. But let's look at the second definition for a second. According to it, contretemps would point to a minor altercation as opposed a major one, meaning a spat rather than a full-on feud. Yet is it possible that a situation could involve both definitions of the word? Definitely. 

Here's proof: My sister, who most likely will read this blog sometime today, is the proud owner of an island in the St. Lawrence. Don't picture Maui; think Walden Pond, only more remote and more untamed. She and her son were in the process of allowing the natural environment to take control in order to sustain wildlife, letting things be while cultivating saplings to replace trees that had been lost during the construction of their island home as well as a half century of storms. 

During the month of August, my sister decided to lease the house to relatives of a neighboring island family, yet she had neglected to stipulate in the lease agreement that alternations to the property are prohibited. Well, to make a somewhat long story short, the lessees took it upon themselves to "cut the lawn," decimating all of my sister's efforts to ensure Nature's progress. Apparently, when my sister beheld the devastation, she screamed–her cry which resounded off of the rocks could be heard for miles. Was this an unexpected or unfortunate occurrence? It was both. Did it turn into a minor dispute? I'd say so. The tenants will be paying to replace the saplings. As for the grass? She'll just have to wait until it grows back. 

As life is composed of an unpredictable balance of good and evil, contretemps will surely crop up but grow back again and again like hewed crops, grass, or saplings. In the case of either definition or both, you have to "keep calm and carry on." Patience, after all, is a virtue. 

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Adumbrations to Patterns

 

adumbration - faint image of something; adumbrate - verb - to foreshadow or symbolize (Google)

Patterns govern life. Whether we see them in the light of day or in the depths of our dreams at night, they exist. Those of us who recognize them often find that they have the power to adumbrate future occurrences. Case in point: last Monday night I had a prophetic dream that I and a good friend of mine, Lisa, to whom I shared the images felt was a premonition. I dreamt of a football game, one taking place at an unfamiliar high school. A good friend of mine, Ted, a stocky male with a wonderful sense of humor and penchant for sumptuous portions of food and alcohol, was the focal point. Although he did not look sickly in my mind, there was something ominous lurking behind the technicolor backdrop that surrounded him. The next day, Lisa suggested that I text the protagonist of the dream. But I didn't have to. The dream wound up adumbrating death, not Ted's but another's, Rich's, someone with attributes in common with him. On Tuesday, I found out that Rich had passed unexpectedly. Rich had played football in high school (hence the setting of the dream) and, like Ted, was also a plump, comical man. But here's the clincher: both Ted and Rich were born on Christmas Day, five years apart. Yikes. The patterns present in the dream were close enough to point to Rich's passing. 

If we open our eyes and keep focused on recognizing patterns, they will reveal a lot of present and future truths to us. They could also direct us correctly. The problem is that most are not cognizant enough to pick up on nuances, the patterns that add up to the "Eureka!" moments. And I am not sure this level of awareness is possible to teach or even to point out to those who travel with blinders on. The solution to myriad problems involves cognition, being able to differentiate between fact and fiction, reality and fantasy. Having our eyes wide shut to the patterns may prove detrimental in the long run.

The takeaway? Keep your eyes on the bouncing balls. They might produce a prescient pattern.  

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The Feel of Elegance

 

sybaritic - adjective - self-indulgent, fond of sensuous luxury or pleasure (Google)

A couple of days ago, I blogged on the ability of the senses to enshrine past moments, only to awaken them in the present when they (the senses) are stimulated. Today's word sybaritic relates to the sense of touch, but the emphasis today will be on the present: feeling elegance in the now.

Even if it is against his/her nature, a person could easily become sybaritic under just the right circumstances. And the feel of elegance can very well be addictive. Writers of music and literature understand how this works. Take John Lennon's "Happiness is a Warm Gun" off of the Beatles' iconic "White Album." The sybaritic lyric? "He's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand like a lizard on a window pane," or something like that. I'm relying on memory here. I don't know about you, but I could definitely go for "the touch" of a "velvet hand" right at this moment even if it did feel more like the Geico gecko's scales rather than a human hand. Why? Sensuous luxury or pleasure makes me and probably every other woman (and maybe man) out there feel beautiful, wanted. And who doesn't want to experience a heightened sense of reality for free? And that's just it. Something sybaritic doesn't necessarily have to be expensive (take the surface of a marshmallow, for example) although it can be and probably should be. In Pnin Vladimir Nabokov, protagonist Timofey Pnin owns a "sybaritic smoking jacket of blue silk" that he takes out and wears on special occasions. Blue silk is definitely self-indulgent and encompasses the feel of elegance, yet as a slightly penurious professor at a small New England college, it seems to be the only expensive item that he owns. And that's okay because he doesn't need to own anything else. It suffices to make him–a plump, aging bald man–feel attractive and self-confident. Yes, you, too, can feel this way if you find the right stimulus.

What in your closet can be considered sybaritic? That boa in the back? Those Italian leather shoes? The sequined, silk-lined prom gown that you haven't worn for forty years but just can't donate to the Salvation Army? Take a look and a feel. Revel in the sybaritic for just a few minutes. Even the most spiritual people enjoy a touch of the corporeal every now and again. 

Whatever you do, enjoy the moment!

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On Extracting

 

defenestration - noun - (formal/humor) - the action of throwing someone out of a window

(informal) the action of dismissing someone from a position of power or authority (Google)

If you have been following this blog recently, you already know that I've been engaged in reading Nabokov's Pnin, a novel that is so articulate that even I (someone with a master's in English) have been persuaded to utilize the dictionary for clarification regarding words that I haven't seen used in a while or haven't seen used at all. Nabokov uses defenestration to provoke laughter although it is not a human that the protagonist Pnin extracts via the window; it is a soccer ball. In all of your years of frustration, how many times have you been tempted to commit defenestration? Most likely, you have discarded things via windows before? Maybe you were once caught in the act of doing something reprehensible and had to resort to defenestration to feign innocence? Hmmm. Defenestration may be more common than you think.

In the early 1980s, I found myself teaching English in an urban high school known for its obstreperous youths. I lasted a year in the position, which I considered quite miraculous, considering how many  unlawful behaviors I had witnessed. On one occasion during my period 3 class, I caught a boy smoking marijuana while I was giving a lecture on metaphors and miscellaneous tropes. Being that I had gone to school in the 1970s, I was not naive when it came to recognizing specific odors, particularly the smell of pot. I rushed back to where the culpable culprit was sitting to secure the evidence when he resorted to defenestration. The joint spread its wings and flew out of the window, but not on its own accord. Naturally, I wanted to use defenestration (the formal definition) to dispose of him, but he managed to do that to himself. Although the means was lost, his end was somewhat unfortunate as the next day, he quit school and joined the army. As a result of my "inability to manage a classroom," the school board voted to use defenestration (the informal definition) to rid itself of me. Which was fine as I was planning a jump out of the window myself. Self-defenestration does not always lead to death if your classroom is on the first floor, which it was. The following year, I was teaching at a Catholic high school (all girls) on the second floor of the building, which worked out well. 

The takeaway from this is simple: at times, we all get the urge to participate in defenestration, either the formal or informal definition. When it comes to extracting, we either act or are acted upon. It is probably a good idea to stay away from windows in skyscrapers, though, as you never know what you or someone else might be thinking :). 

Be safe. 

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Sensuous Sensations

 

cadmium red - noun - a bright shade of red from the pigment of the element cadmium; vermillion 

We humans perceive and document life via our five senses: eyesight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell. If we were to lose one of our senses, our immediate perceptions would be somewhat thwarted, and consequently, our memories would not be able to store the past vividly. Very few can recall the past that precisely, though, and most tend to be relegated to sight: what they can recount visually. For example, cadmium red tends to remind me of a specific Valentine's Day involving a vermillion lollipop that my first boyfriend gave me, which I saved for thirty years just to document the occasion palpably. Okay, I'll admit to being overly sentimental. After all those years, the pop had melted in its cellophane wrap, forcing me to make the heartbreaking decision to toss it. Nevertheless, the other four senses–hearing, taste, touch, and smell–can also be depended on to pick up on familiar sensations and project us back, permitting us to relive momentous moments in our lives. 

Yesterday I had the good fortunate to be invited to a classy, ladies-who-lunch type of luncheon, celebrating my best, most sophisticated friend's sixty-second birthday at her sister's country estate reminiscent of Daisy Buchanan's mansion in The Great Gatsby. (In high school, my friend was voted "Most Sophisticated" and has never lived down the classification.) Her sister, a former v.p. of NASDAQ, regaled us with witty anecdotes of her chance meetings with various celebrities who had started their careers quite young. Somehow the conversation segued into a discussion of which senses packed the biggest punch re: sense memory. For whatever reason, the sense of smell ranked up there with vision among the Millennials present. Apparently, various aromas can take them back to highly detailed recollections. Personally, I think I have aged out of that ability as my olfactory sense isn't up to par. It is rare that I can take a whiff of something that propels me back in time anymore. 

With the aforementioned being said, I am tremendously thankful that we all have been endowed with sensuous sensations. They allow us to "suck out all the marrow of life" as Thoreau would say and experience minor miracles in the present that eventually stimulate nostalgia going forward. 

Every minute brings with it a minor miracle if we allow our senses to absorb the greatest of the present.

Enjoy the day! 

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Unexplored Territory

 

terra incognita - noun - unexplored territory (Google)

The terra incognita in this life can seem intimidating due to the fact that each of us is quite small and the world, in general, is quite vast. The term itself has a sumptuous history. Used in cartography (map making) for regions undocumented, it was originally seen in Ptolemy's Geography (c. 150) and reintroduced in the 15th century. Today, lay individuals rarely use it. I happened upon it while reading Nabokov's Pnin. He uses it metaphorically to describe the uncharted wasteland that is Pnin's toothless mouth pre-dentures. Naturally since the comparison is quite farfetched and exaggerated, it comes off as being comical, intentionally.  

But let's get back to the initial offering, the terra incognita of it as there is much unexplored territory in the statement. Even if you had all of the wealth on the planet, you probably would not be able to get to every nook and cranny. Some exorbitantly rich people, such as Elon Musk, who is very much the man of the moment, has given up on trying to reach all corners of the planet and has aimed his sights on the stars via Space Ex. Apparently, the infinite terra incognita of outer space is far greater and far more challenging than that on Earth. I've got to hand it to him as he does think large. Yet, for those who think and operate small, there is terra incognita to be found locally. For example, in an effort to entertain ourselves two weekends ago, my daughter and I sought out two unfamiliar parks and visited them. Both reservations of land provided enough in the way of terra incognita and natural wonders to amuse us for hours. So you see, you don't have to vie with Elon Musk to find yourself a stretch of something different to stand on. Of course, he intends to do more floating than standing, but that's besides the point.

The takeaway? A little can sometimes be a lot. On the eve of 9/11, we probably have to think about being grateful for the small as opposed to the vast. 

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Eyeopening Eye Wear

 

pince-nez - noun - style of eyeglasses popular during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, supported without earpieces by pinching the bridge of the nose (Google).

While reading Vladimir Nabokov's Pnin (Pun-neen), a humorous, extremely articulate relic from the 1950s that blows all contemporary fiction out of the water in terms of voice, I came across a word that I hadn't seen since I taught Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest: pince-nez. As a full-time wearer of eyeglasses (The years have played havoc with my sight.), I find anything remotely related to opticals fairly interesting. Spectacles have definitely evolved, yet have also stayed somewhat the same over the years. Today, our blinkers consist of bifocals, progressives, transitional progressives–which I sport–cheaters (a.k.a. reading glasses) and shades (sunglasses with or without the prescription lenses), my favorite being President Biden's aviators. I'm sure he wears them just to look cool, and he does–look cool, I mean. even for someone pushing eighty. Pince-nez I personally associate with Teddy Roosevelt–"Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far"(but be careful how you use it around your fragile pince-nez). He always looked more like a teddy bear when wearing them albeit bears don't wear glasses. 

Since it was in vogue in the 1890s up until the 1920s, you would think that the pince-nez has all but disappeared. Sorry to contradict you, but by mistake while Googling "pince-nez" to uncover more information, I came across Gucci's version of the original, priced at $740 sans prescription lenses: a pretty hefty sum for a pair of pince-nez that might get into the habit of falling off of your face at will every now and again. Oh, but the Guccis do come with a fashionable strap that will prevent the glasses from dropping any farther than the chest if they should stray.–good to know if you are contemplating the investment.

What I find somewhat ironic about eyeglasses is that they correct our vision so that it is accurate, but can't remediate what we perceive in ourselves and in others. Practically never do we see ourselves for who we are, and often our judgements of others can be clouded as well since it is so hard to skip away from subjectivity. I wish someone would come up with a pair of pince-nez to rectify this human flaw. And if he or she or they did and we bought a pair and wore them, how would our life trajectory be altered? Just something profoundly eyeopening to think about on a rainy Thursday morning.

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From Cuckhold to Wittol

  

wittol - noun - a man who knows of and tolerates his wife's infidelity (Lexico.com)

I have to admit that five minutes ago, I didn't know that wittol existed. However, I am aware of cuckold. The term is used quite a bit in classic 19th century novels, usually to refer to an old, rich geezer married to a beautiful young nymph who can't seem to be faithful to her boring, infirm hubby. Her cuckolding him results in derision aimed at him, naturally. Others, particularly his male peers, see him as laughable since he is unable to "control" his woman. Tolstoy's Anna Karenina is my favorite of these books. Anna's husband does know of her infidelity, but tolerates it only up to a point. If you read the book, you already know that what he thinks of her dalliance with her military man soon becomes superfluous at the end. 

On the other hand, wittols are not merely a product of the literary past. There are quite a few out there in reality. For example, an ex beau of mine knew his wife was cheating on him. In fact he couldn't help but noticing as she dangled her younger lover, a college professor, right in front of him like a 4-H-blue-ribbon carrot. Still, he was unprepared to grant her a divorce. What? Finally, he was forced to because she wanted to marry the academic. And he, the wittol, of course, wanted to date me. It worked out fairly well for all parties involved until I happened upon another lover myself and left the man who had been left. Needless to say, Fate wasn't too kind to the wittol. Later, though, he married his office manager, the next woman that looked at him, and as far as I know, they are still married. The guy got himself somewhat of a Hollywood ending after all. His wife is too unattractive to cuckold him, so he probably feels secure. It happens. 

Needless to say, wittols don't like being wittols. Many have to be because they simply can't afford to divorce. After a few hard years, their once straight-arrow marriages take a turn in another direction, going from linear to incurved, from closed to open. I guess this romantic modernity could work, but if I were the wittol, the divergent arrow of infidelity would puncture my blow-up kayak of equanimity. Basically, I'd rather swim than sink to new lows morally. But to each her/his/their own, right? Who am I to judge? In the end, I suppose that wittols wind up loving their wives too much. And sometimes when you love someone that much, you, like that arrow, can't quite see straight. It happens. 

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"All that Glitters Is Not Gold"

 

sudd - noun - an area of floating vegetation that impedes navigation in a stretch of the White Nile (Lexico.com)

The aphorism "All that glitters is not gold" can apply to humans as well as aspects of Mother Nature. I have to admit that I am a superficial person. More than once, I have fallen for the glitter sans the gold. Good looking bastards are my kryptonite. In short, they make me weak in the knees so that I can't keep my panties in place. Crude, but true. They impede my progress when it comes to finding the right Mr. Right who shimmers not just on the surface but within as well. I have learned more than once (but obviously have forgotten whenever a new flawless face walks in the door) that attractive surfaces can be deceptive and even harmful to one's wellbeing. 

Mother Nature has a tendency to play this game as well as she bestows us with something beautiful to look at and then has it bite us in the behind, so to speak. Sudd in the White Nile is an example. All floating vegetation is usually fairly easy on the eye. I mean, look at water lilies, lovely, innocuous but a potential hindrance to all floating vehicles, like sudd. I'm not talking tankers here, though, maybe just canoes or kayaks. 

For whatever reason, New Jersey tends to get smacked in the face with preternatural, natural dilemmas, like Hurricane Ida the other day or babesiosis, a parasite in deer ticks that causes a malaria-like disease in humans (my movie-star-pretty ex had it and it nearly killed him). The malady du jour is the spotted lantern fly, a good-looking, winged bug dressed in designer red and black polka dots, that can devour trees and shrubs whole. When its wings are splayed, this insect is really gorgeous, but totally lethal, like most of my handsome exes. Here in Jersey, we have been told not to spare the mini bastards; we must crush them on sight. The problem is that they are multiplying too quickly to exterminate in that primitive fashion, so most of us are once again going to have to spend the big bucks on professionals to do the trick, something I can't legally do to any prepossessing ex who has tried to strip me of my own greenery. 

What is the takeaway from this banter? 1. Don't fall for anything or anyone that is superficially sparkling. 2. Don't move to New Jersey. If you are already here, seriously consider moving elsewhere. I am, preferably to a place with mediocre-looking men who are genuinely nice. 

Hope you enjoy your Labor Day wherever you are!

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A Word that Tells It Like It Is

 

skanky - adjective - informal - revolting (Lexico.com)

Let's face it. Our society has become filterless. Decorum went out of the window decades ago with mothers forewarning their kids that if they said shut-up to them one more time that their mouths would be washed out with soap. I'm channeling my own mother here, a woman born in 1917 who was in high school during the Great Depression. She knew the meaning of etiquette. A word like "skanky" would have never flown with her as she wasn't particularly fond of words beginning with "s" (I already mentioned "shut-up"). God forbid if you ever said "suck" in front of her, and if you hurled a "shit" at her, you might have wound up swallowing your teeth, chasing them down with a shot glass of blood...yours. It was clearly a different world back in the sixties and the seventies, a tad more dangerous for the filterless particularly under 18. 

Today there are myriad colloquialisms that have found themselves into dictionaries. Obviously, a lot has to do with the Internet. "Skanky" is a slang term that tells it like it is. Not only does it mean revolting, it sounds revolting as well. How perfect. The word obviates any need for a mnemonic device since, simply put, all you have to do is pronounce it, and you feel ill instantly. But it is nothing new. According to Wikipedia, believe it or not, the word came about in the 1930s as a variation of "skag," a poor, scruffy person or ugly woman who might have had poor hygiene or was sexually promiscuous. The term has evolved, as most do, or should I say devolved. Today, it can be used to refer to anything or anyone that is nauseating in any sense of the word. 

Whether or not, you are a fan of "skanky" is up to you. The good thing about language is that there are usually many synonyms you can use in place of a word that you don't especially like. "Skanky" is not my cup of tea. Although my mom passed away in 1999, I still think she might reprimand me at some point if I use "ugly" verbiage, no matter what letter it begins with. But neither she nor I would judge you if "skanky" happens to be your favorite, go-to insult. To each his/her/their own. Word to the wise, though. You can win more friends with compliments rather than insults. Sorry, I just had to squeeze that one in there. 

Happy Labor Day Weekend!!!!!

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Forces that Keep Objects in Place (9/2/2021)

 

stiction - noun - frictional force which hinders an object from being moved while in contact with another (Lexico.com)

Last night, New Jersey and New York were subjected to the cascading tears and whirling tantrums of Hurricane Ida. She was a handful, bad but not as bad as Irene or Sandy, her sister storms of intense rain and wind. Still, the images of cars drowning in the rising rivers and streams and houses reduced to fragments of wood and glass were enough to make the eyes bleed. Some of the vehicles and houses were pushed together via stiction. I can't imagine how the drivers and homeowners were able to escape, yet most did. It was pure adrenalin, the will to live, I'm sure.

As for my daughter and me, we were and are just fine. Thank God. Miraculously, the electricity held, and the sump pump has been working hard, activating every few seconds to ensure a dry, finished basement. Stiction might be involved mechanically in the positive sense, I suppose. Our inventions can get us in and out of trouble, it seems. 

Lately, enough evidence proves the human race is clearly being tested. Mother Nature isn't pleased with our dirty habits. If we stand together, accepting of green legislature, stiction will allow us to do what is necessary to please her so that this planet can continue. I usually never get political, but global warming is nothing to deny. It's real. Let's do what we can to mitigate the problem. Each individual can take responsibility before it is too late. 

Thankfully, the sun is out and the azure skies are cloudless this morning: a sign of good things to come? Hope so.

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The Avatar of Remiss (9/1/21)

 

remiss - adjective - lacking care or attention to duty; negligent 

I have to apologize as I have proven to be the avatar of negligence when it comes down to fulfilling the expectations of you, my readers. The former title of this blog, "The Daily Word" implies that I provide you with a new word (and commentary) every 24 hours or so. Unfortunately, as life has become a bit complex lately (I'm sure you know what I mean), I can no longer promise you something to peruse and contemplate on a day-by-day basis. However, I am not going to throw in the towel completely. I just decided to change the name of the column to "Word to Words" to reflect a commitment, just not a "daily" one. As the new title suggests, I won't be changing the content of the blog; I will just be writing it whenever possible.  

I hope you will hang in there with me on this journey called blogging. 

Thanks! 

Gwyn