Unused words

While listening to a book on my way home from work one day last week, a character in the story mentioned that something had become their lodestone. I puzzled on that word in that context and liked it, and then thought that I was one hundred percent sure that in my eight years of writing these musings, I have never used that word. For the rest of the week I paid attention to see what other words might fall under that same umbrella. The list I compiled included clavicle, pagoda, bamboozled, turbine, camel, hickory, instagram, journeyman, weathercock, and pathos among others. 

I’ve always admired people whose vast vocabulary made the use of unusual but very apt words seem so natural.Those of us of a certain age may remember Word Power, a regular piece in The Reader’s Digest designed to help grow our vocabulary. Or, perhaps you are a fan of the word-a-day app or calendar, something to keep increasing our knowledge of and understanding of the power of words. A cursory google search told me that on average people speak 16,000 words daily, that we may know 50,000 words but commonly use only 2,000.

Then I looked at my list again and wondered how many of those I had never used. Ever. Even in conversation. And, you know what? I ended up back where I started. Lodestone. A thing that is the focus of attention or attraction. Like words. Maybe you’ll enjoy playing a similar game for a week and see what words start to intrigue you, but don’t let me bamboozle you into it.

Marilyn

Don’t know about you, but...

Our house only had a bathtub and we took baths on Saturday night and maybe once during the week. The showers at summer camp were a novelty. My dorm at college had showers on each floor and one bathtub that we had to sign up to use. Sometime over the last few decades the norm requires daily showers in fancy spaces. With seats. Of marble.

Growing in Buffalo we called tap water Lake Erie. On our vacations up in northern Canada there was a water pump. As a kid, I thought it was so cool to pump and drink from the aluminum cup that hung there. Lunch boxes came with a thermos which was used mostly for soup. Sometime over the last few decades the norm requires bottled water of all sorts. Plain or flavored. In plastic. Easy to carry. Easy to discard.

I’m probably a typical recycler, trying to remember to put my empty bottle in the right bin. Trying to remember to not run the water the whole time while I’m brushing my teeth. “We all live by robbing nature, but our standard of living demands that the robbery will continue,” wrote poet Wendell Berry. Now, there’s nothing wrong with a refreshing daily shower. There’s nothing wrong with bottled water. Perhaps there is something wrong with our norms. I read somewhere that the next world war will be over water rights. Before it comes to that, there are probably some things we each could change. Don’t know about you, but I intend to give those norms some more thought and reevaluate my expectations and needs.

Marilyn

Out of balance

Ceiling fans were a great invention and, in my opinion, are a necessity. They are a practical alternative or boost to air conditioning on a warm, breezeless summer evening. They provide some psychological comfort that the air actually is moving. But, to work best, to do the job they were intended for at any speed, they need to be balanced. When they are not, they shake and are noisy. Not the hum of the refrigerator background kind of noisy, but more the rattle in the car engine kind of irritating sound. The kind of rhythmic thumping that is like a brain worm that keeps one from being able to relax, let alone fall asleep. 

When something is rhythmically thumping in one area of our lives, it can be very hard to feel that there is any type of balance. We spend so much time and focus so much energy on that one thing that everything feels out of whack. Now, some of that is normal. Think of major events. New parents. A sudden death. Changing addresses. With all of those, we ultimately find a new balance. At least, that is the hope. But when we suddenly realize that we’re feeling sluggish, blah, stressed, cranky, snarky, anxious, or a litany of other states, most likely things are out of balance.

I’ve lived in a couple of places where my ceiling fan was fine, but the one in the apartment below me wasn’t, and that was even more troublesome because it was out of my control. My floor and bed trembled and the annoying machine ka-flunk was audible and it was necessary for me to ask others to deal with their own imbalanced fan. Similarly, when we notice things are amiss in the lives of those around us, we have to gently invite them to reflect on what’s out of balance. We don’t have to be engineers or mechanics or electricians to fix our own or another’s imbalance. We just need to be aware, open to some self examination and exploration, and willing to act. Thomas Merton said, “Happiness is not a matter of intensity, but of balance, rhythm and harmony.” May your week ahead be balanced.

Marilyn

4:44 a.m.

It’s funny how we remember certain small things. Years ago I had invited a couple of friends over for dinner and, at the last minute, included a woman we’d just met. She had recently married a widower we knew and he was out of town. She mentioned her routine of getting up at 4:44 a.m. for some quiet time before her workout on the treadmill. Shortly after that meal, they moved away so we never spent time with her again. I don’t even know if she is still alive, but as an early riser myself, if the clock reads 4:44 a.m., I think of Peg. There are other people who have moved on and we’ve lost touch, yet, every year on their birthday or some other occasion, I think of them, again, without knowing where they are or if they are in this world. That would be okay if they were all folks I want to remember, but there are a couple whom I’d prefer had moved on all together, not to be thought of again.

There are also small instances, like times I screwed up, reacted poorly, downright lied, was bruised or hurt that periodically reappear. Even if the wounds are healed, forgiveness asked for and given, an echo remains, a shadow lingers, and I am again in that emotional spot for a split second. 

These small moments aren’t festering or continually running like ticker tape across my brain. It’s that they occasionally flash, shedding a spotlight on them once again, like an unconscious nudge. If it was something I said or did - or didn’t say or do - then it’s a gentle reminder that, while still a flawed human being, I hope I learned from the experience and have grown. It’s surprising that it is not the heartbreak or major disappointments that haunt. Maybe some morning at 4:44 a.m. I’ll try to discern why it’s the little ones that pop up. If I get an answer, I’ll let you know.

Marilyn