(Photo credit: matthewvenn)
“Hope is an unbearably precious thing, worth its weight in feathers. If that’s too much to think about, best to tuck it in a pocket anyway, and make it a habit.” – Barbara Kingsolver, from “High Tide in Tucson, Essays from Now or Never”
(Photo credit: gemsling)
Snickerdoodles and Chocolate Chips (Photo credit: jeffsmallwood)
In all my reading I often run across some new word that catches me unaware. I used to write the word down and look it up later. Now that I listen to books, instead of reading the hard copy version, it’s trickier to catch the unfamiliar word. It’s not as easy to stop and reread the word, or capture it for later look ups. So I haven’t been picking up new ones as well as I’d like.
I do have a few lists around with words I’ve found over the years. Some of them are “old-fashioned” words that are seldom heard, but ought to be used more. Some are nonsense words like those often created delights hidden in the writings of Dr. Seuss or Shel Silverstein or Lewis Carroll.
This short list isn’t so much new words as it’s words I like the sound of. The way they bounce off your tongue, or imitate the thing that they are makes them especially appealing. Sometimes it’s a word I’ve heard often enough but was uncertain of the definition.
They’re easier to appreciate if you say them out loud.
Humdinger – somebody or something exceptional
Snog – to kiss (doesn’t sound all that wonderful, does it?)
Snickerdoodle – a crisp cookie with sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on top
Scooch – moving a small amount or distance
Smooch – kiss (this version sounds much more inviting)
Diddle – to cheat, swindle or hoax “hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon, the little dog laughed to see such a sight and the dish ran away with the spoon.”
Dillydally – to waste time by loitering or procrastinating
Chortle – a breathy, gleeful laugh
Scrumptious – splendid and delectable, like a snicker doodle
Bumptious – noisily self-assertive
Do you have any favorite words? How about a new word you’ve heard recently? Please share if you do!
Have you ever had a preconceived notion blasted out of existence?
I find myself guilty of making assumptions about people and situations way too often.
And then, the reality I was so certain of gets blown out of the water. Usually, it’s me being small and covetous. Being judgmental is just me wishing the crud in my life wasn’t. It’s me thinking life isn’t fair.
Most of us put on our game face, our fake smile, and do our best to look perky, energetic and do what needs doing regardless of how crappy we might feel or how heavy the world weighs on us that day.
A few people will see through our façade. But we manage to fool most of them and think our life is great.
You gotta figure everyone else does what you and I do. Everyone else has on a game face for the world to see. At home, the reality could be filled with tears, anger, and worry, much sadder and more desperate than we could even imagine.
That perfect little family down the street might be struggling with someone dying of cancer. The co-worker who seems to have it all together may be losing everything he’s ever worked for. The adorable Barbie-figured woman who jogs past your house every morning may be on her last gasp before running away from it all. The quiet, unassuming kid behind the counter who’s always polite to everyone, might have plans later that end it all.
Ah. You never know. Until it’s too late. Even then, you may not know.
Poker (Photo credit: maorix)
The cards we get dealt in life are ours to play however we choose. We can let everyone see what hand we have.
We can hold ’em close to our chest and not divulge a thing. We can have a poker face that discloses nothing.We can bluff our way through and have everyone fooled. Only we know what we’re playing with.
Why I’m using a card metaphor, I’m not sure. I think it’s a big cliché’. And, I’m a lousy poker player. And, I only play for chips, for fun, for the laughter. Hopefully, I play out my life better than I play cards, or write.
I’m reminded today that I can’t guess at what anyone else has in their hands, in their hearts, behind their door. I can only wish them the best, help when I can and be kind to strangers.
What’s that quote? It’s attributed to a few different people. But whoever said it, said it well and was wise.
“Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
I, for one, am going to try to be a little less judgmental, a little kinder, a bit more gentle. I want to give others credit for thinking through their circumstances and doing the best they can with what they have.
Maybe you’re the one fighting the hard battle. If so, you can be kind to yourself. Give yourself some slack, do a little something that feeds your heart and mind and soul.
If you’re one of those fighting a hard battle today, know that you are not the only one doing so. I don’t know if that helps or hurts. I do know that I wish you strength, energy, hope, happiness, coping ability, love, recognition of small joys, and the perseverance to keep moving forward.
(Photo credit: juliejordanscott)
Don’t give up.
It will get better.
You are not alone.
Bird feeder (Photo credit: Matt Peoples)
There is a Pheasant in my backyard.
Or a Grouse.
It comes and goes, from backyard to backyard. The one behind ours has a bird feeder, so it visits there often. And from what Jim, my neighbor two doors down says, it’s taken up residence behind an Oleander in his yard.
I took photos, to document this odd phenomenon in the dry desert. But the photos show what looks like a pile of rocks amid a bunch of rocks. Desert landscaping will do that.
Either way, Pheasant or Grouse, it just isn’t normal to see a bird this size, here in the crazy heat part of Arizona.
“Pheasant populations persisting in Arizona are largely confined to agricultural areas having a relatively high humidity (e.g., citrus orchards in the Yuma and Mesa areas) or high enough in elevation to escape the desiccating heat of Sonoran Desert summers. In such locations, a rooster will acquire a harem of from one to three hens, with mating commencing in early April. By mid-May most of the hens are nesting and of no further interest to him, and he will abandon his territorial patrols by the end of the month. The peak of hatching is during the last week of May, the most arid time in Arizona, which is one of the reasons why pheasants have not become established here”
Female pheasant (Photo credit: scyrene)
Based on photos, a bit of research and some common sense, I’ve decided this odd duck of a bird is a female Pheasant. Grouse tend to hang out up on the Mogollon Rim, high country as we call it here.
I feel bad for this bird. Clearly, she’s out of her element and won’t do well when the heat really settle in, unless she can find her way to a citrus orchard somewhere in the area. The nearest ones are about five to eight miles away.
I’m always amazed at how wildlife adapts itself to the intrusions and weirdness of humans.
At the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
When we first moved to Arizona fifteen years ago, it was fairly common to see a Fox trotting through an open field. It was much more common to see open fields that many years ago. The housing boom hit Phoenix with a vengeance and most of the open areas around us disappeared in about four months, give or take a year or two.
I often saw Jackrabbits of a substantial enough size that I’d do a double take. I’ve seen a Mountain Lion at the Riparian Preserve. The “Rip” borders a canal which is significant. Lined with a dirt road or even asphalt or concrete paths, the canals here are like an open invitation to wildlife from the foothills to come on down and play the city game. Poor misguided critters!
I’ve noticed some people seem to have wandered from their normal habitat into the suburbs and cityscape. These are people who prefer solitude , silence and privacy. I think sometimes I am one of those misplaced creatures.
The sound of sirens, the constant hum of traffic, crowds, stress of every hue, all combine, sometimes, to make me wish I lived in the mountains in a secluded cabin with a well hidden dirt access road.
I feel a bit misplaced and out of my element.
But I’ve adapted. I grow wildflowers. I have a backyard garden. I have a hummingbird feeder. I disappear into other worlds through books. I enjoy what music I can find in the suburban bird chatter of Dove, Grackle, Finch, Towhee and Mockingbird. I visit nearby open spaces and green areas. I walk. I ride my bike. I dream of the mountains.
I wonder if the Pheasant in the backyard feels the same way.
Wish I could help her find her way back to where she belongs without upsetting the natural order of things.
It could happen.
Before cell phones were commonplace, before cell phone towers dotted the country like stars dot the sky, car problems were trickier to negotiate.
Nowadays, if you have car issues, you whip out your trusty phone, call AAA or whatever service you pay for towing and flat tires, and within hours you’re on your way again.
Not that many years ago, it wasn’t that simple.
Driving North with two of my young daughters we crossed the Reservation, enjoying the strange and changing scenery, when the Honda van we were in started hesitating. That particular stretch of road was only two lanes, with a narrow shoulder. I pushed down the panicky feeling and watched for a pullout area, which was usually only the size of a car and just inches from the roaring traffic.
Vermilion Cliffs from Kaibab Plateau overlook (Photo credit: Al_HikesAZ)
As the van sputtered and lurched forward, I put on my emergency flashers, hoping there’d be time for the cars behind me to slow down before plowing into our backside. Fortunately, the next pullout we chugged up to was actually one of those spots built to accommodate sales of Native American trinkets, jewelry and fry bread. There were no people, and no cars, just us, the wind, and an occasional scuttle of clouds overhead.
I popped the hood and looked inside. I checked out the parts I knew about. Oil levels. Coolant levels. Loose belts. Battery terminals. We had plenty of gas since I’d filled up in Flagstaff. All appeared as it should.
Maybe the car just needed a bit of rest. We got out the snacks, had some water, explored the nearby sagebrush and torn up barbed wire fencing. Half an hour later, we all climbed back into the van and I started it back up. Everything sounded fine. So off we went. Ten minutes later, the chugging and spluttering began again only worse. Again I looked for a pullout.
This time we rolled into a large pullout with a Semi truck and trailer parked. I felt lucky thinking I could simply ask the trucker for help. Or at the very least, he could put out a call on his CB radio and send a tow truck. But as far as my knocking could tell, there was no one in there. More than likely, the trucker had crawled into the sleeping nook and was catching some Zz’s.
My next option was a quarter-mile hike to what looked like a tiny settlement, a small church, some kind of housing structures, a dirt path between them. And best of all, a thick wire hanging from the church to one of the buildings, indicating electricity or phone service. What I found was a solitary, ancient grandmotherly figure inside the open doorway of one of the huts who didn’t speak English. I did my best sign language for indicating the need for a telephone and she did her best to let me know I was up a creek without a paddle.
I hiked back to the van. We had plenty of water and food in our ice chest. So the heat wouldn’t be a problem. But what to do?
The girls were coloring on some paper they’d brought for getting through the boredom of the long drive. I decided to make a sign. “Please call AAA” it said in large block letters. Then I taped it, using their stickers, to the back of the van. Forty five minutes later a couple of women in a red convertible stopped to get our story, check on our status and offer to call a tow truck for us when they got to Flagstaff.
Hours later a tow truck lumbered into the pullout where we sat bored beyond all reason. It was nearing evening and I was relieved to not have to spend the night on the side of the road.
A car being loaded onto a flatbed tow truck (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The driver filled out some paperwork and then proceeded to hook our van up with a thick chain. Then he lowered the back-end of his truck at an angle and was ready to pull it up on the bed of the truck, which would then level out. He looked at the three of us and said, “you’ll have to ride in the van, I don’t have room in my truck up front.”
My heart nearly stopped. Surely that wasn’t safe. Or legal.
“Are you sure? I could hold one of the girls on my lap,” I replied, desperation in my voice.
“We do it this way all the time,” was his only reply. Conversation over.
Next thing we knew we found ourselves perched high atop the back of a tow truck, a stellar view of the sunset, the reddening cliffs and the heart stopping path ahead. A winding road barely clinging to the side of the cliffs.
As we proceeded up the cliff, the tow truck sputtered, the driver down shifted, the gears made a horrific grinding sound, and I was sure we would plummet in a fiery mass down to the bottom.
It was all too terribly reminiscent of another cliff side drive I had endured.
All the way up the mountain the gears ground and roared and argued with the driver. I told the girls to pray. I prayed like I’d never prayed in my life. Being stranded overnight on the side of the road seemed like a better alternative at that point.
After the longest ride I’d ever endured in a vehicle, we finally, miraculously made it to the closest town for hundreds of miles. The driver dropped us off at one of dozens of motels, our suitcases dragging pitifully behind us. He dropped the van off in the parking lot at the back. I was on my own to find a mechanic the next morning.
Oddly, the mechanic could find nothing wrong. We drove it around town, out on the open highway and back to the motel and it behaved perfectly.
“Probably some bad gas you got in Flagstaff,” he concluded. He was kind enough not to charge me for his time or his opinion.
For the rest of the drive to and from our destination, the van performed as if nothing had ever been wrong. Perhaps the precarious ride up the side of the mountain had scared it into submission.
Nowadays, the Reservation has some of the best cell phone reception in the western United States if I should need my trusty cell phone. But I’d rather not have to use it to call a tow truck.
Never again.
Virtual or Real?
Which do you choose most often?
I could share some definitions from a dictionary for you. Like so.
VIRTUAL
REAL
- 1 : of or relating to fixed, permanent, or immovable things (as lands or tenements)
- 2a : not artificial, fraudulent, or illusory : genuine <real gold>;also : being precisely what the name implies <a realprofessional>
- b (1) : occurring or existing in actuality
At the very least, you’ll laugh.
Finding a balance in life has never been easy. Seems for me lately the scales have tipped to one side too far. I’m working on a better equilibrium. I hope I don’t get caught with my pants down, (excuse the cliché’ but it fits, huh?)
If I remember my priorities that I wrote about here, then it’s easier to choose real when real is the best choice.
It isn’t easy. But it sure can be entertaining.
Some days and weeks are like a roller coaster ride.
Somehow, I’ve never quite learned how to deal with the sudden shifts in mood, perspective and direction that life can throw my way. My instinct is to crawl under the bed covers and sleep, let my unconscious mind create a workaround solution to the juxtaposition of happy and sad, or joyous and melancholy.
Reality almost always dictates that I stay out of bed, fully dressed, interacting with the real world. I simply have to put on my game face and keep moving in the various directions the tracks take me.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I remember a carnival ride growing up called the Wild Mouse, or something like that. Scarier than the full-sized roller coaster, each car held only two people tightly scrunched and belted down into tiny seats. At first the contraption moved the pair of riders slowly, haltingly upward, climbing higher and higher, providing a great view of the theme park and everything around for miles. Then suddenly the ride would shoot forward toward the outside edge of the track with a near certainty that it wouldn’t make the sharp ninety degree turn ahead.
Sure of my imminent launching out into the open air and down to the asphalt below I would close my eyes and try to hold the lurching terror of my stomach down. Somehow, miraculously, we’d make the turn without being thrown from the mouse shaped car only to careen up or down or out or around in a crazy mouse maze of speed and height.
Give me a roller coaster any day of the week.
I read a book a few years ago called “Who Moved My Cheese.” It’s about resilience and the ability to adapt and go with the flow. At least that’s the message I took away from it. My friend Kathy pointed out to me the other day that I’ve become skilled at moving with my cheese. In my personal mouse maze of life I’ve somehow managed to not get too lost or jaded or discouraged for too long.
Once in a while, in the middle of some incredible happiness and some of life’s best moments, life throws out rotten tomatoes. Wrapped up in the revelry of good stuff, I’m always caught off guard by those not-so-happy zingers.
What to do, what to do?
Put on my game face. Steel myself. Hold on for dear life.
And enjoy the moments that I can.
Even when things are tough, life is still filled with wonderful things. If I can remember that, then I am blessed beyond counting.
Call me strange.
Not quite the epic beginning as Moby Dick’s “Call me Ishmael.” But it will do.
No I’m not starting a novel, don’t worry. I just find myself reviewing my life lately. Which is something I usually avoid religiously, especially if I’m a bit overtired.
What I stumbled on in my revelry and self-scoriation was this bit of wisdom and light:
“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.” – Proverbs 17:22
Those fifteen words, strung together in the specific order they’re in, have made a world of difference for me.
(Photo credit: Brenda Anderson)
I took life so seriously, for so many years. I didn’t see much room for laughter or joking, for silliness or play. And then a series of people taught me without even trying, that there needs to be, and can be, joy amid the sorrow and laughter even when the world is pressing in.
Some days I think the only thing that gets me through is the ability to smile in spite of it all.
And some days seem filled to the brim with joy and laughter.
Stumbling on the idea of intentional happiness as a daily balm, a kind of lotion for my soul, has made all the difference.
I choose to see the positive. At least I try to.
Call me strange.
Rain days (Photo credit: @Doug88888)
Rain
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can’t do a handstand–
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said–
I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.—Shel Silverstein (1930 – 1999)
Rain camera (Photo credit: @Doug88888)
The rarity of rain in the desert brings out the oddness in some of us dry skinned, somewhat parched critters. Today’s downpour, complete with a bit of surprising lightning, reminds me of some delicious memories.
We don’t live in a rural area, but we have rural patches of neighborhoods in the landscape of our town that haven’t been incorporated into the city. This leaves wonderful one and two acre lots with farm animals, irrigation, bumpy roads without curbs, traditional on post mailboxes out front of the houses, and best of all, a sense of the history of this former farming community turned big city suburb.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I used to drive my youngest daughter to fifth and sixth grade, usually taking a short stretch of county road. On rainy days the water would flow haphazardly on the edges of the road in huge muddy puddles. At the time we were driving a well-loved older model Jeep Cherokee with four-wheel drive.
Did you know if you’re going just the right speed and hit a puddle at a certain spot you’ll get a wide arching wall of water that can shoot out a good twenty feet? My daughter and I discovered that one drizzly morning.
Rainy school mornings took on a whole different feel for us. The anticipation of knowing we’d get to splash and spray our way to the school motivated us so we were usually ready to go earlier than usual. We called these mornings puddle jumping days.
Fortunately no one was ever walking the muddy shoulder of the road on rainy days. Approaching a glistening pool of brown water filled us with excitement. The sensation of tires hitting the edge of the puddle was answered with a marvelous shower and spray of water propelling outward and upward in an artistic chocolate sweep. Sometimes, depending on the depth of the puddle and the angle the tires hit the water, we’d end up covering the jeep in a deluge of mucky water. Fortunately I usually had the wipers already going due to the rain pouring down.
Does this look fun, or what? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
We aimed for puddle after puddle all the way down the road. I’m sure any onlookers thought we were high school troublemakers raising havoc. The goats and sheep looked on in bemused silence. We left behind emptied puddles and chaos.
Ah, we laughed our way to school those days.
I still can’t resist a puddle on the side of the road, whether I’m walking or driving. I want to make a splash, soak everything in sight then look behind me at the mayhem.
Today is gonna be a great one!
Kami's Beautiful Morning 