A blog by any other name…

To blog is to know the very essence of the inane, but nonetheless entertaining, art of the written word. You can blog out loud.  Yes, BLOG OUT LOUD! You can blog in Color…why certainly—COLOR—oh, wait, that is loud color…it reminds me of a dress I saw on a manikin in a store window at the mall last evening…but, I must not digress---yet.  Can you blog in an intellectual style with class and dignity… why, of course, you can my fine fellow…but then why would you want to do something such as that?

“Blog” is taken from the term “web log” meaning to write-talk (a neosphere expression to explain a manner of communication via the internet—e-mail messages qualify as write-talk) in whatever fashion strikes your fancy on the internet so as to fill cyberspace with woeful tales, comic relief, and to advertise whatever it is you would like to sell. Most of all, I suspect, blogs sell the author—to themselves. I bet that doesn’t make sense to you. If, in fact, it does not make sense to you, it means one of two things…either you are extremely well adjusted, as is your family…no dysfunction in your house…or you have never blogged. (Blog is technically defined thusly: ·  read, write, or edit a shared on-line journal ·  web log: a shared on-line journal where people can post diary entries about their personal experiences and hobbies.)

It seems obvious, given the situation, “web log” is such a horribly long term and so difficult to say that someone actually shortened it to “Blog.” (Can you say facetious boys and girls?)  Our lives are so full we must use terms like G-B indicating a garbage bowl, or E-V-O-O…meaning of course, extra virgin olive oil.  Does it really save you so much time to say E-V-O-O rather than extra virgin olive oil that it is worth the effort to program it into our brains?  The same principle applies to words such as air conditioner…it has become the AC.  The television has become the TV. Your identification is known as your ID.

Why do we humans do that? 

Do what?

Make short words out of long words even when is just as easy to say the original word. Oh. Perhaps just to save time in our overly-busy word world.

Think about nicknames—why is Hank a nickname for Henry?  How is Jack any shorter than John?  How did it come about that Bill is a nickname for William…Why not Will or Willie, or how did we get Peggy or Peg as a nickname for someone named Margaret?  Why do we have nicknames anyway? Now do you see how silly we humans really are?  But it goes on….

Then there are acronyms such as NATO—“North Atlantic Treaty Organization”, SCUBA—“Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus, WHO—“World Health Organization, LASER—“Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation,” let's not forget NASA--"National Aeronautics and Space Administration," and  SNAFU …did you know that SNAFU is an acronym?  This term was actually given birth by the military…it is an acronym for the phrase “Situation Normal All [Fouled] Up.”  Meaning of course, a normal situation has taken a bad turn by whatever means, and is now no longer normal, as anticipated, or desired. Well, I can see why we would need an acronym for that seemingly oxymoronic observation.  But then, at the time it was created, I sure it made sense to someone. Actually SNAFU makes more sense just in and of itself—once you are oriented* in the manner intended for its original use. (Now, does that sound as if it should be included somewhere in the Federal tax code? You know, the one issued by the IRS!)

Like many other acronyms, SNAFU has been adopted into civilian language and used as a stand alone word to mean a complication or problem.  Another word, all though not an acronym, which was taken from the military, is accouterment or accoutrement, meaning an accessory or piece of equipment associated with a specific object, task, or role. 2. a piece of military equipment carried by soldiers in addition to their standard uniform and weapons.  But, you knew that already, didn’t you?

Acronyms are commonly written using be all upper case letters, but as we take them into our communication as common words we change them. SCUBA has become scuba used mainly to mean just diving and performing underwater, LASER we call laser—a light that has nearly magical properties…there are many people who do not realize both of these words are acronyms.

No wonder we blog—our lives have become so complicated and time often runs amok—now there is a word to add to your repertoire—“amok” has a cool sound, doesn’t it? Even the dictionary definition is cool: amok (adverb) meaning out of control in a very frenzied way or confusedly in or into a confused or disorganized state OR (adjective) frenzied or out of control as run amok—to become out of control, especially in a frenzied way—we need a time to take control back and mellow for a while.

I must admit blogging, or web logging, is a wonderful way to be creative, communicate, and relieve stress…betcha never thought about it being therapeutic! For whatever reason each individual writes or reads….a blog by any name at all would be just as sweet!

So—blog on souls of merriment--blog on!

:Footnote:

*…which brings to mind…you are never “orientated” even though you may attend an “orientation” class or meeting….you are only “oriented,”  While I am at it, please note…. you did not go acrossed the road—you either went “across” the road or, you simply "crossed" the road…why?  To get to the other side!

A jam sandwich and a pine float…..

I am dieting….yes, believe it or not, I am cutting back on what I eat and making a lot of changes in the types of things I consume. I must lose a few pounds. I am also walking a couple of miles each day in hopes of accelerating my weight loss.

Since I got married a little over three years ago, I have gained a few pounds that make my clothes not fit as well and my mirror reflection frowns when I look at it. My otherwise semi-perfect body is doing well...it just weighs too much. I realize that my age has a little to do with that. I got a message on my Face Book wall from a niece that made quite a point. The question posed went something like this: “Why is it I can remember lyrics to a song I knew from ten years ago, but I can’t remember why I came into the kitchen?” She also stated…“sometimes getting old sucks.” Well, let me qualify that just a tad.

Getting old is quite detrimental to most of us…but then what is the alternative? Live hard, die young, make a good-looking corpse. Okay, getting old is the better side almost all of the time. But, she is right…getting old can really be an encumbrance—and in my case it is my weight. The late night snacks might be another contributing factor…and, hmm…other things.

Of course, changing my lifestyle has definitely played a part in the weight gain as well. I went from working six to seven days per week—delivering, sorting, and picking up the US Mail and working for the hospital in Chipley as a kitchen supervisor--to working six days per week sitting at my computer processing orders from an online store. (But, I do have to admit…with this job, I can quit when I need to and take an afternoon nap or just watch the news if I am of a mind.) At any rate, and whatever the reason…I am dieting.

To begin my day, I had a glass of V-8 Hot and Spicy to wash down my thyroid pill and a hand full of vitamins and supplements. A couple of hours later, for breakfast, I had a small bowl of dry cereal wilted with a little 1% milk…with some water added to make enough liquid for the cereal and to dilute the calories.
For lunch, however, I had a half cup of mixed greens with a few slices of cucumber, some raw zucchini, two tablespoons of canned tuna and a teaspoon of salad dressing. It almost tasted like food. Oh, yes about 10:30 A.M. I had half an apple. It could have been a little sweeter for my taste, but when you diet, even a slightly tart apple is good to the palate.

While I am dieting, I am also kicking the caffeine habit…again! Those diet Mountain Dews and Cokes really play a number on you if you let them. I have been at this since Monday morning so my 72-hour period for overcoming a physical addiction has ended. It is the 72-day period for overcoming the psychological addiction that is kicking my butt!

I saw a sign on the back window of a car one day, when I was going into Wal-Mart to buy soft drinks, which read, “The doctor says I have too many red blood cells in my carbonated water.” Sometimes it does seem as if my veins run rich in carbonation.

Okay, where does Coca-Cola Anonymous (CCA) meet? Can you imagine a bunch of Cokeaholics meeting in a twelve-step program?

Creed: “Give me the courage to walk each day with a bubble only in my step and not in my beverage. Help me to overcome the tendency to succumb to the sound of a pop-top can being opened. Allow me the common sense to know that carbolic acid is not a vitamin and that natural and artificial flavoring is not on the food pyramid. I seek to walk a clear-water path, and with God’s help I know I can overcome.”
Instructions: Say this creed each morning and each evening…and anytime you feel the urge to partake of the dastardly soda pop! To make it even more effective…say it as you are standing on the scale looking at your true weight…not just the one you have made up in your mind. Yeah, like that would work!

Hello, my name is Olivia, and I am a caffeine junkie….but even more so, I am a carbonated drink junkie. (Insert here: “Hi Olivia”—from all the fools here with me—also carbo/caffeine addicts!) Okay, so I am officially “on the wagon.”

Speaking of the food pyramid….who thinks that stuff up anyway? Few people in the world plan meals according to the information contained in that little triangle of nutrition. If we made the pyramid to fit the way most people eat it would be a little different. Imagine…bottom row: dry cereal, pop-tarts, bagels, sausage biscuits,Whoppers and Big Macs,fried chicken,seafood platters,ice cream,in the south: Sweet Tea, and Coca-Cola; next row: hamburgers, cheese burgers, macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, French fries, Donuts, Gummy bears, Snicker Bars, Coca-Cola; third row: spaghetti and meat balls, bar-b-que, pizza, mashed potatoes, Mexican-like food from Taco Bell, dessert, Beer, Pepsi-Cola: forth row: green bean casserole, corn, corn dogs, hot dogs, Chinese food, Coca-cola, and in the south…Sweet Tea; Top row: GRAVY…so that it dribbles down on top of everything else! Ah, America the land of milk and honey…and fast food joints…a nation of gourmands.
Now that I have that said, I believe I will prepare dinner. I will “jam” two slices of whole-grain, sawdust-like bread together and put a toothpick in my water to spice it up a bit.
The menu: A “jam” sandwich and a pine float…… I feel myself getting thinner every second.

Word play...keeps me young at heart

As long as I can recall, I have written whatever was in my heart or on my heart. It helped to heal the pain, express feelings otherwise hard to convey, and eased any stress in my life. It is also quite enjoyable to create, to pen, even to give birth to poetry or prose. It is only natural that I would blog at this point in my life now even though I am only somewhat technologically adept.
I find inspiration in different places and situations which I find inviting, comforting, even alluring. One of my favorite places to compose ingenious work is at the seashore or beach, or whichever you prefer to call it...the distinction can be made by the locale. I find when you are in the southeast United States you go to the "beach"...be it on the Atlantic or the Gulf side. In the Northeast they refer to the the beach as the "shore." But whatever the vernacular or colloquial term--it is still quite an inspiring place to be, at least for me.
Part of the lure of the seashore, of course, is the immenseness and grandeur of it all. I am lulled and coaxed by the rote (the noise of the surf or waves breaking on or near the shore) of the water. The smell of the salt air is also an alluring condition of the beach. It is also wonderful for your sinuses and your lungs, but that must be written of in a different blog.
One afternoon, I found myself quite alone on Blue Mountain Beach on the Gulf of Mexico between Panama City and Fort Walton Beach--and various points also between--the sunset was in gentle progress, the sky was a glorious color, and the water an emerald green closer to the shoreline. The high tide now diminishing had washed away any evidence that another person had even walked on the sand that day. My pen painted the scene in one of my favorite poems. I call it

At Ebb Tide
The ocean's voice is a gentle rush
Of ebb tide's waning sound.
The seagulls dance in shallow pools
And feed from the salty ground.
Sandpipers pick amongst the gulls--
Their share of ocean's bounty claim;
And cast a shadow upon the sand
By the sky's dwindling flame.
The sun will be but an ember soon
As it reaches for that heaven-sent time
Where the sky meets the earth
And forms a water-etched line.
The shallows are an emerald green,
But I watch for they will stray
To where the water turns a dark, dark blue
And then a darker gray.
I come to the sea when I am alone;
I walk the shore untrod.
I come to the sea to partake of the beauty
When I need to meet with God.
...1994

For a while I worked as a newspaper reporter and columnist. I loved the writing part of the job...but I must admit, I was not a good reporter. I just did not have that feeding frenzy instinct that leads good reporters to glean all the facts--especially in cases where people were suffering, hurt, or...dead. I covered several cases of such human misfortune. I had a hard time sticking a tape recorder or even a pad and pen, that would reflect in the tears, into the faces of victims and their families and asking them how they felt as they watched their house burn to the ground, when they first found out someone had died, was missing, etc. etc. etc.—or other equally asinine questions.
I interviewed quite a few people for human interest stories and mostly what I learned was many people confuse who they are with the worldly possessions they have accumulated. What a shame.
While writing for one small weekly publication, my editor used the term "wordsmith" quite often. I am not sure what one must do to be officially, and perhaps technically, deemed a wordsmith....I do sometimes hammer out the words to make them express my intent...but never under a spreading chestnut tree...so, I am probably not to be considered a wordsmith.
I love words and the sound they make on paper. But it is merely the word play that keeps me young at heart.

Some days I conquer; some days I let my brain sleep in

I worked with a woman some years ago that had a little sign over her desk that had printed on it: “Of all the things I’ve ever lost, I miss my mind the most.” After working with her for a while, my thought was she may not have been kidding.
I worked in that arena, a large school of higher education, for a couple of years before I understood why she would say that…but since then, I have decided my mind is not lost, but goes visiting so often I no longer miss it when its gone.
I am not implying my responsibilities are of such menial, mundane levels or lack of import they require little or no thought—for surely that is not true. It is just that after doing the same things for so long, I can accomplish many of my daily tasks by rote (mechanical repetition of something so that it is remembered, often without real understanding of its meaning or significance). Much of the work I do is programmed into my entire cellular structure not just my gray matter. My complete physical and psychological composition is permeated or saturated with it. At times it seems the keyboard and calculator are extensions of my hands. (Kind of an Edward Scissorhand symptom or situation). So my mind is free to wander, visit elsewhere, or just stay abed if it so chooses. My body, unfortunately, is seldom allowed the same luxury. (Hmmm…just a thought, if I could get my mind to go to work and leave my body abed…..Hmmm Guess that can’t be done—stuff of Sci-Fi movies.)
I am sitting here looking at my 19” flat-screen monitor trying to decide if my brain is indeed up and thinking or if it is still abed. I know it is not visiting some far away place or situation or it would send me pictures occasionally to add insult to injury by letting me know of what I missing out by being at work.
Insert disclaimer scenario here: You are, probably, aghast that I am blogging from my desk at work…well, just calm down. I am not stealing hours or money by doing personal tasks on my boss’s time. You see, I work from home, I am the boss, and I am doing this on my break time—or as I like to call it—my respite time.
Okay, now that I have that established, my mind must have come to work with me this morning…so I conquer. But, the day isn’t over…so I will report back when I am through with my work.
The work day is over. I have been to a new restaurant serving Indian cuisine. The food was excellent. I am back.
Have you ever played the game “Conquer or Consequences?” No? All right, you have me there. I have never played that game either. But it sounds good. In all truth, though…there is not a board game, or a TV show, or any other game called Conquer or Consequences…the fact is this concept is called Life…as in mortality, day-to-day rat race, etc. My mother used a mind-game phrase once in a while when I wanted to do something for which she wouldn’t say no, but she wouldn’t say yes, either.
“Do whatever you want to,” she would say. “But you will pay the consequences.”
Well, isn’t that always the case? No matter what our decision, good or bad, wise or foolish, we will pay the consequences. That doesn’t always mean bad things will happen. Sometimes the consequences of our actions are rewards, not punishments. But when parents use that psychology…the implication is something bad will take possession of your soul if you follow your desires and you will be cast into hell for ever—or you will have to do dishes every night for the rest of your life! Whichever punishment the parent deems worst.
So today I conquer. My work was shared on whatever ratio was needed with brain and body both pulling their weight. I accomplished many things which I “have been meaning” to undertake (—the old “road to hell…paved with good intentions rule applies here). I have filed all the things which I have been piling for weeks…my philosophy…pile it until you have time to file it….my piles were heaps, my desk had disappeared except for the lower drawers and the legs. Much of my floor space had started to look like a garbage heap…but today my desk is clean. My floor is actually showing the new red carpet, and I can find things again, such as my stapler, my printer, and my mouse pad.
Yep, today I conquer, but will my brain desert me another day? In the words of Scarlett O’Hara Butler “…tomorrow is another day….I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”

Now playing at a theatre near you...

I have decided not to go see the movie now playing at my local movie theater entitled, "Why Did I Get Married, Too?" The reason is not that I do not think I would like the movie…I enjoy some of Tyler Perry's work...but the fact is I have been asking myself this very question as of late.

I was married, the first time, at the tender young age of 17...I thought, somewhere in the back of my young brain, that I was a very sophisticated, worldly--young, but nonetheless, woman. What I found out rather quickly into this quicksand-type situation was that, in fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. I was being engulfed in a murky trap and suffocated….I had to fight to walk, to talk, to survive.

Now, many years later, I find that I am somewhat more mature—biologically and emotionally...but not a lot more "worldly" and probably not a whole lot wiser, for the most part, either.

I went to work to support myself when I was but 13 years old...yep, I lied about my age and got away with it for a while...when I could no longer get away with it in one place, I moved to another job. I was 15 and claimed to 18. One of my older brothers help me lie my way into a bigger and better paying job as a grill cook for a local hamburger chain (I had been a carhop in another hamburger chain—in the days when “curb service” was common.)

Working in hamburger joints exposed me to many things in life my parents never told me about. At 16, I met a man who thought I was 18...We dated, he fell in love and when I was 17--we married. We had been married for oh, at least a week, when I figured out I was still a little girl in a grown body that was fearful and lacking in the ability to successfully make a life and home on an adult level. All the things I had learned at the hands of mouthy, trashy, co-workers; and my brief exposure to bawdy women and crude men in a nightclub as a result of such associations were only part of the slimy underbelly of life that provided no base for emotional maturity. I knew nothing of what I needed to be a contributing individual with the feeling of any positive self worth.

It wasn’t until I got much older that I understood the self-worth thing…the “hind sight” phenomenon kicked in and I realized I had never grasped from a seedling that I was someone of worth. Even a seemingly insignificant acorn can become a mighty oak if not crushed under a heavy heel before given a chance…I was nearly as the unlucky acorn….I was almost never given a chance. 2B continued.

The author--About me

Born in a small southern town in the Florida panhandle, population 1203…then it was 1204. I was the third daughter born to my parents. When I was but three weeks old, however, my family relocated in Central Florida in hopes of more work, higher wages, and a better way of life.

My father was a farmer, a well-accomplished carpenter, a song writer (but that is a totally different story), and a clown--I must have learned my humor from him. My mother was a housewife, gardener, doctor, teacher, friend, litigator, arbitrator, and incubator—a mother...she gave birth to eleven children...seven of whom are boys...four were girls, now women. From these offspring, my mother became a grandmother 31 times, a great grandmother and great-great grandmother more times than I can recall.

I have a lot of respect for my mother and my mind is filled with wonder and awe when I think of all she accomplished... She did not get a lot of formal education, she was not a career woman as the world defines it...she rarely worked outside her home. What she did, however, was raise to adulthood eleven offspring. She lived with my father until she died in 1988 at the age of 71+ years, just a few days shy of her 54th wedding anniversary. But while she lived—she mothered, she sewed, she cooked, she cleaned, she doctored, she chauffeured, she grew beautiful flower gardens, she raised chickens and vegetable gardens, she was active in church with a strong testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, taught Sunday School, took active part in Relief Society—the woman’s auxiliary at church, made hand-stitched quilts, and she worried about her children.

She did not get a driver's license until after her youngest child was born. While my father was working out of town...she taught herself to drive on the back roads of Orlando... which then, was a relatively small town...the orange groves next to our home and the dirt roads where my mother taught herself to drive, long before the advent of Walt Disney World, are now integrated into the business area of downtown Orlando. You can no longer find the little two-lane road called 43rd St by which I walked to school . It is all metropolized...is there such a word?...and overgrown with traffic and large buildings. The lake where we played and fished as kids must surely still be there...but where, and what is it called now? It was just the lake in Mr. Crawford's pasture when we were kids playing ball and running free.

My mother was a woman among women--a standard bearer. One of her most earnest desires beyond the well-being of her children and grandchildren was to travel to the "Holy Land" to walk where the Savior walked... I am sure she walks with the Savior now, not just where he has been.

But, about me?: I should be as good at everything I do as my mother is at what she does.

I seek respite--therefore, I Blog

With all I have to do each day...I now know to preserve my body and my sanity...I have to find time for me....to let my branches stretch out; to soak up the rays of all things good in this life.
I have lived a few years...I have raised three children of my own and a few who were given birth by other women who chose to run and play instead of taking care of their offspring. That's okay though, I do not mind that part.
I have experienced the death of my parents, two of my brothers, a beloved Aunt, and a daughter-in-law just in the past few years. I guess I am feeling my own mortality. There is more to me than bookkeeping, sales, phone calls, cooking meals, cleaning house, doing laundry, running errands, and trying to please everyone...
Today, I am learning to please me....how superficial you may say, how narcissistic, how down right selfish....Bah, humbug, (Ol' Ebenezer may have had a point at times) I say to those who might make such utterances or mental judgments...

There is nothing selfish about taking care of oneself. There is nothing narcissistic about caring enough about yourself to say...No, I can't do that right now. I have me on my agenda. Heck, I am worth it! What about you?

As a matter of fact...I need to end this blog, give my keyboard a deserved rest and go have my hair, hands, and feet done. There is nothing like a good pedicure to give a person a new lease on life....Sometimes, it makes me feel like a new woman....if they are done particularly well....they make me feel like a new man...but don't tell my husband....I let him think it is him. But then, my husband is always the man in my life.....(LOL)