Calamity

Calamity: (n) sudden damage; a disaster

Regeneration.

I think that’s when alligators grow their tails back if they’re chopped off.

That doesn’t happen with humans. I know we don’t have tails–but if you cut off an arm, you’re left with only one.

Yet in many ways, the human race continues to contend that “things will get better if we just leave them alone.”

We will regenerate passion.

We will regenerate the values that seem to have slipped away.

We will regenerate racial equality (which was really never here in the first place).

Some people are waiting around to grow a conscience.

Other people insist they don’t have a soul, since they’ve stuffed it back in their closet and put a whole bunch of boxes in front of it.

Calamity is easy to understand. It is usually quite explainable.

It is not walking along on a sunny day and being struck by lightning. Rather, calamity occurs when we wait for solutions instead of working with the information we have to make things better.

It is the thought that since your tires are bald, they will not become balder.

Maybe it’s the notion that your child is no worse than any of the other kids in the neighborhood, simply because he has a similar haircut–but likes to kill cats.

Calamity occurs when life has warned us sufficiently, and reluctantly renders a judgment against us.

Without it, nothing would be fair.

And those who believe they are divinely protected from the by-products of stupidity need to be warned: God is not mocked. Whatever we sow, we shall certainly reap.

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Calamine

Calamine: (n) a soothing lotion or ointment consisting primarily of zinc oxide

It is not that teenagers believe themselves to be invincible, but rather, they have not traveled to see enough road kill to know when to avoid
the vultures.

Such was my case at age fourteen.

I found myself in the wilderness of Oklahoma, which literally had no civilization other than a few locals, who believed that God had placed them on top of this mountain because they were “The Chosen People.”

The solitude and seclusion opened the door to the possibility of skinny dipping. I would never skinny dip anywhere other than an ice-cold stream in the Oklahoma wilderness, around a bunch of friends who were equally as intimidated by the whole experience and so desperately tried not to look at one another’s peckers.

The bank descending to the creek was very steep, so unless you planned on leaping into the water (which as my friend, Bill, found out, was like breaking ice) you had to ease your way down–or as I found out, just slide.

There was vegetation everywhere, so I used that greenery as a moistening agent for my backside, to make the slip to the water more pleasant.

Now, moving ahead: it was two days later, on the drive back from Oklahoma, that I noticed that my rear end was extremely hot and itchy. When I arrived home, after rubbing my butt on the back seat the entire trip, I discovered that from the middle of my back to my ankles, I was covered with poison something.

The doctor couldn’t identify it. He said it was a little like poison oak, sumac and ivy all mixed together.

It would not go away. I was thoroughly convinced that I was going to have to explain the condition to my future wife on our wedding night.

Then somebody suggested calamine lotion. It’s not that the calamine healed this poison condition, but it covered up all the sores and seeping places, and eventually they just dried up and went away.

My mother, who loved to keep track of such thing, maintained that I went through 81 bottles of calamine lotion.

Since that day I have never used calamine again.

But I am very grateful that they came up with the product, and I hope they are equally as satisfied with me purchasing 81 bottles.

 

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Cake

Cake: (n) an item of soft, sweet food, baked and often decorated.

I don’t like cake, I like frosting.

There are times I was willing to eat a little cake to get the last portion of frosting. I have gone to weddings and parties and observed people
who eat the cake and leave the frosting. They feel very pious about this. They will even crinkle their nose and say, “The frosting is too sweet.”

Yes.

It is so sweet that you can taste the granules of sugar in your mouth.

Because of this yearning for frosting, I have learned not to eat cake. People offer it to me all the time at receptions and I turn it down, even when they tell me it’s sugar free.

The frosting is never sugar free. The frosting is delicious. The frosting is like devouring the living organs of the body of sweetness.

It is magnificent.

They even make frostings that have different flavors, textures and of course, coloration.

I cannot think about cake without musing over frosting.

When I was a boy, I once encouraged my mother to put less frosting on a birthday cake so that she would have half-a-can left, to place in the refrigerator, so I could sneak in later and slurp it up.

This required a rehab.

So let me say, part of my twelve-step program is to never eat cake because it’s tenderly caressed by irresistible frosting.

 

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Cajun

Cajun: (n) descendants of French Canadians dwelling mostly in Southern Louisiana

I try. I really do.

Being a congenial type, I always attempt to blend in and be open-minded, if not compliant.

Living in Louisiana for three years, it was assumed that I would eventually develop a taste for Cajun food. At the root of most Cajun food is
crawfish.

They love it.

A crawfish looks about the size of a newborn lobster. It’s bug-like. It doesn’t have much meat in its claws or its body, so much work has to be done to acquire nibbles.

The natives tell you that the best part of the crawfish is acquired by sucking out the insides of the head. As appealing as that may sound, it took me many months to garner the courage. When I did work up the nerve to suck the contents of the brainpower of the average crawfish, I was surprised at how much it tasted like salty snot.

I smiled, wanting to be a local advocate of cultural affairs. But after a while, I had to let my stomach and my conscience come clean. The food was too hot, it was too much work and it was filled with so much rice that I walked around for the next few hours like I was recovering from an LSD trip.

Cajun comes with food, accent, music … and attitude.

I never developed an appreciation for any of it.

 

 

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Cajole

Cajole: (v) to persuade someone to do something by sustained coaxing.

Debate is a debacle.

We certainly should have learned that over the past few years. It is permission to insult without embarrassment.

Conversation seems to lend itself to insincerity, mainly because the truth required on the inward parts of the human being to create excellent fellowship is reluctantly provided.

Preaching is preachy.

Teaching is tedious.

Entertainment is crippled with the need to be commercial.

There is much that needs to be said. Deep in our hearts we all know that humility is not an option, yet we continue to tolerate the boastful and proud being given overuse of the stage.

There are many things we know to be true which seem to slink to the rear for fear of being called “old-fashioned.”

So it is the job of sane souls everywhere to use art, puns, humor and silliness to cajole brothers and sisters who walk among us to begin to think and feel again instead of settling for inadequacy.

Cajoling is when we realize we need to be merciful to the ignorant. Ignorance is not a sin unless it persists and gains power.

We need to catch it when it is still in a childish position–to be gently cajoled into repentance.

 

 

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Cahoots

Cahoots: (n) colluding or conspiring together secretly.

By cracky, it’s just not groovy to use the word “cahoots” even if it does sound boss.

What a bummer.

Once again, it’s kind of unfortunate–because private unions and secretive agreements have become the favored way of doing business in
America, which leaves the common man–and woman, for that matter–wondering if they can trust anyone, yet feeling mighty nasty for being suspicious of everyone.

I think it’s important to establish your allegiances in life.

I don’t know if I pledge allegiance to the flag or not, but I certainly honor those who have given their lives and continue to sacrifice for the cause it represents.

I have an allegiance to my brothers and sisters who are presently on Earth. It is not more than I feel for my family, but it is not less.

I have a tremendous allegiance to the faith that has proven to be effective in my everyday life.

I don’t want you to wonder who I’m “in cahoots” with.

I don’t want you to read my material and try to guess whether I’m a conservative, a liberal or whether I post on Fox News or Huffington.

I want to be clear.

I don’t want any silent arrangements on anything in my life. If I know it, I want you to know it.

Unless for some reason it’s none of your damn business.

 

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Cagey

Cagey: (adj) reluctant to give information owing to caution or suspicion.

Is it getting the “smart” out, or is it “out-smarting?”

Simply said, the goal of human beings should be to humbly impart what we experience to the tribe around us, to measure its merit and allow
for wisdom to instruct our neighbors. Yet for some reason, we feel withholding makes us more powerful than imparting.

For those who believe in a Divine Being, there seems to be greater joy in establishing doctrines which alienate outsiders instead of widening the opening to include as many visitors as possible.

We like secrets. Therefore we become secretive. Once secretive, we need to be suspicious in order to maintain our solitude. And once solitude has been established, we become convinced that a cagey approach to life is the way to establish our supremacy.

Actually, the process is simple: a) say what you think; b) tell what you know; c) learn what is available.

Without this three-step process, our thoughts seem to gain golden proportions.

There’s a reason the brain is gray–it needs the colorful opinions of others.

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