Author Archives: Jonathan Richard Cring

Aqualung

dictionary with letter A

Aqualung (n): a portable breathing apparatus for divers.

There are some movies I just can’t watch.

I shall not bore you in this brief article by listing them, nor elaborating on each and every style that curries my disfavor. Let me just say that any movie where people are swimming under water, holding their breath, scares the…well, scares the salt water out of me.

Especially when people around me start trying to imitate, holding their breath also, to prove they would be able to survive the ordeal being dramatically acted out in front of us.

Let me be honest. Normally I find myself to be a generous, giving sort of soul. If you’re a dollar short, I will come along. If you need a lift to work, count on me.

But if we happen to be under water, sucking on breathing tubes and suddenly my tank goes dry, I’ll rip that mother right out of your mouth.

That’s right. It wouldn’t matter if you were my mother.

Some sort of terror of suffocating would cause me to abandon all social restraint, and Christian training, for that matter.

Upon resurfacing, breathing and seeing your body floating in the water, I would be ashamed. I might even second-guess my instinct to survive.

But I can’t even bear to watch people trying to use those tanks in a movie, or discovering that they are low on O2, and begin passing it between them like there’s a choice for the other person to survive.

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this and I certainly hope I never find myself in this position. Because no one wants to play the coward in the movie, who swims away from the little girl who’s in peril.

But I guarantee you, if I were placed in such a dilemma, I would swim away … like a little girl in peril. 

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Aptitude

dictionary with letter A

Aptitude (n): 1. an ability to do something 2. suitability or fitness

For a myriad of reasons, I barely made it through the 1980s with my being intact, primarily because of my complete disdain and obvious aversion to personality tests and aptitude quizzes.

It was all the rage in that era and still persists today in pockets promoting superficial psycho-babble.

The notion of taking responsibility for one’s life or learning a craft seems so arduous to the average person that they would like to believe they were born with certain abilities, rarities and anointings so as to take all of the mystery and work out of their personal journey.

Parents, aunts, uncles and grandma and grandpa all encourage this by noting everything from the timber of our early babble, to the length, height or breadth of body parts, to place a mission upon us before we’ve even learned how to stop messing our pants.

Certainly everyone wants us to fall into a personality type, where we can hide behind the pluses and minuses of that particular idea to explain our behavior.

But even though these testers will insist that you can be docile, quiet, introverted and silent, they sometimes fail to remind you that it is the world around us that requires we step out of our shadow and into the light.

Yes, perhaps intimidated folks can be given a name, but it is the gregarious ones who will be given the position. One would think it’s a plot, to keep part of the population oppressed in order to supply fodder for the more menial tasks, if one was of a nind to believe in conspiracy theories.

What I think is that we are too grounded in a Calvinistic, pre-destined American thinking that wants the whole plan laid out in front of us by the time we’re three years old, to ever instruct the general populace in matters of manners, intensity, perseverance and expansion.

I can tell you of a certainty that I had no aptitude for anything but eating. Yet there isn’t a doctor alive who will let me believe “I was born” with the aptitude to be fat. Isn’t that interesting?

Apparently some characteristics are inserted at birth and others become bad habits.

So what I choose to believe is that I have nothing but an aptitude for laziness and if I pursue that, I will end up poor and alone. Therefore I choose to overcome my aptitude … and study the present pursuit that rings my bell.

 

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Apt

dictionary with letter A

Apt (adj): 1. appropriate under the circumstances 2. a tendency to do something.

At the risk of coming off like a Gloomy Gus or Grumpy Grady, I will tell you that I yearn for a simpler time when people’s functions, goals and even occupations led you to believe that certain attributes or virtues just might be included.

Yes, I think that a grocer should be apt to courtesy and warmth, and gregarious. I really don’t want him or her thinking about their stock portfolio, but instead, greatly concerned about the freshness of my tomatoes.

I think a politician should be apt to be nearly boring, insisting on discussing the issues pertinent to the constituency, instead of overly zealous about hand-pumping, baby-kissing and making deals with lobbyists.

It would be wonderful if ministers were pre-disposed to practice what they preach instead of merely preaching what they practice, hoping that somewhere along the line “it’ll all work out.”

I think musicians should be thrilled that someone wants to pay them a dollar to do what they love instead of finding ways to act like the craft of making music is deadly and painful.

I am apt to be a writer from time to time–and I certainly do not want to bore you with my process, nor lead you to believe that my writer’s block lands on me, crushing my bones.

Finding peace with oneself is a two-fold process:

  1. Discover something you like to do.
  2. Keep liking it.

If we actually did this in our country … we just might be apt to succeed. 

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Apropos

dictionary with letter A

Apropos (adj): very appropriate to a particular situation.

Mr.Torrence had an aggravating mannerism which put people off and made them eventually despise him for his short-sightedness.

He was one of my eighth-grade teachers and the faculty advisor for our student council.

Every time we gathered, got into the midst of what we considered to be a fruitful discussion about some things that needed to be changed in the school, or about various projects we wanted to pursue, which seemed to be in line with the wishes of our friends, he would interrupt and say, “That’s not apropos.”

The first couple of times he said the word, we were all chilled to silence, because no one wanted to admit that we were unfamiliar with the idea. But finally, one of the braver members piped up, “What do you mean by apropos?”

He chucked at our ignorance and replied, “It’s off-point.”

Well, I’ve never been one to accept the authority of a figure simply because he’s had more birthdays and wears a tie, so I piped back, “It’s not off-point if we don’t think it’s off-point.”

He furrowed his brow in disapproval and sternly warned, “I am the adult here and I know what’s apropos and what’s not.”

Once again we all cowered in fear.

No one said anything else, and truthfully, our little organization was completely unable to back any idea or complete a project.

I had this abiding belief in my soul that eventually I would get old enough that I would escape the “Mr. Torrences” and be able to make my own decisions. But no matter how many bites of birthday cake I consume, marking the passing of my years, there continue to be these creatures, like Mr. Torrence, who want to decide for everybody else what is apropos.

Some do it claiming a reverence for God or a moral code; others do it because they have an inherent fear of change. And then, a vast majority put forth this profile simply to be controlling assholes.

Our entire country is stymied by a “spirit of apropos.”

We are stalled on the entrance ramp of the highway of life.

We are inundated by individuals who want us all to shiver in silence, never able to build up the speed to enter the stream of traffic.

Throughout the march of humankind, people have tried to chloroform new life by making us all afraid that what we’re about to do is out of line–and certainly not apropos.

Without the souls who are rebellious to the “Mr. Torrences” who come along, we still would be owning slaves, raising cattle, treating women like donkeys…and eating our dinner in the darkness of a cave.

 

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April Fool’s Day

dictionary with letter A

April Fool’s Day (n): April 1st, a day on which people play tricks on each other.

Most of the time, April Fool’s day is fun, filled with practical jokes ranging from the sublime to even the macabre.

I remember once convincing my seven-year-old son that I had to go off to war against Poland, because the people of that country had refused to send us our alloted Polish sausage, and it was a time to stand up for our rights and demands for processed meat.

But there was a time in my life when I pulled an April Fool’s prank which backfired seriously, because what I thought was obviously comically bizarre was accepted as true, and had to be played out.

It was about two years after my father had passed on. I was continually trying to cheer my mother up with various antics and projects. (About six months after my dad’s crossing over, I took my mother bowling, agsint her strong objections, only to discover when we got there that she had never been bowling before, and rather than being a joyous release of tension, it became an arduous task of painful instruction and embarrassments, ranging from trying to get bowling shoes on her feet to retrieving a ball she had rolled down the alley which only made it halfway.)

So I should have been aware that April Fool’s jokes involving one’s mother were not always destined for success.

There was a restaurant near our town called Kahiki. It was known to be very expensive and a posh center for those of affluence.

Thinking that it was obvious that I would be unable to afford such a dining experience, I jokingly told my mother I would take her to Kahiki that night for dinner. I walked out of the house giggling to myself, figuring that she would decipher that the whole thing was a joke when she realized it was April 1st.

About three o’clock that afternoon, my little brother came running to the door of my apartment, and told me that our mutual mother was in the process of putting on her best Sunday dress and was even wearing makeup and fixing her hair. She had intoned to the little fellow that she was so moved and so looking forward to “a night at the Kahiki.”

Somehow or another, arriving at her home and screaming “April Fool’s!” did not seem appropriate.

I spent the next two hours driving around town borrowing money from people who had told me they would never lend me money ever again, to secure the funds to take her to this lavish eatery.

Arriving at 6:30 that evening, a bit out of breath and pulling on my suit coat, there was my mother, sitting and waiting for me with her purse in her lap, tears in her eyes, so grateful for her son’s generosity.

I took her to the restaurant. We had a lovely evening. And I spent the next two months being bugged by my friends to get the payback for the cash.

I learned something very valuable: April Fool’s Day jokes always need to be very, very obvious.

 

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April

dictionary with letter A

April: (n): the fourth month of the year, in the northern hemisphere, usually considered the second month of spring.

“I just love the seasons,” she proclaimed to me in explaining why she lived in a tiny town in Michigan.

I assume she was talking about spring, summer, autumn and winter. But since I have lived in a collision of communities all over the country, I will tell you flat-out that no one gets four seasons.

When I lived in Ohio, the situation basically was that somewhere along the line in the month of May, it went from winter to summer. I was aware that April was supposed to be springlike, with temperatures in the fifties and sixties to prepare us for the Vernal Equinox. But there were Easters when I had to slide on my snowboots.

Living in Nashville, Tennessee for a while, I was also promised by the Chamber of Commerce that there would be four seasons, only to discover that spring was often swallowed by winter and fall would be consumed by a lingering heat wave from the summer.

The only two seasons which actually seem to have dibs in the pecking order are summer and winter.

Even in our climates which purport to be “tropical,” you get “summer” and “wet.” And I suppose “wet” can be spring, fall or winter.

So April, to me, is always a month filled with the celebration of Easter (except when the calendar screws us up and puts it in March).

Somebody jokingly told me that April is unique because it has the dubious distinction of containing the birthday of Adolph Hitler. (I don’t know why I included that.)

So although I believe that April really wants to bring the showers to provide the impetus for May flowers, it is just as likely to provide the “building fluff” for Frosty the Snowman.

 

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Apricot

dictionary with letter A

Apricot: (n): a juicy, small fruit resembling a peach, of an orangy-yellow color.

I do not feel that the apricot has been adequately addressed in any public forum.

It probably could remain so, and the world would continue to revolve and Kentucky Fried Chicken still contain eleven herbs and spices.

But since I have been blessed with the benefit of sharing useless information to very valuable people, I shall elaborate on ny sentiments about this little fruit.

First and foremost, it is a temperamental sort. It has about a fifteen-minute life cycle, when it is sweet enough to eat, and the rest of the time is either too hard or too bitter to undulate on the great dance floor of my mouth.

To determine this, I have denigrated myself to the caveman mentality of “squeezing for freshness.” If I feel, upon palming the item, that the skin of the fruit somehow separates from the meat, then it is possibly ripe enough to eat.

If, upon placing it in my hand, it resembles a golf ball, then I know to put it aside and leave it alone, lest its bitter disposition enter my sanctuary.

The second aspect of the apricot–which I’ve never heard anyone explain–is that even when I do find one ready for consumption, because the skin is a bit tough, or perhaps a touch furry, I feel compelled to use my teeth and tongue to fold it over, so that the fruity side touches my teeth and the skin is tucked inside.

Does anyone else do that besides me? If you don’t, I can recommend it–because then you get the soft, sweet fruit without the tough hide.(Which, by the way, might be an accurate parallel to my relationship with women.)

So I would have to conclude that I am quite fond of apricots, but I do want to make sure that they are adequately ripe and that the skin stays away from setting my teeth on edge.

 

 

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Approximate

dictionary with letter A

Approximate (adj): close to the actual, but not completely accurate or exact.

Pet peeve. Please forgive me. Example:

“How many people were at the concert?” I ask.

“Approximately 47,” he replies.

Yes, it bothers me when people say they’re going to approximate a number and then give me a specific one. You can feel free to say “I would approximate between 45 and 50,” but 47 is what I would call a hard count.

Also pet peeve, case in point:

“What time will you be there?”

“I would approximate 7:15ish, but it could be later.”

Now I’m confused. First of all, I don’t know what “ish” is doing on the end of any word. 7:15 comes around once a night, and all of its neighbors have names, which are not associated with it. For instance, 7:16 is different.

I know this is silly, which may be the definition of a “pet peeve. (All pets are silly in their own way. Anybody who thinks a hamster or a fish gives a crap about them should spend a day or two in the loony bin. So when my peeve is my pet, I feed it, hold it, pet it, put it back in its cage and hope it does not poop all over everything.)

I do try to be patient with people. I realize they don’t share my predilections.

I also try to understand some of their pet peeves, though honestly, their particular renditions always seem, to me, to be pet rocks.

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Approval

dictionary with letter A

Approval (n): the action of officially agreeing to something or finding something acceptable

It’s not easy to get approval.

Matter of fact, most human systems are set up to filter out the riff-raff, and in so doing, often discourage those who are not as tenacious as they should be, but still possess value.

This is the problem with the committee.

There are four types of people who populate committees, and are therefore in charge of approval:

1. The individual who has legitimate concern about an issue and wants to make sure good things happen.

2. The person who has an ax to grind and disagrees with most of the decisions made by previous committees and wants to be there to rectify the situation.

3. The person who can’t say no to the job but really has little interest in it, and therefore is swayed back and forth by the majority.

4. That guy or gal who feels it is their duty to say no to most things–otherwise affairs may get out of hand. And simultaneously, they hope to be known as the person who stood against something that turned out to be really bad.

I have spent most of my life trying to avoid seeking approval.

It’s not that I don’t want input and opinions, it’s just that in the pursuit of approval, the wheels of progress grind to a screeching halt and the vehicle which was taking us to our future plans suddenly is parked, looking like it doesn’t run.

Approval is hard to get and because of that, we have a tendency to be stingy in giving it to others. So my feeling on the issue is that I welcome you to have insights on what I do as long as you understand that I’m going to do something.

 

 

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Appropriate

dictionary with letter A

Appropriate (adj): suitable or proper in the circumstances

Yes, it is similar to those orange cones they set up around construction areas.

You find yourself driving along and you look up ahead, and suddenly traffic is backed up, and as you inch your way closer, you discover that someone has put up these orange cones to cordon off an area which is under repair–although it is not always obvious that such care is actually being given.

That’s the way I feel about our society.

Having lived for a while now, I have seen the social “orange cones” put up around certain issues to slow down the traffic of human progress and establish the fact that this subject or issue is “not appropriate” for either consideration or discussion.

When I was a kid it was divorce. “Good people” just didn’t get divorced. Matter of fact, if you were writing a play in that era, you could connote that a woman had loose character simply by stating that she was a divorcee. But eventually the orange cones were removed from the issue simply because so many people were participating in the practice.

In my teens, we were taught that the Vietnam War was patriotic. Orange cones were placed around the appropriate response, which was to show support for the endeavor. Anyone who considered it a worthless adventure was alienated.

Then, almost overnight, the orange cones were removed and it became appropriate to stand against the war and criticize U.S. involvement in Indochina.

It goes on and on.

I suppose there are those who consider the removal of all orange cones, offering a freeway in policy and thinking, to be the ideal way for human evolution to travel.

But it’s tricky business.

We do need some orange cones placed around a few issues–otherwise we will ignore the appropriate response necessary to grant each individual dignity.

I can think of two right off the bat:

  • Orange cones should be put around free will.

The minute we think we are victims of destiny, unable to change our circumstances, we lose the power of what it really means to be human.

  • And I think orange cones need to be placed around the sanctity of life in all its forms.

Otherwise we will make arbitrary decisions that certain members of the family of humankind are worthy of death and others should be lifted up on the shoulders of life.

What is appropriate?  Give people free will. And don’t kill.

How cool. It rhymes.

Free will and don’t kill.

Great orange cones for protecting something that is totally appropriate.

 

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