Category Archives: A words

Abreast

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abreast: (adv.): 1. side by side and facing the same way: the path was wide enough for two people to walk abreast 2. alongside or even with something: the car came abreast of the idling motorcycle.

I am taking a moment here to get all of my fourth-grade male giggles out of my system so I can talk rationally about the word “abreast.” I don’t need to bore you or cause you to lose respect for me by sharing some of the jokes that came to my mind when I first encountered today’s word. Let us just say that there is a small child who lives within me, and even though I try to starve him, he scrounges for scraps and survives.

But the word “abreast” struck me today–from a more mature place in my soul–as the description of the equality we desire in our human family and relationships.

But the teeter-totter approach to gaining equality, where for a brief season we extol one group of people as better than others, to try to even the playground, only to rush over and put more weight on the other side in an attempt to keep the game going,  seems not only to be ridiculous, but counter-intuitive with being abreast–side by side.

I don’t know–maybe black people who had been snatched from Africa might have found the experience tolerable if every day their white counterparts were sweating in the field right next to them, picking cotton, instead of sitting in the big house sipping mint juleps.

Is it possible that men and women would discover more similarities in their character if they actually did more things together?

It is going to be difficult to achieve equality in our world until we come to the conclusion that we were meant to be abreast–right next to each other, involved in the same projects without discrimination.

The same spirit that is deemed repugnant when a man says, “The little woman needs to be in the kitchen rattling the pots and pans…” is equally as nasty when the overwrought female on the situation comedy informs her husband, “You’d be a helluva lot happier if you’d just do what I told you.”

One is viewed as misogyny and the other as comedy. Why can’t they both just be stupid?

I am not interested in anyone being inferior to me, nor will I tolerate their superiority.

Come abreast–if you can stop your fourth-grade brain from giggling.

Abreaction

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abreaction: (n.) a psychological term for the expression and consequent release of a previously repressed emotion, achieved through reliving the experience that caused it (typically through hypnosis or suggestion).

But why do all of our abreactions have to be negative?

In other words, no one ever hypnotizes someone to have them remember all the details of that beautiful day they won the blue ribbon at the county fair. No one sits down in therapy and helps people retrieve the glorious sensations of the first kiss at the door with their date. I don’t think there is any psychologist who puts a shingle out advertising his or her function as helping us retrieve joy, exuberance and victory.

Perhaps there is some value in reliving past memories that are painful or have been pushed deeply into our emotions or soul. I would not question this. But in a negatively charged universe, to further increase the negativity in an attempt to gain positive results, seems to me to be to be both counterproductive and even mean-spirited.

I don’t know what I can do about all the stupid things that happened when I was a kid. I instigated many of them, so to relive them only stimulates my guilt instead of motivating my grit. And those things that were done to me by others might be better drowned in the sea of forgetfulness than excavated as an abreaction in some office of a professional, who believes I will be better off by exposing my terrors.

I am not a professional in this realm. (Gosh, I don’t know whether I’m a professional in any realm, come to think of it…) But what I have discovered in my journey is that the more you can encourage people to find the good in their lives, the easier it is to explain the possibility of a God.

I am sure there is value in exorcising all the demons that may have settled into deep, dark caves in our consciousness, but merely stirring these dark spirits up does not guarantee that they will leave. And once awakened, is there not a danger they will try to gain more prominence than they deserve??

As I say, I’m not sure what I feel about this issue.

But if you want to hypnotize me, I would appreciate it if you would help me remember that one day in my life, when as a middle linebacker, I intercepted that pass that bounced off my facemask, miraculously landing in my hands, and I ran the nine yards in–for my only touchdown.

That would be therapeutic.

Abrazos

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abrazo: (n.): an embrace.

Yeah, but what KIND of embrace?

In all my years of traveling on the road, I have discovered that there are basically four types of hugs. (Well, five if you want to count the one you do in bed with the person you love to generate romance.)

But let us say four types of hugs that are permitted fully clothed in public:

The first one is the quick embrace, placing hands around the neck, careful that torsos don’t meet. This is normally  practiced in Hollywood, church circles and at family reunions where adolescents are accosted by grandmas.

Then there is the show of affection where someone comes up from the rear and hugs your back–usually fairly quickly as a means of encouragement when you’re heading into the dentist’s office, getting ready to take a test, or are on your way to get your income taxes done.

The third hug is when someone holds their arms out like a great Russian, Jewish mother and welcomes you in for a full body encounter. Of course, the difficulty with this one is that once interlocked,  one has to figure out how long to hold it–just short of ridiculous, but beyond nervous. After all, the first one to release is the wimp.

And finally, the other hug that I became familiar with by participating in sports is what you might refer to as the manly chest bump. It is the acceptable form of masculine communication of affection without communicating ANY notion of homosexual tendencies. It’s more like “pecs meeting pecs,” with some pounding on the back by hands quickly releasing, ending in some sort of ridiculous high-five.

So of the particular ways of connecting that are available, obviously, the bedroom intertwining is the most pleasant.

I guess when you get a word like abrazos–with the ambiguous definition of “an embrace”–you have to establish the quality of the embrace and the style–by how much you would elongate the vowels in the word.

For instance, it could be an “abrazos.” Short, brief antiseptic.

Or it could be an “abra-z-o-o-s.” We’re gettin’ warmer.

Or finally, it could be an “a-bra-a-a-z-o-o-os.” Boom. Touchdown.

I like hugs. I don’t particularly like it, however,  when people inform me BEFORE they hug me that they are a “hugging person.” It takes away some of the spontaneity and specialness of being hugged. Yeah, it’s kind of a Baskin Robbins embracing philosophy: “Now serving #84.”

But as analytical and critical as you may want to get about two people joining their bodies in closeness, any embrace is a lot better than standing at a distance … and judging each other.

Abrasive

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abrasive: (adj.): 1. a substance capable of polishing or cleaning a hard surface by rubbing or grinding. 2. rough to the ear; harsh 3. showing little concern for the feelings of others; harsh in mannerism.

“King George is a tyrant.” At one time that would have been an abrasive statement.

“Slaves should be free.”  If you had said that in Congress in 1851, you’d have been dubbed abrasive.

“I love rock and roll.” Try that one in 1961 America.

“The Vietnam War is criminal.” You would certainly have been considered abrasive in 1967.

“Black people should have the right to vote.” There are probably STILL some folks who think that’s abrasive.

“Women should be allowed to be executives in the workplace.” Once again, that one will polish a rough surface or two.

We throw words around like “abrasive” to discourage people from saying things “untoward” in mixed company.” (We say words like “untoward” when we have not yet arrived in this present century.)

Abrasive is a tough one. Often there are many things that need to be shared, pointed out and even shouted from the housetops, which are just NOT in the present mindset of the popular thinking. But if they’re not said, they can’t be heard and if they can’t be heard, the faith to change things for the better is never launched.

So how do I know when I’m abrasive? Honestly, that one’s pretty simple to me. If I’m saying something because I was personally offended or if I have a hankering to offend somebody else just for the hell of it, you can pretty well guarantee–it’s abrasive.

But words that are said to cry out for freedom, purpose and to protect the innocent may not always be received well, but historically, they will never be proclaimed abrasive.

Perhaps it would take an angel to discern all the subtleties in that process.

Perhaps we need a few more angels.

Abrahams, Harold

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abrahams, Harold (Maurice):(1899-1978) English athlete. In 1924 he became the first Englishman to win the 100 meter race in the Olympic games. His story was retold in the movie, Chariots of Fire.

I was traveling in Jacksonville Beach, Florida, when I went out with two friends and saw the movie, Chariots of Fire. Although it was a bit maudlin for my taste, I was still captured by the story and moved by the message–so much so that when I arrived back in my motel room, I slipped on a pair of sandals, and even though it was nearly midnight I went down to the beach by myself, determined to duplicate the running along by the sea I had just witnessed in the flick.

It was a beautiful night–one which the Chamber of Commerce would love to have bottled and sold at orange juice stands as evidence of the beauty of the community. There was a fine mist in the air from the waves hitting the shore, and I was tingling all over with the anticipation of duplicating the emotion of the movie.

I looked off in the distance and set a marker in my mind of where I wanted to end up at the conclusion of my sprint. I was Abrahams. I was the great English racer. Even though I had quite a few more pounds than he did, in that moment, they were shed from my mind by the sheer awesome wonder of being transformed into the realm of Olympic training.

I started to run.

I got about four paces when my sandal stuck in the wet sand. I tripped and fell on my face, burying my nose deep within the beach. Determined, I got up and tried it again. I repeated the same process with great proficiency.

I do not know whether the terrain on Jacksonville Beach is so much different from England, or if it was perhaps because I was not quite as light of feet as Abrahams–but I just I sank deeper into the dampness. Or perhaps running on sand is just the stupidest thing that anybody ever came up with on earth.

But try as I might, I was only able to run about twenty feet before my heart was racing much quicker than my legs. I fell down, exhausted, and stared at the ocean.

I stayed there for a long time–because my legs ached, my knees were sore and my nose was full of algae. Gradually I worked my way to my feet and walked back to my motel room. In the process of that brief stroll, I recreated my story. Upon arriving, I told my traveling companions that I had duplicated the scene from the movie–and had run at least one mile down the beach and back.

Their eyes gleamed with admiration.

I went to sleep that night a liar. But I felt very little shame. After all, Hollywood and movies are just fairy tales. And fairy tales can come true.

It can happen to you.

Abraham

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abraham: (n.) the Hebrew patriarch from whom all Jews trace their descent.

Yeah, let’s talk about Abe.

You see, the problem is, he had two families. Like so many men, he may like to forget the first one when he finds that “love is better the second time around.” But it doesn’t change the fact that he is also the father of the Arab nation.

One daddy, two families–with one of the families somewhat ignored by Papa in favor of the other, more acceptable choice.

This whole problem in the Middle East is really just a giant family squabble. Abraham decided to take his servant girl as a lover and even though his wife approved, supposedly, she later became jealous when the baby born through the process started growing up and hit puberty.

Then the story gets all messed up. One woman gets jealous of another woman, chases her out of the scene, and a young man grows up without his daddy–but still definitely linked to him.

So you can see, it would be very difficult for the Jews and the Palestinians to come to the peace table when the Jews are convinced they are Abraham’s ONLY children and the Arabs believe they deserve a piece of the matzoh.

And Abraham comes out of this whole thing unscathed. Even Christians try to tie themselves back into the “seed of Abraham,” although Jesus made it clear that God was “able to take stones and make children of Abraham.” Matter of fact, that pretty well describes the children of Abraham, doesn’t it? Stubborn people with rocks in their heads.

We see the same situation in this country today, as people divorce and think they can maintain a couple of different families without there being any friction. It never works, though we will continue to do it simply because our lust, passions and preferences demand it.

So you can feel free to talk about the faith of Abraham–but even the Bible that tells his story lets us know that he was just a man who occasionally lied, took short cuts, and let his wife push him around, leading him to abandon a little family he’d put together, which has now turned into a great nation at odds with his other family-nation.

What a mess.

Sometimes it’s just better if you keep it in your pants–or, in the case of Abraham, your robe.

Abrade

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abrade: (v.) scrape or wear away by friction or erosion.

It sounds brilliant to me. At least I think it deserves a good old college try.

Rather than being on a diet, I’m going to be on an abrade.

All these years, I’ve tried to internalize weight loss by healthy eating, low calories, no fat, few carbs … well, the list goes on and on.

I never thought about approaching it from the angle of “abrading.” Hear me out on this–at first it may sound a little weird.

What if I started out by bathing in pure lemon juice, encouraging skin shriveling? I follow by taking large jars of vanishing cream and smearing it all over the fat forts on my body. Then, purchasing a very mild or fine-grained sandpaper, I begin to just gently rub on my love handles. I should not do it to the point of abrasion or blood-letting, but maybe it’s possible, if I abrade enough, that I can wear down the onslaught of the attack of the blubber monster.

Maybe you have other ideas, too. Maybe binding my flesh for a few minutes every day with some sort of tape or wrap, to teach my excess flesh container to gel into a more concise form, would be beneficial.

Because I cannot tell you that dieting, as a whole, has been an extraordinarily successful proposal for me, or actually for millions of others. Some of us can not afford a personal trainer or will not be selected for the cast of The Biggest Loser. We also don’t particularly like to throw up from over-exertion in a gym as a means of dispelling unused calories.

Perhaps this “abrade” process could, shall we say, clean “the outside of the cup” instead of messing around with all of the inside difficulty.

At this point, I am not prepared to support the theory, nor am I ready to write the book, which would certainly become a best-seller on the New York Times List. I do have a working title, though: Abrade, Abrade: You’ve Got It Made.

But I am ahead of myself.

I guess the first step is working up the energy to squeeze 7,322 lemons … to draw my bath.

Abracadabra

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abracadabra: (exclam.) a word said by magicians when performing a magic trick.

You see, it’s right there in the definition. Almost every time you see the word “magic,” it’s followed by “trick.”

It’s amazing that we spend most of our lives looking at our talent, our circumstances and our potentials, hoping to wave a magic wand over them and say “abracadabra.” Then for some reason, we’re disappointed and even angry when the rabbit doesn’t leap out of the hat.

Is there magic? Or is it all just a trick? Is magic the best way to manipulate people into doing what you want them to do–or worse–doing nothing?

I remember it a little differently. Does anybody else remember, “Abracadabra, please and thank you?” I’m thinking maybe I heard it on Captain Kangaroo. I like that.

So when “abracadabra” stalls,  you move on to “please.”

Yes, sometimes it’s a good idea to abandon magic in favor of manners. Truthfully, you can get a lot further being mannerly than you can by waving a wand in the air, demanding your will. I would not decry the validity of some forms of magic, but honestly, I’ve botten much more accomplished in my life by saying “please.”

If you happen to be so talented, gifted, powerful and wealthy that you don’t ever have to ask “please,” you will end up counting your money alone in a room on Christmas Eve, waiting to be spooked by three ghosts.

Magic is interesting, but manners are powerful.

Which leads to the final part of the phrase: thank you.

Yes, as wonderful as manners may be and as much as they may bring good fortune your way, nothing is more magical and supernatural than thank you. “Thank you” is permission for life to give you more, without fear of wasting it. If I were God, I would certainly be more generous to those who knew how to compose a thank-you note.

“Thank you” is the key that unlocks every crusty heart that has given up on humanity and has decided that life is futile. Even when it’s coerced out of a little kid slurping on an ice cream cone that was just given to him by a mother who is trying to teach the value of appreciation, it still is endearing and cute as he lifts up his little head, and through globs of gooey cream, mouths, “Thwank woo.”

It makes you want to give him another cone.

So you can pursue the magic of “abracadabra,” but it’s not nearly as good as the majesty of “please.” And as magnificent as the mannerly “please” may be, there is NOTHING as powerful as “thank you.”

Of course, you can cover all your bases, and say, “Abracadabra, please and thank you.”

Aboveboard

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Aboveboard: (adj.) legitimate, honest and open: certain transactions were not totally aboveboard.

Some things are not your business. But more things ARE your business than I sometimes think should be.

That’s the truth.

The easiest way to get in trouble as a human being is to walk around with a chip on your shoulder, proclaiming it’s YOUR life and nobody else has any right to interfere. The more you insist that people have no right to question you, the more questions will be sent your way.

You are much more likely to be audited by the IRS if you complain about paying taxes than if you just pay your fair share and move on to the rest of your life.

You are much less likely to be looked on suspiciously concerning your particular sexual practices if you don’t wave a flag and object to scrutiny.

People are funny in the sense that all of us want to keep SOME secrets, but we’re very suspicious of anyone who’s secretive. You might consider this to be hypocrisy–if you didn’t realize that it’s just human.

I’ve got it figured that if you want to live an aboveboard life, you can probably keep about five things secret–as long as you thrust to the forefront twenty admissions that make you forthcoming and honest. The minute someone thinks that you are hiding something, they assume it’s the tip of an iceberg of iniquity.

It is a bad profile.

There are things that I do in my life, or things that I feel, that I would rather not share in public or with the viewers on Entertainment Tonight. It’s not that I’m exactly ashamed of them–just not quite certain of all of their origins, so I wouldn’t be able to totally explain my inclinations.

But rather than spouting off my particular need for reclusion and autonomy from the rest of the human race, I would much rather be aboveboard on fifty other things about my life that don’t really make any difference whatsoever–and leave the general populace to believe I am transparent.

  • So I will gladly tell you I’m fat. First of all, it’s faily obvious. I lose nothing in that revelation.
  • I will tell you that I do not have a college degree. At my age, no one really cares.
  • I will tell you that my legs don’t work as well as I would like them to. I have other talents to keep me mobile.
  • I can admit that I do not like jalapeno peppers and still be in favor of immigration reform.

There are so many things that we can present, be candid about and aboveboard that we don’t need to act defensive and careful around one another.

So would I mind if you found out my five little private areas? No. I mean, I’ve never slaughtered chickens for the Kentucky Colonel. It’s just that they aren’t the brightest bulbs in my stage lighting. And I would much rather draw your attention to other areas of my weakness, and in the process present myself as adorable instead of unapproachable.

It is good to live an aboveboard life. Otherwise, you’ll have everybody grabbing a flashlight–and checking below your decks.

Above

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Above:  (prep.) in extended space over and not touching: a display of fireworks above the town.

I’ve always liked the word above.

Having written a song or two in my time, above happens to be one of those words that rhymes with love. Actually, love is a tough rhymer. You can throw in dove, but how does that ever make any sense? I even heard a song the other day that rhymed love with of. I thought that was rather bold.

Of course, because above rhymes with love, there is a danger of over-use. I guess that would personify the word above. If something is over our heads and doesn’t touch us, it’s pretty non-human, right?

I appreciate the sky, but I’ve never had a conversation with it. Why? Because it’s above me.

I can understand that there are planets over our heads, but that’s about the extent of my involvement with these circling orbs. Why? They’re up above.

Maybe that’s why God has such a big public relations problem. Maybe if we told everybody He had a nice ranch house just outside Paramus, NJ, it would be a lot easier to relate to Him. But since He’s above us, in heaven, and not touching us every day, it’s very easy to start feeling silly about trying to interact with Him–similar to some dude standing in the middle of the street, screaming at the sky.

Actually, probably the smartest thing God ever did was drop down from above, become human and show us love.

Huh.

There you go. That’s why love and above rhyme–because until the love comes from above, we can’t understand … um …

See what I mean? I’ve run out of words to rhyme.