Category Archives: B words

Cede

Cede: (v) to give up power or territory

The fear of insignificance generates the arrogance of self-destruction.

Somewhere inside each of us is a terror that if we cede our ego or talents over to a common pot or competition, we will dissipate like a ghost
 in the mist.

It’s the mixed message given by our educational system, which simultaneously insists that “hard work will produce a payday” but “self-promotion is better.”

It’s so easy to get confused. It’s very possible to lose sight of one’s soul in pursuit of gaining the whole world.

What can I afford to give up without feeling like I’m vanquished?

  1. I don’t have to be well-known if I’m known for doing well.
  2. It is much more important for me to be happy for what I do instead of being lauded for it.
  3. I am convinced that my meter of measuring my progress is much more sensitive than that of society–so as long as I am clicking my own goals, I do not need to be applauded by the masses.
  4. And finally, I can’t give up something I don’t really have. The delusion that we possess certain amounts of respect, power or position causes us to battle against forces that are not really fighting against us.

A great man once said that “he that would gain his life must lose it.” Even though initially this seems counter-intuitive, a second looks tells us that chasing a dream which is never meant to be is the certain way to destroy the beauty of heart’s desire.

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Ceaseless

Ceaseless: (adj) constant and unending

I will leave it to the damn theologians to scour the Holy Book, to find reasons for God to be angry with me. It seems to be what they do the best.

They are so determined to establish my sinful nature so I can be redeemed that they fail to remember that the ceaseless truth of salvation
 begins with the statement “for God so loved…”

There is a balance that should never be achieved. It is better left unbalanced.

I am better off believing that God loves me without having the addendum of a series of examples where that affection can be snatched away.

I don’t know if my love for my children is ceaseless–but I do realize that they need to believe it is.

I don’t know if my vein of creativity is limitless, but I certainly don’t benefit by doubting it.

And I don’t have any assurance whatsoever that the world will continue to revolve and not explode, implode or disassemble.

Yet believing in the ceaseless love of God and the tender attention of Mother Nature does my soul good.

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Cease

Cease: (v) to bring to an end.

The American populace is intoxicated with the possibility of a good start-up. We just love beginning things.

The national landscape is littered with projects, ideas and well-meaning concerns that have a foundation laid and then are abandoned due to lack of interest or funds.

We’ve covered this strange behavior by agreeing not to bring it up. In other words, if you don’t mention what I started that failed, I won’t mention yours. So because we’re afraid to talk about our starts that stopped, we never learn the wisdom and power to cease–that moment of clarity when we realize that what we set out to do is either impractical or poorly timed, and common sense insists that we stop and make it obvious to those around us that there is a need for a new idea.

For instance:

The American church needs to cease so it can actually start.

Political parties need to be ceased so we can actually begin to put together coalitions that are geared to advancement.

We need to cease trying to scare people because we have bought a lot of baked crickets that needs to be marketed, or maybe made the mistake of investing too much in “gluten-free.”

To cease is to plan a decrease, which gives peace and allows for increase.

If everything is good, nothing is great. And if nothing is bad, there is little chance for anything to improve.

Let’s start today, to realize what needs to cease.

For instance … this essay.Donate Button

 

 

CD

CD: (n) Shortened form of Compact Disc

When I first started recording music, it was 8-tracks, and the process was initiated by releasing a 45 RPM record, followed by an album–33 1/3.

Once I learned how to do this process, and it progressed to 16 and then 24 tracks, suddenly appearing on the horizon was the 8-track tape.

It looked cool. It fit into, of all things, an 8-track player, which began to be standard fare in cars. All my friends encouraged me to start
making 8-track tapes, explaining that vinyl albums were a thing of the past. I held out for a while but eventually agreed to order some 8-track tapes which, by the time they arrived, had already become obsolete in the marketplace.

So I was a little gun-shy when I was told that cassette tapes were the wave of the future. I delayed for a long time, insisting on offering my vinyl album to the public. I liked it for many reasons, one of which was that you could place great art on the cover and also generate profound back-liner notes.

But eventually I had to admit that records were disappearing and cassettes were the thing. I grew accustomed to ordering cassettes, learning how to shrink my album art, when here came the CD.

Now I was really reluctant.

Car manufacturers did not immediately put these CD players into the automobiles–a bad sign. So I clung to my cassette tapes until somebody accused me of being a musical dinosaur. So I finally made the switch. By the time I did so, cassette tapes were so out of fashion that nobody even had a recorder anymore.

So now I travel around with CDs in an era when people consider them to be old-fashioned–since we can now “download.”

I am convinced that no matter what I choose to chase, it’s going to disappear down the rabbit hole. So for the time being, I will continue to pursue my CDs–until little children stand afar, pointing and laughing as I pass down the thoroughfare.

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CB

CB: (n) The Citizen’s Band (CB) Radio Service

The joy of getting older is in accumulating numerous stories you can share via your daily blog.

Yet the first danger of getting older is that younger folks who have no connection with your subject matter suddenly become aware that
you’re ancient.

And of course, the second danger of getting older is obviously that you are nearer to death than you are to high school.

Bravely facing this danger, I will tell you that I was around during the time that gasoline was rationed in this country–in the mid-1970’s–and the speed limit was dropped to 55 miles per hour. At that point, the highways became the Wild West. Truck drivers who communicated with one another through CB radio began to rebel against the laws and drive whatever speed they desired by placing themselves in large convoys, so as to complicate the enforcement by the State Highway Patrol. In other words, it’s a little difficult to stop forty trucks going 75 miles per hour by waving your hand with your radar gun.

So to counteract these highwaymen, the police set up road blocks and pulled over large numbers of trucks, giving them tickets.

Our little traveling band of gypsy musicians did not have a CB radio–but we did squeeze ourselves into these convoys and travel down the highway with our own rendition of “need for speed.”

But one night we got caught in a roadblock, and were pulled over. We sat there at least an hour. Finally a patrolman walked up and told us we could go. I was shocked. I was also young and stupid, so I asked him why.

He said that even though he knew we were driving the same speed as the trucks, the radar didn’t reach us, and therefore he could not confirm that we were actually speeding.

We pulled away, delighted, surprised and somewhat convicted–as truck drivers glared at us with bullets of anger.

We spent the rest of the night driving 55 miles an hour since we didn’t have our convoy, and had no bread to purchase a CB radio.

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Caw

Caw: (n) harsh cry of a crow or similar bird.

Everybody seems to prefer when I’m sweet. They relish my gentle tone. They will tear up when discussing my merciful nature. If they were describing me in aviary terms, I would be the nightingale, the dove or the robin offering the promise of spring.

That goes on for a while. And then the need arises to be the crow–the blackbird that offers a darker view, with a bit of cackling, complaining
 and crankiness.

No one likes this old bird. They even speculate that perhaps I’m not feeling well or I’m vexed by a bad mood.

It never occurs to them that my crow shows up when things are not right–so that my robin can return in good conscience.

People’s ears are tuned to the tweeting of the love bird instead of the caw of the flying scout, who scours the field ahead to offer a warning.

I suppose I enjoy being the songbird much more than being the “cackler.”

But every once in a while, the crow has to show up and remind us that the scarecrows we’ve set out to frighten away danger aren’t nearly as terrifying as we hoped.

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Cavort

Cavort: (v) to jump or dance around excitedly.

There was a time in my life when I did not feel as if I was having fun unless I had completely lost control.

I remember being twelve years old and arriving at church camp, running into the cabin, knocking over all my friends and wrestling on the
 floor as the counselor looked on in horror at the tangling, giggling mass of melee.

That’s back when I had more energy than brains.

I had more naughty ideas than I did conscience.

And I felt if every part of my body was not moving toward pleasure, I was cheating myself out of the joys of being young.

I cavorted–I really did.

And I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten the sheer random joy of the endeavor. Even in discovering my sexuality, doing it in the back seat of a Mustang made it much more dangerous and therefore, appealing. (Nowadays, I couldn’t even get into the back seat of a Mustang.)

We become better adults when we remember the joys of cavorting, recalling those times when saving our energy was not necessary… because it seemed limitless.

 

 

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Cavity

Cavity: (n) a decayed part of a tooth.

I was a fully grown man with bills and everything when a dentist was finally honest with me.

He looked into my mouth, peering at cavities, and produced a slight grimace. Being a good Mid-Western boy, I closed my jaw and quickly
 apologized for my bad teeth.

He just smiled at me and said, “There’s nothing you can do about it. Some people are born with good teeth. And some people keep me in business.”

I have used floss, every kind of toothpaste known to man, and I’ve even brushed my teeth with baking soda.

Them tooths just do what they want to do.

I feel like my teeth stopped at an emotional age of about fifteen years of age, and they just lounge around, do whatever they please, and only become upset if you bother them too much.

So several years ago, when I asked my dentist what he thought about the teeth that remained in my mouth, the same chap replied, “Do for them what you can. But I wouldn’t be in any hurry to put dentures in there, because they’re a real pain in the ass. Well actually, pain in the head.”

So my teeth and I have a truce: they agree not to bother me as long as I abstain from peanut brittle.

 

 

 

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Caviar

Caviar: (n) the pickled roe of sturgeon or other large fish, eaten as a delicacy.

Fishy, mushy and salty. That’s how I would describe caviar.

I will now pause and consider if any one of those words is appealing.

Fish, themselves, have to be careful not to be too fishy.

We normally fry our mush so it won’t be mushy.

And salty is a lovely taste if it’s bringing out another flavor which takes predominance.

I won’t even mention the abortion of sturgeon babies that’s involved in the process of putting together this little delicacy.

But I did learn a long time ago that part of being opulent is convincing yourself that you like things that other people don’t, simply because they cost a lot of money.

It doesn’t matter if it makes you miserable or if it causes your taste buds to recoil. Learn to enjoy it so when people see you doing it they will place you in a category which is superior to the norm.

It also explains much of fashion, music and politics. If there’s money for it, then there must be a reason for it.

I am hardly a country person–but if offered caviar on a cracker, or sausage gravy on biscuits, I will pull my chair up with those south of the Mason Dixon line.

 

 

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Caveat

Caveat: (n) a stipulation, condition, or limitation

A caveat is when we add honesty to a thought.

We come up with something to say, but rather than allowing ourselves to be misleading, we add a phrase–usually on the end–which better
 clarifies our position.

It is what makes human beings human, and therefore powerful. We are only foolish when we try to be gods or wallow in the jungle, pretending we are mere animals.

It is hope mingled with the reality that presents who we really are.

Case in point:

  • I love you, but it’s not easy.
  • I will be there, if I don’t get lazy
  • I worship God until He confuses the hell out of me.
  • I am happy until I decide I’m not.
  • I am color blind–except when I accidentally see color.
  • I am reliable as long as you check up on me.
  • I am selfish, but every once in a while, escape the prison.
  • I am getting older, but still have a few steps left.
  • I wish you the best, and I hope I’ll be there to help you get it.

Perhaps a caveat is what we should lead with in explaining our true situation, but I certainly contend that a nice little jolt of optimism sweetens the deal before we have to tell the whole truth.

 

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