Category Archives: B words

Baleful

Baleful (adj): threatening harm; menacingDictionary B

Happiness is not an expression. It is actually a way of expressing how much we are unwilling to give up on believing.

I often sit on a bench and watch people go by. I love people. There are certain things I don’t like about people, though–and primary among those distasteful portions are the facial gyrations they create to communicate their sense of maturity.

It often is a baleful etching across the features, to let me know that I’d better be careful, because they are tough and dangerous.

Matter of fact, we seem to be going through a political season where the candidate with the most crunched-up, contorted features, exhibiting great piety, becomes the rallying frown for the angry mob.

One day I was sitting in my van and a young man walked by, stomping along. When he came into my view I flashed him a smile, and he glared at me.

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

It was so silly, so contrived and so obviously unmotivated that a giggle just popped out of me. My window was rolled down so he asked me, “What’s so funny?”

“Everything, young man. Everything.”

He squinted and shook his head like he had encountered his latest crazy man and plodded away.

When no one’s looking, what does your countenance say to the world around you?

Because we have to realize–there’s always someone looking.

 

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Bale

Bale (n): a bundle of hayDictionary B

I think she liked me.

I know I liked her.

I don’t know how much I liked her. When you’re a teenager you’re so anxious to have romantic encounters that you’re willing to consider many obtuse options. It is amazing who looks good to you by Thursday afternoon at school when you really want to go out on a date for the weekend.

All summer long, I had been driving around town with this girl as we tried to conjure various adventures, while experimenting with conversation, learning how to communicate with someone of the opposite sex.

One day I told her I wanted to go out to a nearby farm and see my friend, Jack, who was working there baling hay. He chose this occupation in order to get in shape for the upcoming football season.

I knew she had a small crush on Jack, but I was not aware of the full extent of her hidden affections. When we arrived at the barn and Jack appeared in the doorway of the upper loft, shirtless, holding a pitchfork, with perspiration streaming down his pectorals, she lost it.

He looked like an image from a John Steinbeck novel, perfectly framed, with a sweaty, well-chiseled body. I peered down at my own well-nourished middle as she practically drooled, staring at the sight before her.

I thought to myself, this was not a good move, to come and see Jack.

We spent the rest of the day driving around, talking about how handsome Jack was and discussing how I should help her make connection with him.

I felt completely left out.

Rather than being the pursuer of budding romance, I was cast into the role of matchmaker.

I explained that I had planned to work on the farm this year, but discovered that I had hay fever.

She squinted, concern in her eyes, and said, “Hay fever?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Whenever I think about working in the hay fields, I break out into a sweat of great anxiety and fear.”

I thought it was particularly funny.

She didn’t even fathom my joke, but instead stared out the window … obviously conjuring images of a topless Jack. 

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Bald

Bald (adj): having a scalp wholly or partly lacking hair.Dictionary B

I am bald.

People often contradict this statement, telling me that I still have some hair on the sidelines of my playing field, but the landing strip has been completely cleared.

The top of my head is free of hairy situations.

I fought it for a long time–because it starts pretty early. Matter of fact, if you are destined to be bald, you may notice it in your teen years, when finishing a shower and combing out your hair.

Too much of it is ending up on your brush.

Also, there is the frightening revelation, through the well-placed mirror, of having to admit that the back forty of the scalp has started failing to yield crops.

So I intelligently took my early twenties to grow long hair, nearly to my shoulders, to celebrate this brief juncture of time when my virility could be expressed by the efforts of my follicles.

It was great fun.

Matter of fact, I continued to sport this bushiness until the dissipation of northern foliage on my dome began to make me look like Benjamin Franklin. After a while, it just gets silly.

Now I realize that the best way to handle baldness is to be bald. I even understand why some guys who are suffering under the condition just go ahead and shave their heads.

Because it is true in life that we gain wisdom by picking our fights. And honestly, demanding your hair to remain or placing fake hair in its stead is just not victorious.

Yes… most guys get a “Dear John Letter” from their lovely locks.

 

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Balcony

Balcony: (n) the upstairs seats in a theater, concert hall, or auditorium.Dictionary B

In my youthful years…

Actually, there’s little that’s more disgusting than an aging author reflecting back on earlier times with a slight grimace of regret, but mostly tantalizing details of virility and prowess.

That would not be my intention in this particular article, so let me begin with the less pretentious, “When I was a teenager…”

Yes, when I was a teenager there was an old-fashioned theater near my hometown which showed movies and had a balcony. It was commonly known and notoriously reported by prudish older women that the young folks would go up in the balcony and neck during the movies instead of watching them like critics who had a deadline for the morning news.

So after a while, due to the complaining of these decrepit patrons, they put a velvet rope in front of the balcony entrance, connoting that the area was no longer available to the public.

I do not know why it failed to occur to them how easy it is to ignore a velvet rope. So the young people continued to trail upstairs and do the laboratory portion of their sex education training.

After that they hired someone to stand next to the velvet rope, in a white shirt and black bow tie, attempting to deter the young folks from entering the stairs to the heights of pleasure.

It didn’t take any of us very long to discover a curtain which dangled from the other side of the balcony, which was easily scaled, quietly placing us in the balcony area where we could enjoy ourselves with ferocious kissing and then slide back down the curtain to leave the theater.

The manager, fearing that the curtain would eventually be destroyed through this process, eliminated the guard and velvet rope, and gave in to the primeval nature of the youth.

Even the old ladies decided to ignore the iniquity happening just above their heads.

So my memory of a balcony is a place of escape from the circus and theater of life happening all around, to enjoy more personal pleasures.

Also, it’s a great place to go nowadays, even though I’m older, to sleep if I’m not that interested in the offerings of the silver screen.

 

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Balance of Power

Balance of power: (n) the proposed equality among the Legislative, Judicial and Executive branches of the U.S. government.Dictionary B

Even though it is the job of a writer to question common thinking or even common sense if it has lost its prudence, it can still be a frightening proposal–to draft an objection.

There are some things we call sacred.

For instance, family.

Even though we know our scope should be larger than our own nuclear conglomeration of people, to propose such a concept to a single-minded community of households can be quite hazardous.

The same thing is true with the balance of power proposed among the Executive, Legislative and Judicial branches of the U. S. government.

I find the whole concept to be fallacious.

There is no true balance of power–just as there is no such thing as complete equality in marriage. There are just times when people are smarter, sharper, more informed, better prepared or suited for a specific task–and if we are intelligent, we allow that individual or group to step forward without interference.

The forefathers were deeply concerned to make sure that no one ever got the same authority over them that King George III usurped. So in an over-reaction, they tried to split the responsibilities among three different branches of government, which almost immediately generated the equality of dropping the ball.

  • Is abortion really a Supreme Court decision?
  • Is gay marriage?
  • Should gun control really be up to the legislature?
  • Should treaties be drafted by the Executive Branch?

It’s all rather erroneous–and seems to be a made-up solution for what may not even be a problem.

But like the Electoral College, we are madly in love with the idea of the “balance of power,” when even in our marriages, we know that we switch back and forth between playing the role of dependent and genius.

After all, a man never feels more helpless than when watching his wife birth their child, and many women have still not learned how to negotiate the opening of a jar of pickles. 

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Balance

Balance: (n) an even distribution of weight enabling someone or something to remain upright and steady.Dictionary B

It is the responsibility of every creature who has human skin to stop every once in a while, look back on the things they have said and believed…and giggle.

Sometimes it’s even necessary to openly repent in sackcloth and ashes, in front of our fellow skin-wearers.

I have said many stupid things in my life. Trying to explain why I shared these thoughts at the time would result in a series of cluttered excuses which would soon run into one another and topple the whole explanation.

So I shall not.

It is my purpose as a writer to be a truth-teller–not in the sense of pretending that I have the truth, but proving to you how I have pursued enough error that I can comfort you and warn you not to go in a particular direction.

For instance, one of the comical thoughts I once propagated was that life should be balanced. Matter of fact, I came up with a coy, little phrase: “Holy balance.”

It really did not take long for me to realize that an Earth that creates tornadoes has no intention of me ever standing on solid ground.

I now realize that life is in seasons and transitions, which we learn to enjoy. We also discover what to avoid.

I have lived long enough to view the many forms of hypocrisy which started out with the noble intention of being righteous. There are simply junctures when freedoms are acquired, upsetting those who felt they were in charge of doling out such consideration.

  • I am not in charge of your life.
  • I have no say in your freedom.
  • And I certainly cannot tell you that I have a balanced view on my fellow human beings.

For after all, there was just too much crap put in my toilet for me to have yet caught up … with all the flushing necessary.

 

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Bake

Bake: (v) to cook food by dry heat, typically in an ovenDictionary B

It’s not easy to feed seven people–three adults and four children who ranged in age from 8 to 14. Yet for a particular season, this was my station in life.

The similarities in taste among these individuals were minimal. So trying to come up with an entrée nightly which was simple to fix and acceptable for consumption by the persnickety clientele was a Herculean task.

After a while, I decided to prepare foods that were pleasant for me to do and reasonable to purchase. “Since satisfying the masses is impossible, let us budget our time and our money.”

And it fell my lot as the dad of this particular group to cook since the two ladies of the household approached the subject as if they were discerning hieroglyphics.

One of my favorite things to prepare was baked chicken.

First of all, I purchased it in ten-pound bags, which cost about five dollars, and then placed it on two baking sheets, salted and peppered the tops and stuck them into the oven at 375 degrees for about an hour.

As you probably know, how long you cook a chicken is very important. If it’s undercooked, it is not only gross, but also threatens to kill you with salmonella. If it’s overcooked, it gets mushy–like it belongs in a jar of baby food.

Yet the skin, turning a golden brown, is not only fattening, but a true delicacy.

My children grew to hate baked chicken–and if you asked them about it today, I’m sure one or more would shudder.

It wasn’t baked chicken every night, but certainly the bird was put to the flame at least twice a week.

So that my children would not grow up frightened of an oven and what it bakes, I occasionally pulled out of the magic box homemade cookies and things like that, so that they would not end up fearing all things baked.

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Baize

Baize: (n) a coarse, felt-like, woolen material that is typically green, used for covering billiard and card tables and for aprons.Dictionary B

Rich people own a lot of things.

I suppose that’s a rather obvious statement. But I would like you to stop and analyze what it really means.

It’s not that rich people own things they like or that rich people acquire things so they can enjoy them and share them with others.

No, rich people often just like to own things so they can prove they possess them, flaunt them and to establish their indifference to them.

Long ago, when I had even less integrity and brain power than today, I was invited to the home of a very rich man because he took a liking to me, saying he “thought I had great potential.”

Upon arriving at his palatial mansion, I was given the full tour, which was extremely extensive, with stop-offs along the way to reiterate to me in vivid detail how much each piece of marble in the floor cost, and how the wallpaper in this particular room was ordered from Italy from a family who were direct descendants of the Medici clan.

I produced an adequate amount of “oohs” and “aahs” necessary to let him know that I was in full groveling mode.

While dinner was being prepared, he asked me if I would like to play a game of billiards. (Yes, he called it “billiards” while I knew it as “pool.” But looking at my surroundings and smelling the fresh air of opulence, I realized that “billiards” was more appropriate.)

And the billiard table was equally as over-stated, expensive and elaborate as everything else in the house. Matter of fact, he told me it had been specially ordered from Russia, where of course, the best billiard tables are from, and that it was worth $50,000.

He handed me a pool stick which was made out of some sort of wood from the rain forest of Brazil, and said, “You break.”

I placed my hand on the table, shaking and nervous. The baize covering of the table was lush and thick, like grass. But it also felt a little bit…fragile.

Terrified, I wielded back and hit the cue ball, striking the eastern coast of it, while the tip of my cue stick slid across the table, leaving a three-inch rip.

Time stood still.

I couldn’t breathe, even though I knew it was necessary to do so.

My rich benefactor walked up, looked at the table, shook his head, and said, “That’s going to cost a pretty penny.”

My mind was racing.

Did he want me to come up with that gorgeous amount of money?

I also had this crazy thought of suggesting that some Super Glue might fix it, but caught myself before blurting.

He did not charge me for my transgression, but the dinner was tense, and I was out of there much more quickly than originally proposed… since he no longer deemed that I had potential.

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Bait

Bait: (n) food used to entice fish or other animals as prey.Dictionary B

My dad was a fisherman.

Some folks would say my dad fancied himself to be a fisherman.

My mother might have concluded that my dad went fishing to get away from home.

Whatever the case, he had an adequate array of rods, reels, hooks, sinkers, bait and tackle to be considered worthy of the aspiration.

My dad had five sons, and he quickly assessed which ones he thought were better suited for hunting and fishing.

Being the fourth son, for some reason or another, he decided that I was not bent in the direction of the standard woodsman. I don’t know how he came to this conclusion. I was actually the only one of my brothers involved in sports, and certainly had an aptitude for floating in a boat and throwing a line in the water to snag a hapless aquatic creature.

I only went fishing with him a few times–and because I wasn’t given many opportunities, on the paltry occasions when I was with him, I acted a little squeamish.

Especially when it came to the bait. We used two kinds: night crawlers and minnows.

Night crawlers are worms and minnows are little, tiny fish-like creatures with one big eye on them. (Or I think it’s one.)

I was not real thrilled about the idea of grabbing a worm from the peat moss and putting it on my hook. It wasn’t because I was sensitive about killing the crawler, it just felt funny.

My dad thought this was hilarious.

I also did not know where to place my hook into the minnow to make it the most appealing to the creatures we were trying to trick. I did catch on, but not before my father had a chance to stereotype me as a “weinie-woman.”

So much to my chagrin, I have not fished as much during my life as I would like to, because of those run-ins with the bait.

I think it is completely permissible to be a little bit nervous around worms and minnows…until you finally get the feel for it.

 

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Bailiwick

Bailiwick: (n) one’s sphere of operations or particular area of interest.Dictionary B

The English language is in hospice, dying of the cancer of over-simplification.

All language is now based upon whether we like it, understand it or can easily write it down, rather than whether it is accurate or just plain beautiful.

For example, take the word “bailiwick.”

I have personally never used the word in a conversation for fear that someone would think I was trying to be pretentious. But it is a gorgeous word.

And even though I do not use the word, I know what it means, so when I do hear some articulate human being express it, I am able to comprehend the meaning.

But as a writer, I find it necessary to sit down at least once a week and listen to a group of teenagers talk. After all, they are deciding where the English language is headed.

Occasionally I throw a word or two at them which I think is fairly common, only to be startled by their bewildered faces as they wonder why I decided to speak as if I were reading from a dictionary.

This may sound like a lamentation, but I will tell you that by no means am I a stick-in-the-mud who thinks America is going to hell one discarded word at a time.

But I do believe the preservation of certain language, and the ability to write with a bit of literary flair, cannot be completely estranged from our everyday efforts or we will eventually be a society that breaks everything down into initials, acronyms and slang.

So here’s to the use of the word “bailiwick”–at least every once in a while.

And also to the gentle patience which will be required from those who use it … to explain to the surrounding, dumbfounded hearers.

 

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