Cordless

Cordless: (adj) requiring no wire

Comparing my pioneer spirit using the examples of those who trekked West in the mid-1800’s, I would definitely let you know that I am not one of the people dressed in buckskin, who is way out in front of the Conestoga Wagons, killing buffalo and tracking beaver.

That’s not me.

Honestly, you probably would not find me in the first wave that hopped onto those wagon-beds and went off into nothingness, with nearly nothing in their possession, believing they were going to turn it into something.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

In the realm of being adventurous, I would probably be the schoolmarm. In other words, once others had gone ahead, tracked the buffalo, taken their wagons and opened up a town, I would be willing to join them to teach their children the ABC’s.

I prefaced this article with this example because I want you to understand that when cordless, or wireless, microphones became available, I did not buy one nor did I want to use one.

I heard horror stories.

You know—stuff like buffaloes trampling frontiersmen.

I heard these microphones didn’t work well, the sound went in and out, and even one strange tale about someone nearly being electrocuted.

I waited.

I persisted with cords in my microphones until one day, in a store, a guy explained to me that he had come up with a system to turn any microphone into a cordless one simply by attaching some ugly-ass apparatus on the bottom.

With my schoolmarm enthusiasm, I got one.

I used it in a production—and it lived up to all of its hype, and also manifested all of its demons. Even though the small-town audience was very impressed at seeing a cordless mic at work, when the play was through, I sold it.

I may have to revise my statement.

Maybe I’m not as wild and crazy as I think. Perhaps I am not the schoolmarm.

In the vast spectrum of the American Western, I would probably be the town undertaker.


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Chloroform

Chloroform: (n) a sweet-smelling anesthetic.

I am a phony.

I’m hoping that if I admit it, I won’t have to be accosted by the critics who discover it.

Here is where my phoniness comes to the forefront: I often think about matters which I insist would be intriguing, but if offered the opportunity, I’d turn it down.

This came to my mind this morning when I looked at the word “chloroform.” I have watched television shows where a character has placed this chemical on a
handkerchief, covering the nose of an enemy, putting him or her into a deep sleep.

While viewing this I have thought to myself, I wonder what that’s like? Is there any pain, discomfort, hangover or headache that would accompany the experience? I am intrigued.

Yet if somebody walked into the room and asked, “Would you like to find out what it’s like to go under?” I would pass.

Any number of situations would fall into this pattern.

  • “I am interested.”
  • “Here you are.”
  • “No, thanks.”

It’s not that I’m a coward. I actually consider myself to be very adventurous. But it’s much easier to envision myself brave than it is to prove it in the courtroom of human events.

I occasionally watch people jumping out of an airplane and wonder if I would actually do it.

It’s ridiculous. Unless the plane was on fire and twelve feet from the ground, I would remain within.

I have avoided friendships, romantic encounters and probably passed up on a good deal or two simply because I could not pull the trigger at the right moment.

I don’t lack experience; I am not a novice. It’s just that in selected moments, I was a coward.

Or maybe I should call myself an “over-stater.”

Yes. That sounds better: “That fellow really over-states his interest level.”

And since I have grown weary of being quite this vulnerable, I shall stop my typing and chloroform this article.

 

 

 

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Brave

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Brave: (adj) ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage

I have discovered that one of the more brave things to do is choose the correct moment to be a coward.Dictionary B

First, you have to be fearless about the characterization. Is it cowardly to know that you’re outnumbered, ill-prepared, uncertain, or to proceed with caution–even delay?

I don’t think so.

Bravery always reminds me of the Native American going hunting, only having the resources and time to make four arrows. Yet at the end of the day he knows two things: he must come back with dinner, and he’s only got four shots.

So what is the goal? Avoiding foolish undertakings that may seem noble or adventurous but will steal the quality of his supply.

So he waits.

He waits for that moment when he can get close enough to the deer.

If he does that–if he passes over the long shot, refuses to chase tracks that lead nowhere and simply allows the opportunity to come close to him–he has a much better chance of returning home with game … as the brave instead of a foolish archer.

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Between

Between: (prep) the space separating two objects.

I spend most of my life “between.”Dictionary B

And it certainly isn’t between a rock and a hard place. (What a self-piteous scrap of frumpy thinking…)

Actually, the choices afforded me are matters that I consider easy, or options that loom in the distance, appearing to be hard.

If I develop a lifestyle of choosing only the easy possibilities, I will always wonder what I missed, or will wear out the patience of simplicity.

On the other hand, if I project myself to be adventurous and always select from the menu of the more arduous entrees, I may just end up in a bunch of Herculean tasks–with indigestion.

Since I live my life between, I certainly should build a home there–a place where I am satisfied to be challenged by new ideas, as I also add a bit of spice to my common daily gruel.

Yes, human life is about learning how to be content and overjoyed with the decor of the modicum, yet knowing when to wisely move from “between” … to the next castle in the sky.

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Bedbug

Bedbug: (n) a bloodsucking bug that is a parasite of birds and mammals.Dictionary B

Every once in a while, you run across a hand-written account from one of the early settlers who traveled across the great heartland of America in a Conestoga Wagon.

Although there were many hardships–like rain, floods, broken wagon wheels, attacking Indians and creatures trying to maul them–I do not recall any of these frontiersmen complaining about bedbugs.

I’m sure they had them. But keeping a perspective on their lives, being chomped on by a ravenous bear probably took precedence.

But now we live in a world where we have so few problems in comparison to our forefathers that we have the luxury of focusing on miniscule concerns to terrorize ourselves into believing our lives are really adventurous.

I stay in roadside accommodations all the time and I am quite sure that the quality of the inn that I’ve selected for my holiday is not necessarily the Best Western just because I’ve paid more than six dollars for my motel.

Bedbugs like people.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with us avoiding their advances, but I think it’s optimistic to believe that our personal beds at home have any fewer of the critters than those in commercial locations.

So I think it’s just fine to be conscientious about avoiding bedbugs–as long as we aren’t obsessed and fearful of sharing a bed with one.

After all, if you’re frightened of bloodsuckers, politics makes strange bedfellows.

 

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