dictionary with letter A

Amour: (n) a secret or illicit love affair or lover.

I think it’s absolutely terrific that there is a dignified word and pleasant expression for a romantic encounter other than referring to it as a fling, adultery or fornication.

Even though I understand the importance of moral purity and the value of keeping oneself sexually focused, I will tell you this–we are human beings and:

  • We like to make out.
  • We like to feel that we’re wanted.
  • We certainly yearn to be desirable.

And the notion that in a moment of weakness we will not give in to our sensibility to be appreciated, and even lusted after, may not only be optimistic, but against all that makes us interesting.

Even though I have to be honest and say that sexual promiscuity comes with its own stinging barbs of retribution, I have equally found that sexual repression is also a destroyer of human beings.

So what is the right amount of sexuality in our lives to keep us balanced, involved and moving forward instead of dragging our butts on the ground in depression or feeling cheap and sleazy?

I’m happy to tell you … I don’t know.

I will say this: if I removed one ounce of amour from my life, I would be a worse jerk than I presently am, and certainly riddled with self-pity instead of purposefully using, of my own accord, self-deprecation.

I like the idea of somebody wanting me–I will not lie. Yet I have resisted the temptation to turn that into a torrid affair. But I am grateful for every human being who considered me viable enough as a potential lover to invite the possibility.,

I am not so religious that I believe that God is cranky about our glandular inclinations. And I am not so enamored by “free love” to contend that such encounters are without recompense.

Amour is necessary to us or we soon cannot fathom why love exists in the first place.


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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix


Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Alcove: (n) a recess typically in the wall of a room or garden.

What an interesting definition. I always thought an alcove was more like a little chunk out of the mainland, where water creeps its way in, creating a still, calm environment.

Far be it from me to disagree with Mr. Webster–but since you have his definition, let me talk about mine.

I thought it was magical. Out on Hoover Lake, near Columbus, Ohio, there was this place. Maybe I’d better call it a spot. It was just an area of water near the shoreline, indented–about the size of two swimming pools–where we used to go fishing. We found it every time. After all, we thought it was magical.

There was a tree sticking up out of the lake, rocks along the shoreline, and the water was not terribly deep, so it was perfect for catching fish. I always believed it was kind of like a “resort area” for the little swimmers to go to–not suspecting there would be wise fishing souls like myself, to catch them on a hook.

I don’t really know if the fishing was better in that particular alcove. But I convinced myself it was. Matter of fact, I learned that the true magic in life is often in convincing yourself of something pretty good, so you can bring your heart and soul to the mission.

Catfish were in that alcove. I loved to catch ’em. I was a little squeamish about taking the hook out of their mouths because they have those barbs that can stick you. Often we used bread dough or a corn muffin as bait, because the catfish weren’t picky.

And it was easy to row over to the shoreline, get out of the boat, stretch your legs, take a good pee, and in just a minute, be back to the business of fishing.

I do remember being disappointed one afternoon when another boat came into our sacred turf. It felt defiling. How could it be special if other people discovered it?

But fortunately, they didn’t stay long. Completely missed out on the magic.

Isn’t that like life? One man’s alcove is another man’s disappointment.

So I apologize to Mr. Webster if I have misused the definition. But I’m afraid, considering my age, that I will continue to believe that my magical alcove on Hoover Lake is the vacation home of many a fishy possibility.