Berry

Berry: (n) a small roundish juicy fruit without a stone.

Dictionary B

I find it mentally erotic to allow each of the words that I write about every day to leap into my memory and drag out the stories.

The word “berry” has two significant meanings to me.

First of all, I love berries. They are something I can eat without guilt, even though they tell me it is possible to consume too many.

I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten a berry I did not like. Some berries do grumble my stomach a bit, but that doesn’t keep me from enduring the growl.

But I also have a memory of berries which is less satisfying–maybe just a little bit frustrating.

When I first got married, my wife and I were very poor. To complicate our poverty, we were also lazy. The two don’t work well together, for when they arrive at the same time, they can leave you really hungering and thirsting.

My parents had a small parcel of land outside of town–a farm which had some blackberry bushes. (I think they’re called bushes. Maybe they’re vines, but I’m too lazy to look it up.)

My wife and I had the brilliant idea of going out, picking blackberries, and selling them door to door. It was not going to guarantee us a lot of money, but it would definitely succeed in buying a loaf of bread, some bologna or even the more coveted peanut butter and jelly.

It was an arduous task.

The berries are small, so it takes a lot of them to fill up a container. We got hot, stung by bugs and poked by thorns. It was not what I would call pleasant, even though we rejoiced in the opportunity and turned it into a lark.

We picked for about three hours and got seven little baskets, which we sold for fifty cents apiece. It was a long time ago, but that still was a good deal.

We were so overjoyed over the process that we decided to do it again two or three days later, but when we went back to the houses to sell our berries, the customers began to complain about twigs in the baskets, and the fact that some of the berries weren’t quite ripe.

Suddenly we had become a $3.50 corporation, which apparently needed a customer relations department. It took a lot of joy out of the experience. One lady even demanded that we return a quarter as a refund.

So as I sit and enjoy my berries topped with a little Cool Whip, I am grateful for those souls who have to pick them … being careful never to complain if I discover a twig.

Donate Button

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

 

Basket

Basket: (n) a container used to hold or carry thingsDictionary B

I have never been particularly fond of work.

I do prefer work that I make up instead of chores that are made up for me. But like every other God-fearing American, I enjoy money.

So when I was a kid–about twelve–my dad, for a very brief time, grew strawberries on our little farm, with the intent of picking them, selling them and procuring an extra income.

Nobody in our family knew how difficult it was to pick strawberries. The plants do not have the decency to grow tall enough to reach up to you. No, you have to go down to get them on the ground.

My dad wanted to sell a pint of strawberries for a quarter. He offered me a nickel for every pint of strawberries I picked.

So I picked and I picked and I picked–and every time I brought him a pint to examine, he said it was not quite full.

At the end of the first day, I had only picked two pints, earning a dime. So overnight, practically in my dreams, I came up with a plan.

Unknown to my father, I carried a roll of toilet paper with me into the strawberry patch, and filled the bottom of my basket halfway with toilet paper, making sure that when I picked the strawberries, they covered the toilet paper so that it would take half as much to achieve a pint.

That night I not only received great praise for picking more baskets–eight in all–but proudly walked away with 40 cents.

I pulled this off for two days until people who were purchasing the strawberries began to complain to my parent about being cheated out of product by being given bathroom issue.

My father was furious.

I don’t know whether he was more unhappy because of the complaints of the people or because I was such a cheat.

But I learned that day that a basket is a basket and never will cease to be a basket.

If you find the basket is too small, then you need to get a larger basket.

And, as in the case of my strawberry picking, if you find the basket is too big, rather than cheating, you must acquire a smaller basket.

 

Donate Button

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

*******************
Don’t let another Christmas go by without purchasing Jonathan’s bestselling Christmas book!

Mr. Kringle’s Tales … 26 Stories ‘Til Christmas

Click here to read all about Mr. Kringle's Tales...26 Stories Til Christmas! Only $5.99 plus $1.25 shipping and handling.

Click here to read all about Mr. Kringle’s Tales…26 Stories Til Christmas! Only $5.99 plus $1.25 shipping and handling.

 

“The best Christmas stories I’ve ever read!”

From the toy shop to the manger, an advent calendar of Christmas stories, beginning on November 30th and ending on Christmas morning.

We need a good Christmas this year.

Mr. Kringle’s Tales will help you make it so.

Buy today.

"Buy

 

 

 

Anguish

dictionary with letter A

Anguish: (n) severe mental or physical pain or suffering.

One man’s severe is another woman’s menstrual cramp.

Therefore, when is it permissible to share your feelings concerning the load you carry? When are we allowed to admit that we hurt?

Because honestly, I have grown up in a world where complaining is permitted and hated at the same time.

Of course, I personally don’t complain. I merely cite examples, while others around me drone on incessantly about their often irrelevant needs.

How do you develop a sympathy for what one person considers to be severe anguish while secretly wondering if they’re just wimping out?

Is there a time to tell people that they’re wimps? Or is that just, in our modern-day society, considered to be another form of verbal bullying?

Over the years, I have learned that there are small windows–tiny little openings that are available when we can share our heart and be candid about our misgivings and pain. It is brief, it is personal and to exceed the time limit or guess wrong and ram your head into a brick wall instead of sticking it through a window is extraordinarily socially embarrassing.

So I have developed the idea that I will listen to almost anyone for about two minutes if they feel the need to flush out their anguish, and will only excuse myself when people either start to repeat themselves or insist that there’s no hope for solution.

We all have different thresholds of pain.

To ask individuals to adapt to my style is just as aggravating as if I were to demand they change the color of their skin.

But intelligent folks learn when to share, when to pray and even, to some degree … when to suffer in silence.

 

Donate Button

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

Angst

dictionary with letter A

Angst: (n) a feeling of deep anxiety or dread, typically unfocused, about the human condition or the state of the world in general.

I don’t want to be one of those people who pursue so much optimistic hopefulness that I fail to recognize what is necessary in order to maintain our present integrity.

Yet I have to wonder if it’s possible for the human race, in this season, to acquire both of the necessary portions that make us worthy of continuation.

For I feel it takes progress and process.

Yes, I think technology is wonderful, and I do not want to go back to a time when we had no computers, racism was extolled as normal, and antibiotics were not available for sickness.

I am not nostalgic for backward times.

However, by the same token, making progress without honoring the process of human character which honors the feelings of others, makes the world a dangerous place and certainly volatile.

It produces angst.

We become afraid that we will lose our progress if we honor the process. Or we preach the process and become “anti-progress,” making ourselves appear Neanderthal.

Is it possible to be a human being who realizes that progress needs to be made emotionally, mentally, spiritually and physically, without ignoring the values which make the process of living so much sweeter, and ripe with goodness?

We always attach the word “angst” to teenagers, but I am not convinced that a fourteen-year-old riding in a Conestoga Wagon with his parents, crossing the Great Plains in 1850, had much time to reflect on his or her misgivings.

If progress gives us too much free time to bitch and complain, robbing from the process of busying ourselves about becoming better people, then are we really moving forward?

Yet if the process of maintaining civility causes us to be suspicious of every facet of progress, then the foolishness we maintain makes our belief system appear to be shortsighted.

What would it take to mingle progress with process?

  1. I will put to use anything at all that makes life easier, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else.
  2. I will acknowledge that there is no replacement for personal contact, love and gentleness with my fellow-travelers.
  3. I am ready to go forward if it doesn’t push someone else backward.

I think in considering this trio of principles, we can merge progress and process, to generate a climate of mutual benefit, drenched in compassion.

 

 

Donate Button

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

Afield

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Afield: (adv.) to or at a distance: e.g. competitors from as far afield as Hong Kong.

I often think about jobs that would be much more difficult than what presently encompasses my time. I do this to manufacture a sense of gratitude in my fussy being when I find myself complacent, or even complaining, about my circumstances.

It doesn’t take me long to envision particular undertakings which would be quite distasteful to my being. Don’t mistake my meaning. I’m not saying these pursuits are not important, valuable or even admirable–just beyond my ability and willingness.

  • I would not like to dig ditches.

Even though I can see that progress is observed through the action, continually sticking a shovel in the ground to displace dirt to another location would not only exhaust me but also stimulate my claustrophobia as I found myself surrounded by an earthen prison.

  • I don’t think I’d like to work in food service.

When I go into a restaurant or fast food joint, I am so grateful for those who pursue this occupation. Yet remembering orders, scurrying about, fielding complaints and settling for a less-than-satisfying wage would probably turn me into the Grinch who massacred everyone around the Christmas tree.

You can see, I have a number of these, and at the end of my reflection I always have a spring in my step as I renew my journey and vocation. Today I will add another one to the list:

  • I would not want to be the agent for the word “afield.”

I could never muster the conviction to convince folks to be that hoity-toity in their language, nor would I even consider that such an option would be positive.

After all, what’s wrong with saying, “competitors from as far away as Hong Kong …?”

You see what I mean? When you’re trying to impress someone with verbiage that is meant to alienate others, you are stimulating the kind of stupidity that keeps us all at odds. No, I would not want to be the agent to promote the word “afield.”

I would rather dig a ditch.

 

Accrue

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Accrue: (v.) to be received by someone in regular or increasing amounts over time: e.g. financial benefits will accrue from restructuring.

THAT’S not the way the word’s used.

Sneaky, Mr. Webster! Trying to make us believe that the word “accrue” can be positive! WE know when the word “accrue” is used–it’s when we’re late on our credit card payment or our mortgage and we are warned that because of our tardiness, our account will accrue more interest.

“Accrue” is a THREAT.

It is a reminder that our temporary station of poverty is being downgraded with further poverty because we DARED to have some sort of ungodly lacking.

So in an ongoing attempt to remain an energizing force instead of a constant sapping off of the great American legacy, I suggest that we find ways to accrue interest … in ourselves. (You see the play on words? Not that it’s particularly clever, but it is sufficient for this twenty-four-hour period.)

How can I accrue interest from the world around me? Here are five really quick suggestions which will take you from being an ignored deduction to being a possible asset:

1. Stop complaining. Immediately that puts you in the upper percentile of the human family. You’ll get better tables at restaurants, better service at dry cleaners. Your family will start listening to you because there’s a possibility of something positive being said instead of abstract grumpiness.

2. Do what you say. Be careful with this one. Intelligence will demand that you speak less often so as not to have to back up your words. But once you have boldly made a proclamation, go ahead and put in the effort.

3. Stop thinking you’re better than anybody else. Even if you privately do hold these feelings, don’t publicly take out an ad on Craig’s List. When human beings are convinced that you are willing to be equal with them rather than superior, they are much more likely to cooperate–and much less likely to rob and kill you.

4. Don’t talk about politics or religion. It’s better to let your beliefs bear fruit and your political ideas prove out to be helpful to the surrounding problem.

5. And finally, keep growing. Don’t settle for your talent as it is. A certain amount of deterioration is inevitable in our earth span in order to confirm depreciation. If you’re not always moving forward and multiplying your abilities, you will gradually “deduct” in spite of your denials.

There you go. There are five ways to accrue interest without getting a phone call from a condescending telemarketer from India who mispronounces your name and threatens you with all sorts of penalties.

I was determined to turn “accrue” into a positive force of nature instead of a negative curse from financial institutions. I don’t know about you, but in the process of me accruing interest from the humans around me, I might just end up not having to accrue interest on delinquent accounts.

I’m not sure–but it’s worth a try.