Charger

Charger: (n) Archaic a large, flat dish; platter

Long, long ago, when an epidemic of the simple common cold could kill people off by the thousands, a flat serving tray was referred to as a “charger.”

It has very little significance to us, as we now view a small cord which attaches to our phone as the only charger of note.

But long ago, when a young girl breathlessly finished a dance, nearly naked from her exuberant efforts, her step-father, a king, greatly
aroused by her choreography, promised to give her anything she wanted as payment for her little strip-tease.

He was obviously staring down at a beautiful temptation, and also at the evidence that she had succeeded in waking up the “little king.”

She was a nasty little vixen, with a mother who had been trained to be ruthless and cruel. So the two of them got together, and the girl requested the head of John the Baptist–“on a charger.”

(This is origin of the slogan, “I want his head on a silver platter.” I assume that the request for the platter was to express extreme indifference.)

But it is a warning.

For the Prophet John made the mistake of generating enemies of souls with no conscience.

And the young girl, who had been raised by a bedeviled mother to use the lust of men to her advantage, was able to take the Baptist’s indiscretion in judging a queen, and the queen’s fury over his insolence, and turn it into a tragedy.

It teaches us all that we should choose our words carefully — and avoid making enemies of people who really wouldn’t mind putting our fate on a plate.

 

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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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Calamity

Calamity: (n) sudden damage; a disaster

Regeneration.

I think that’s when alligators grow their tails back if they’re chopped off.

That doesn’t happen with humans. I know we don’t have tails–but if you cut off an arm, you’re left with only one.

Yet in many ways, the human race continues to contend that “things will get better if we just leave them alone.”

We will regenerate passion.

We will regenerate the values that seem to have slipped away.

We will regenerate racial equality (which was really never here in the first place).

Some people are waiting around to grow a conscience.

Other people insist they don’t have a soul, since they’ve stuffed it back in their closet and put a whole bunch of boxes in front of it.

Calamity is easy to understand. It is usually quite explainable.

It is not walking along on a sunny day and being struck by lightning. Rather, calamity occurs when we wait for solutions instead of working with the information we have to make things better.

It is the thought that since your tires are bald, they will not become balder.

Maybe it’s the notion that your child is no worse than any of the other kids in the neighborhood, simply because he has a similar haircut–but likes to kill cats.

Calamity occurs when life has warned us sufficiently, and reluctantly renders a judgment against us.

Without it, nothing would be fair.

And those who believe they are divinely protected from the by-products of stupidity need to be warned: God is not mocked. Whatever we sow, we shall certainly reap.

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Broaden

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Broaden: (v) to widen

Searching until one finds a moral certainty.

It used to be the goal of the human race. Obviously, we never achieved it. Otherwise we wouldn’t have burned witches, hated people of different colors or put leeches on sick folk to heal them of pneumonia.Dictionary B

Often moral certainty is an interpretation of a code of ethics printed in a book–whether it’s the Bible or “How to Win Friends and Influence People.” We scour the material to find the commandments that assure us that we are on the high ground.

The difficulty with this procedure is that simultaneously, the inclusion of other lifestyles suggests that we broaden our outlook on morality–often to the detriment or even deterioration of some of our certainties.

When I was a boy divorce was bad. Now it ranges from being painful to necessary, but obviously common.

Things like abortion, homosexuality and marijuana smoking were condemned and even prosecuted. Now we have been asked to broaden our definitions of acceptable behavior to counteract what was once considered to be a certainty, and instead, deem it a transition in our understanding.

Because we are broadening ourselves so much, we are definitely yanking at the seams of the moral conscience.

So what is immoral?

Without doubt, the denigration of another human being for the satisfaction of our pleasure or religious fervor is immoral.

The purposeful bullying or intimidation of an individual or group of souls falls into the spectrum of unseemly.

But are there carnal acts or deeds that we consider immoral?

Stealing, for instance, is permissible if done on a corporate level instead of a “pauper” one.

Sexuality has to have justification and mutual adult consent to be given license.

And the immorality of indifference to the plight of others can even be disguised as a political maneuver.

I am not a great advocate of moral certainty–but I will tell you that merely broadening our horizons does not guarantee that we see the truth.

 

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Baboon

Baboon: (n) a large monkey with a long doglike snout and large teeth.Dictionary B

  • Science is what we’ve learned about God,
  • Spirituality is what science has yet to learn.

So when Darwin discovered a chain of events leading to an understanding of natural selection and evolution, rather than realizing it was a step in our understanding of the rolling out of the Universe, we made the ridiculous assumption that we had dislodged the pearl of great price.

Meanwhile, Darwin’s theory has been used by racists and white supremacists for years to explain the existence of the black race. For these people contend that our brothers and sisters with a darker hue to their skin are the Missing Link.

So in the midst of this consideration that the baboon and all the primate cousins are really our ancestors, we have arrogantly opened up the door to suppositions and conclusions which have never been proven to have any merit.

Here’s the truth of the matter: the human body is a mishmash of many species of animals.

It’s almost as if some sort of Creator went to the graveyard of the animal kingdom and scooped up the dust left over from their bodies and made human beings, setting them apart with a larger brain and a deeper sense of conscience.

Just because we find the poetry of the story to be too simplistic, the idea that we have closed the book on evolution/creation by studying Darwin’s assertions, is equally as juvenile.

  • We have learned much about God. It is called Science.
  • We have much more Science to learn. It is called God.

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Ate

Ate: (v) past tense of eatdictionary with letter A

“Eating” is not my problem.

“Ate” is my problem.

Merely thinking about eating or sitting down to a table, acquiring a plate, spoon and fork and looking at food, deciding what I’m going to partake of, is all part of the natural process of rejuvenating my body.

Having done that to an excess, stuck with not only unwanted calories but a conscience that seems to have the tenderness of a young Baptist Sunday School girl, becomes a torture to my soul. (I often wonder why that young Baptist little girl doesn’t show up before I eat things, to tell me how I should avoid them instead of arriving to taunt me with my sins of gluttony.)

I’m also accosted by a society that believes it has no responsibility for plumping us all up like Thanksgiving turkeys, to be slaughtered off by a myriad of ax-wielding disorders and diseases.

So I’m forced into a corner where two conflicting spirits are constantly battling over my mortal soul.

The first spirit is what I call the “what the hell” specter. For after all, I’ve survived a long time being fat, and how much extra life span am I going to gain by eating lettuce instead of smoked sausage? And my “what the hell” demon also asks if that extra extension of months or weeks is worth losing the flavor?

Then I have a little tiny spirit, somewhat dwarfed in comparison, who insists that any time I can acquire to extend my creativity and fellowship with humanity is well worth a bit of sacrifice over one plate of food.

It is a battle I occasionally win.

  • Sometimes I can look at what I ate for the day and believe it is normal, or maybe even capable of reducing my girth.
  • Often I can look at what I ate and professionally present to you exactly where I went astray, and tilted the scales–literally–to my detriment.

It is impossible to believe that either my willpower or our society will ever gain the compassion to free me from my obesity.

I have three recourses:

  1. I can try to win, one plate at a time.
  2. Eat my way into an early grave
  3. Or attempt to live off the grace of God…while convincing myself that bacon is healthy.

 

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Asking Price

Asking price: (n) the price at which something is offered for sale.dictionary with letter A

Never set your mind or heart to what you’re determined to get before you go shopping.

Why?

Because you will always end up screwed on either the price or the quality of your purchase. Your desire will overcome your good sense.

I do not speak in theory. I have so many examples of my whim overtaking my common sense and dragging the both of us off to “stupid land” that I wouldn’t even know where to start.

But for the sake of brevity, let me focus on one beautiful May afternoon about twenty years ago, when I decided I wanted to buy a “fancy-looking car.” I desired to appear affluent (minus the bank account).

So feeling over-confident about my negotiation skills, I headed off to a local used car dealership, perusing the lot for the auto of my choice, doing everything that is customary, short of kicking the tires.

The owner of the establishment–a tall gentleman with a bright-colored tie and a Texas drawl–came up to me and I began my wheeling and dealing before he even got a chance to speak a word.

I was not a rube, nor had I recently been on any turnip truck.

I knew the ropes.

So instead of inquiring of this fellow what the price was on a Grand Marquis I was eyeballing, I leaped in and told him what I was going to pay for it, thinking that it must be much more in asking price, and that I was setting myself up for a great deal.

I failed to notice the small smile that came across his face when he heard my numerical offer. What I noted were his eyebrows, which quickly furrowed, passing on the impression that he was in great consternation over considering my low offer for such a high premium Mercury.

He suggested that the price should be a little bit higher, and proffered a couple of numbers, but I stood firm–and in no time at all, we were in his office, signing papers.

I couldn’t help but gloat, especially after my signature was on the form and I knew the rich-looking car was mine.

It was at this point that the salesman, possessing very little actual conscience, discovered a few remnants, apparently had taken a liking to me, and so choked up one little fact about the car that may have missed my brilliant observance.

He said, “You do know that 172,000 miles on the odometer is the actual mileage, right?”

Well, I didn’t, but pretended I did, because I was in the throes of a prideful lunacy.

So long story short, his conscience did not last very long. He shook my hand and I drove exactly thirty-one miles before my car broke down.

Since it was sold “as is,” any hopes of retrieving my money…well, was.

Gone, that is.

There were a few times that this car was a blessing, but more what you might call “tin-tank prodigal son.”

Since then I’ve learned to never be too sure of what you want.

And certainly, find out the asking price before you negotiate your final deal.

 

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