Bungalow

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Bungalow: (n) a low house, with a broad front porch

Words are tools, but just as in the case of a screwdriver, can be used to kill.

If placed correctly, they can make sense or communicate our thoughts. But if not, then they are dangerous or at least deceptive.

I have used the word “bungalow.” I have used the word bungalow to describe some home I was renting which was beneath my standards–or perhaps universally without any standards. I wanted to make it clear I was not living in some sort of cheap flat, but instead was inhabiting a bungalow.

I chose the word “bungalow” to explain my living situation because I knew that nobody had a grasp on what a bungalow actually was. But I was willing to take the chance that most people thought a bungalow was more ritzy than a one-bedroom/one-bath.

Nobody ever questioned me on it.

Heads would turn slightly to the left or right, as if considering what a bungalow might be–but human pride prevented them from inquiring about the exact appearance of the domicile.

Yet the description of one’s less-than-acceptable environs only works if nobody ever comes to visit.

The first visit will eliminate the impact of the word “bungalow” for all time.

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Bagpipes

Bagpipes: (n) a musical instrument with reed pipes, esp. associated with ScotlandDictionary B

I have yet to figure out how to be nice and honest at the same time.

  • The pursuit of nice is essential to the human race–otherwise we will constantly be on the verge of grumpy, lending itself to war.
  • The quest for honesty is equally as important, or we will be labeled as deceptive or openly proclaimed a liar.
  • The trick is in blending the two.

Case in point: traveling on the road, playing an instrument and performing always, after the show, tends to draw individuals to me who are also aspiring artisans.

On one such occasion, a gentleman walked up and said that he had played his instrument for twenty-five years. I admired him for longevity of his craft.

He said to me, “Would you like to hear my instrument? It’s just out in the trunk.”

I should have come up with a quick excuse to escape the moment by pleading some form of busy activity. but I got cornered by my own lack of response and replied, “Well, I’ve got a few minutes…”

He disappeared and shortly came back in–carrying bagpipes.

My skin actually crawled. (I realized that this is not just a saying but an actual physical condition.)

For the next twenty minutes I received not only a concert, but instruction on correct ways to breathe and squeeze, in order to become an accomplished bagpipesman.

I did not have the heart to tell this man that bagpipes give me the creeps. Even during the traditional use of them, playing Amazing Grace at a funeral, I often find myself thinking, “Was there no flute available?”

But in my desire to be nice, I ended up being dishonest, which placed upon me the burden of appearing interested.

Fortunately, he finally disengaged himself because he was too busy to continue the lesson. He apologized for his necessary departure.

I do not know if I will ever be able to balance the quality of cordiality with the action of truthfulness, but I can guarantee you that I will never allow myself to be trapped in a room again…with a set of bagpipes.Donate Button

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Apoplectic

dictionary with letter A

Apoplectic (adj.) 1. informal overcome with anger. 2. dated relating to apoplexy (stroke).

If anger is a turd, then rage is a pile of manure. And if we were able to deal with our turds, we wouldn’t have to shovel our shit.

You see, that’s the problem.

Some sense of false kindness prevents us from speaking our hearts, causing us to be deceptive rather than forthcoming.

It doesn’t change the fact of what we feel. Choosing a gentle answer does not make us more gentle. It actually causes us to create a second storehouse, where we stockpile resentment instead of building up our barns of blessing.

It is impossible for me to live a blessed life if I’m pissed off–and the longer I stay pissed off, the less chance I have of ever satisfying the breach I’ve created in my own emotions and soul.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the driving habits of the American traveler. People who would normally appear rational lose all sense of dignity when they get behind the wheel of an automobile, because they feel they’re protected by armor, like a knight on a crusade to kill dragons. They become profane, horn-honkers and selfish intruders into the lives of other human movers.

Why? Because the anger that should have been dealt with days ago is now stinking up the joint.

There is one mission in discovering the value of human life: don’t be afraid to say what you feel … as long as you’re prepared to be wrong.

And since most people are not suited for such an admission of guilt, they would rather keep their feelings to themselves and maintain them in a chest of self-righteousness.

  • Rage is what kills.
  • Anger is what opens the door to communication.

If we allow ourselves to be transparent in our emotions, we will avoid the danger of rage.

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