Tag Archives: desert

Coronado, Francisco

Coronado, Francisco: A Spanish explorer of the sixteenth century who traveled through the southwestern United States searching for the legendary “seven gold cities of Cibola.”

I don’t know whether people avoid studying history because they think it’s boring, or if deep in their hearts, they fear that if they have the funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
information of the mistakes done by others who lived before them, they become responsible for the knowledge.

History has always been one of my favorite subjects—mainly because, in the scope of a few paragraphs you can discover what one human being wanted to do, what they attempted and what happened.

Pretty impressive.

Otherwise you’d have to wait years to study the conclusions—but the history books honestly summarize human pursuit.

And universally, those who set out to find wealth and fame usually ended up in poverty, dying at the hands of those who were disappointed in following them.

But Coronado is particularly interesting. He heard the rumors from Indian tribes, telling him there were “seven lost cities” filled with gold and treasure, somewhere out there in the wilderness of what we now refer to as the Southwest United States.

You can imagine how doubtful his men would have been when they got to New Mexico and Arizona and saw nothing but desert and cacti.

What Coronado set out to do he never accomplished:

  • He never found gold in cities.
  • He never discovered wealth.
  • And his life seemed to be a great disappointment.

The only reason he is even mentioned in today’s history books—and also in this dictionary—is that while he was seeking that which could not be found, he stumbled upon something very significant which he was not seeking.

One day he and his men happened upon the Grand Canyon.

It certainly wasn’t golden and didn’t possess a treasure which could be carted off and turned into lasting wealth.

But it was certainly beautiful.

It was a carving which Nature had performed through millions of years, to give God a present for the raw material provided.

And it is a gift God gives to us—to remind us that treasure does not always glitter. Sometimes it just exists in natural beauty … to take our breath away.


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Cactus

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Cactus: (n) a spiny plant native to the New World

Draw a cactus.

If you’ve ever actually seen a cactus, you could take a piece of paper and draw almost anything, and it could be a cactus.

They don’t really have a typical shape, but kindly imitate the human race in being all sizes, not to mention configurations: one arm, two arms, little arms, big arms, stubby arm, tall arm, two stubby arms, and sometimes even multiple legs going into the ground.

They are absolutely gorgeous because they have so little competition for beauty. In the desert the standard for attractiveness is low. There is sand as far as the eye can see, and then the cactus–which juts on the horizon, offering visual diversion.

Rumor has it they have even been used to grant moisture to traveling souls who found themselves destitute of a cool drink. I don’t know the true story on that, but will pass along the Western fable without fear.

I like the cactus. I like the fact that when they get together they become cacti. Distinction after distinction for these tall ladies and gentlement.

(I guess there’s a female cactus. Why would I feel that way? Ah…I know. They’re prickly.)

 

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Beige

Beige: (n) a pale sandy yellowish-brown color.

Dictionary B

Am I the only weirdo who stops and thinks about God creating people from the dust of the Earth?

By dust, do we mean blowing sand from the desert? Or are we referring to soil?

Either way, God did not make humanity out of baby powder.

What I mean is, tweren’t white.

It’s amazing how Caucasian people came up with the idea that they are superior, considering their lack of pigment and the fact that they don’t resemble the hue of dust.

The first man and woman who were created were certainly darker in shade. A dusty brown.

So even though people jokingly say that they’re going to “go wild” and paint their den beige, and then giggle–actually, if you blended all the colors of human skin together, wouldn’t you end up with beige?

Isn’t our coloration very mediocre and therefore equally insignificant?

Because the beauty of beige is that it refuses to offer enough excitement to dazzle the room. It requires knickknacks, carpeting and wall hangings to bring it to life.

Huh.

So do we.

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Astonish

Astonish (v): to surprise or impress someone greatly.dictionary with letter A

  • Someone letting another person go in front of them in the grocery store because they have fewer items
  • A homeless man picking up trash in the park where he sleeps.
  • Anyone who lets me into traffic when they don’t have to.
  • A beautiful sunshiny day.
  • Finishing up my daily writing, realizing that something really cool came out of someone like me.
  • Sitting in a room with friends and watching them laugh and feeling a part of it.
  • A really good meal that came out of nowhere from what looked like a broken-down diner.
  • Discovering in the check-out line that the item you purchased is further reduced in price.
  • Reaching into an old jacket pocket and finding $20.
  • Saying a prayer and actually feeling better.
  • Barely escaping being hit by an eighteen-wheeler.
  • Driving through the desert at the end of the day, peering at a beautiful sunset.
  • Going to bed with some aches and pains, to wake up in the morning with them amazingly gone.
  • Reaching the end of the month and having a few dollars left in your bank account after all the bills are paid.
  • Having someone compliment you on how well-behaved your children are.
  • Coming home and discovering that your kids have actually cleaned their room.
  • Having a very tiring day and then the dog comes in and licks your hand.
  • Wondering how you’re going to spend an evening and discovering an old movie you really love is just coming on TV.
  • Overwhelmed by the notion that someone who has known you for twenty years still loves you.
  • Reaching your latest birthday and feeling younger than older.
  • Knowing that you’re not alone, but you belong.

These are some astonishing things that should always be viewed with great astonishment.

 

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Arid

dictionary with letter A

Arid: (adj) A climate having little or no rain; too dry or barren to support vegetation.

Green grass is beautiful. No doubt about it.

Yet eventually it requires your intervention with a mower.

Mountains are stunning in their visage. Yet somehow or another, they compel you to climb them, which is annoying, to say the least. They can also become quite frigid when the calendar says tepid.

The ocean is gorgeous and powerful. But whether you like it or not, sometimes in its more stormy brawls, it intrudes on us “land-lubbers.”

On the other hand, the desert is nearly perfect. Because it lacks vegetation, does not require water and is ancient in its days, it really doesn’t request much from the surrounding mortals. Yet in its simplicity, it reminds us that:

  • we live on a planet
  • we are part of a cosmos
  • and if we don’t allow the moisture of experience and compassion into our lives, we, too, can dry out and become arid.

I know it may seem strange, but I do love the desert. However, you have to be careful because it is so hot and dry that you may become unaware of your need to hydrate.

So as long as you remember that the desert can live without water but you can’t, you can stroll around and enjoy the complexity of rock formations which have been beaten by the sands of time and the mood swings of Mother Nature.

The desert reminds me that the earth does meet the heavens–and we are all intended to live as one.

     

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    Aphrodisiac

    dictionary with letter A

    Aphrodisiac : (n.) a food, drink or drug that arouses sexual desire.

    Her name was Carol Ann. She was a cheerleader.

    I was sixteen years old and always got a stirring in my Southern Hemisphere every time she walked by. Embarrassing as it may sound, it occasionally led to an eruption.

    I was a teenager. I required no aphrodisiac. (Matter of fact, every year when the Sears catalogue arrived in our mailbox, I stole it, took it into my room and stared at the pictures of the models in their bras until pleasure had its way.)

    That’s why, when I read our word today, I had to smile. An aphrodisiac is an additive which is necessary for those who have already lost the urge to participate in the game of love but still want to believe they are playing at mid-season strength.

    It’s astounding to me the amount of sexual energy that overwhelms the human body between the ages of fourteen and twenty-five, when, for some societal determination, we are supposed to be more interested in taking chemistry instead of making chemistry.

    By the time you are allowed to participate in the carnal cravings, the interest has already begun to wane a bit–thus the introduction of aphrodisiacs.

    Unfortunately, most of us don’t know what stimulates true sexual passion. It really isn’t pornography, nor is it celibacy, just as being drowned doesn’t teach you to enjoy swimming and living in the desert doesn’t provide the correct environment for learning the back stroke.

    There are three great aphrodisiacs in the human experience once you pass the age of thinking that every pencil looks like a penis and every marshmallow, a boob.

    1. Great, intelligent conversation. There is something that makes us all horny–when we believe that we’re being heard and we become very proud of how well we listen.

    2. Food that is prepared by other hands which you were able to pay for while summoning a waitress. Isn’t that a gas?

    3. Admiration. Is there anything sexier than having a deep, abiding and lustful appreciation of the person you are about to ravage?

    So by the time you need an aphrodisiac instead of just a cheerleader walking by, you must realize that magic potions rarely produce magic. That takes a delicious blending of the concoction of generosity and humor.

     

     

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    Angelou, Maya

    dictionary with letter A

    Angelou, Maya: (1928-2014): a U.S. novelist and poet, who wrote the autobiography, “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” recounting her harrowing experiences as a black child in the American south.

    When Ms. Angelou died recently, I was curious about how the press would discuss her journey.

    Let’s be honest–it’s what we do. We characterize human beings into such small compartments that it is difficult for them to be contained without busting out the sides.

    Here is what I discovered: most of the reports focused on some aspect of her race, her experiences within the realm of her color, or her writings about the subject. It will be many generations before we’re able to escape the statement, “She was black.”

    The next popular phrase used for her was “ground-breaking.”

    Often I think we fail to understand that breaking ground means that the earth has gone fallow, failing to grow anything, and that someone needs to take a shovel to the crusty surface and risk looking like a fool for pursuing hope in the desert.

    Even though we laud her efforts, we must realize that she spent the majority of her life subjugated by a society that found her inferior by hue, even though she was able to intellectually surpass all the hum of their activity.

    In third place was an appreciation for her art.

    I suppose it might have taken a primal position had it not been for an ongoing, quiet racism that whispers in corners of the secrecy of our private moments.

    I personally remember her as a soft-spoken, gentle woman with a bit of edge, who tried to explain the confusion around her using more beautiful language than it perhaps deserves.

    I recall her debating a rap artist and telling the young man that using dark or evil language was like pouring poison into the world. She said, “Poison is always poison.”

    The young rapper was very respectful but unmoved. For after all, one man’s poison is another man’s medicine, and all the cures we have for ailments, left to themselves or taken in excess, are deadly.

    She was a tender, simple woman of craft who believed there was still much to be done, carried the scars of her upbringing and yearned for a more peaceful place.

    It is a great comfort to me that she has found that home.

    It is a great curiosity to me that perhaps in the future, people like Maya can be known for what they say … instead of what color they appear to be.

     

     

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