Couching: (v) to express something in a language that is indirect or less than honest.

I have spent half my life trying to find nice ways to say things and the other half apologizing for failed experiments.

We are obsessed with the need to be coddled, even when it’s obvious that we are transgressors. We would prefer that God not refer to us as funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
sinners, but rather, “winners in training.”

We do not want our lovers to tell us that we fumble but sympathize that maybe it was a bad night and we were just tired.

When donning a new outfit of clothing, we expect praise even if the duds make us look ridiculous or over-balloon our appearance.

We are sensitive, but not to spiritual things or each other, but instead to any form of criticism.

So the entire Earth tries to couch what it says and does until it doesn’t want to do couch anymore—and then the bombs begin to fly.

We live in a world that travels from discontent to bombings, never considering that there can be conversation free of lies, deception and exaggeration, which might keep the death toll down at Ground Zero.

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Buzzard: (n) a large hawklike bird of prey

Sometimes I find myself discontent with my status and very fussy about my being.

Even though the more religious souls around me would disagree, I believe the Creator was much better intentioned than adept at design.

You know what I’m saying? Every once in a while, each one of us gets in a mood to buy some watercolors and try to paint a picture. Even though the experience may be pleasant, the results of the painting adventure need to buried in the back yard.

Yet what often causes me to recover from my spiritual swoon is considering how fortunate that I am not another type of creature.

I would despise being a cockroach.

Being a rat living in the sewers of New York City seems uncomfortable.

And I wouldn’t want to be a buzzard. Job description: flying around the sky all day long looking for dead things. Sometimes really, really dead things–so I can eat.

Now, I know that hamburger is just the remaining flesh of a cow, but when you add some ketchup, pickles and onions, it can be quite good.

Buzzards have to land and pick the bones of the dead.

I don’t want to be a buzzard. And I especially don’t want to be an emotional buzzard–flying around looking for the disasters in the lives of others so I can chew the fat with the old birds about their demise.

I don’t like buzzards–but they are part of creation.

So may I say, “Carion, my wayward son.”

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Bemoan: (v) to express discontent or sorrow over something.

Dictionary B

“Tell me how you feel.”

I hear these words spoken to me from time to time by individuals who think they are trying to tap into my inner soul to garner the essence of my honest emotions.

I don’t have honest emotions–I have temporary emotions.

Things cross my mind or fester in my heart and for the time being seem to be very important, yet dissipate quickly, like a springtime sprinkle of rain on a car windshield.

Yet if I opened up to you about these sensations, you might become convinced that they really had great significance.

They don’t.

Then I’m stuck with you considering me weak, turmoiled or limited in my ability to problem-solve.

So how can I be a candid human being and also adequately cautious that I’m not casting the pearls of my passing bemoaning in front of pig-headed evaluators?

For everything that scratches my itch or itches my scratch is not really important enough to share for the public purview.

Therefore, every time we run across a difficulty that temporarily sidelines our ability to reason, it is not necessary to put out a press release.

I call it the “two-hour rule.” If two hours of passing time, careful consideration, prayer, sense of humor and intelligent thinking it over don’t alleviate the situation, then maybe I should take a moment and air it out.

But the last thing in the world I want to become known for is being a soul who bemoans every time I lose 75 cents in the snack machine. 

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



Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A


Ado: (n) trouble or difficulty: e.g. she had much ado to keep up with him.

Everybody’s familiar with Much Ado About Nothing.” It’s a clever Shakespearean phrase. But what IS “ado” and what is “nothing?”

There are two flaws in human beings that were placed there by the Creator as a means of keeping us in just enough dissatisfaction to be aware that we REQUIRE good cheer. That’s the “ado” part.

Human beings are completely capable, in the midst of a blessed life, of not only finding the fly in the ointment, but also being completely possessed with the notion that there are MORE flies than ointment.

“Ado”–a sense of discontent that rattles us even in the midst of joyous discovery and revelry. After all, even when people extol the great fun of drinking alcohol, when you actually get around those who are partaking, the brief season of levity is often followed by depressing reflections on their own inadequacies.

“Ado” is that part of us that just can’t settle on our lot without feeling nasty or bratty. So therefore we begin to focus on “nothing.”

  • We find reasons to disagree with each other instead of establishing commonalities.
  • We start political parties to counteract the political party that disappointed us on Tuesday, which had so greatly impressed us on Saturday.
  • We insist we are worshipping God and praising Him while our prayers are a laundry list of bitchiness.

Once you convince yourself that there is “ado,” then “nothing” becomes something. Things that would not normally throw us upset us or even concern us become stumbling blocks to good emotional and mental health.

So this is why I believe that true spirituality is the promotion of good cheer as opposed to “kneeling and appealing.” And what IS good cheer?

Good cheer is accepting what’s been provided, and beginning to divvy it up–and because you take the time to enjoy what’s available, you look up from your task and suddenly discover there’s more.

I’ve never seen anyone happy until they started pretending they were happy.

I know we’re afraid of pretending, but let’s be honest–some of the most joyous times in our lives were when we were six years old and made believe that we were Superman.

Much Ado About Nothing–“ado” is when I convince myself that I’ve been cheated, and “nothing” is the mythical evidence I bring to support my claim.

We are a funny creation, are we not?