Dacron

Dacron: (n) a brand of polyester textile fiber that is wrinkle-resistant and strong.

Many years ago, deeply embedded in the cultural tributaries of the American social superhighway, I traveled the land as a young man with long hair, great passion and questionable decision-making capabilities.

My entire wardrobe was Dacron polyester.

The fabric was magical.

Although a case can be made that it looks rather cheap, it refuses to wrinkle. Matter of fact, one of the tests I had for choosing a stage garment was wadding it up in my hands and throwing it on the floor. Then I picked it up to see if I could find any flaws.

Dacron was divine for traveling.

You could take it off after a show, let it fall to the ground, step on it four or five times during the night, kick it to the corner in disgust—but still, in the morning, it would come back to you, submissively unmarred.

There is one thing you had to be careful with, and that was temperature. Keeping my clothes in the back of a hot van in August, at times an odor wafted to the front, which fell somewhere between platypus poop and mustard gas. (I’m guessing.)

It was just the natural “sweating” of the Dacron fabric (which, of course, really isn’t cloth at all, but a series of chemicals mingled together to somehow or another explode into a fabric shape).

Without Dacron, we would never have had the leisure suit.

Without Dacron, we would never have had poofy bell bottoms.

And without Dacron, we would never have had the disco era, complete with its wild coloration and flashy, over-sized clothing. (A argument could be made that our country might have survived the absence of that particular era. I will remain neutral.)

Yet if there is a lawsuit pending to isolate those souls who wore their fair share of Dacron polyester, I am guilty.

But wrinkle-free.

 

Curable

Curable: (adj) capable of being cured

People are frightened of fear.

Fear can be terrifying—therefore, the desire to avoid it produces a great intimidation to be fearful.

Just this morning, a colleague was so intense on proving her innocence that she produced a fear of being intimidated into considering her weakness, which made it impossible for her to be curable.

Denial is the path to destruction.

Any successful curing begins with the realization that the disease is present, the weakness is at work, and the fault is in full bloom.

“Here is the treatment and here is the prognosis.”

Nothing is curable if it’s not treatable.

Nothing is treatable if it’s not acknowledged.

So if one decides to live a life free of the contemplation of error, there will never be a sensation of being cured—just a maintaining of the symptoms.

There is something beautiful about being curable.

There is something magical about being declared cured.

And there is something humbling about allowing the curing process to do its anointing all over our circumstances.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Ballroom

Ballroom: (n) a large room used for dancing.Dictionary B

Every writer, whether aspiring or accomplished, has to make a personal, singular decision:

Am I going to write my articles and thoughts down as they relate to the subject or as they relate to me?

It’s a huge decision.

Well, not huge in the sense of attempting to get funding to cure cancer, but huge as defined as acquiring purpose and having relevance.

I suppose some folks would be interested in an article written on the subject of ballrooms or ballroom dancing which would enlighten them on history by discussing the international traditions.

That’s not what I do.

I am not a reporter; I am a sharer.

So when I think about ballrooms, or ballroom dancing, I relate it to my limited experience with “hoofing.”

I haven’t done a lot of dancing in my life. Considering my size and girth, I’m really quite agile, but have never had the doors of opportunity flung open for me to tap dance my way into people’s hearts.

But I do remember what it was like to be seventeen years old and going to a prom, knowing that I would be holding a woman very close to me, and have to perform some reasonable imitation of flow. Coming from a small town, it was thrilling to arrive at one of the big-city hotels, which had a ballroom with hanging chandeliers.

The lights were dimmed, the 5-piece combo began to play, and it was time to sway.

I was swept away.

Suddenly I felt like every young boy from every generation, who found himself enraptured in the aura of romance and the itch to coagulate and dance.

I wasn’t very good, but I took some risks, we had some good laughs, and for a brief moment, the young lady and I were transcendent in time, wisked away on magical shoes.

I will never forget it.

I never had a desire to duplicate it. I didn’t go to Arthur Murray and try to perfect my steps.

But in that suspended moment, I understood why they made ballrooms, and why they filled them … with dance.

 

 

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Amusement Park

dictionary with letter A

Amusement Park: (n) a large outdoor park with fairground rides and shows.

A magical time and a magical result.

Being the father of several sons, I had the opportunity to instill into them the most important virtue available in the human arsenal of emotions: trustworthy.

After all, eventually you have to reach a point as a parent, where you trust your children to do something–because if you trust them to do nothing, you not only taint their self-worth but also turn them into little scavengers always looking for a way to cheat without getting caught.

One of the tools I used to create this trustworthiness in my children was the local amusement park.

When they reached preteen, I purchased a yearly pass for them at this establishment, which was not more than a few miles from our house. It became the means by which we communicated with each other concerning the importance of chores, truthfulness and family obligation.

Quite bluntly, I was fully aware that my children would love to live at this amusement park with their sleeping bags, two weeks worth of potato chips and candy bars. Since this was out of the question, instead I afforded them the opportunity to attend the amusement park frequently if they showed me that their work ethic and honesty were up to the challenge.

Proving this to me long before they entered the amusement park, I could go in with them, sit on a bench and eat really cheap, delicious hot dogs and send them off on their own, telling them to return in exactly an hour and a half, and know with great confidence, that they would honor this commitment i order to maintain an ongoing passage to this magic world.

  • It was magnificent.
  • It was illuminating.
  • It was one of the greatest teaching tools I ever used in my years of fatherhood.

Some people would call it a bribe. These are the folks who have bratty children but insist they always tell them the exact truth and never deviate from the facts.

I am a parent. Like the New York City police, I am allowed to be deceptive if it stops a crime.

So those yearly passes to the local amusement park was one of the best investments I ever made to ensure that my sons would grow up with some understanding of responsibility … which lends itself to the righteous position of tapping pleasure.

 

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Alcove

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Alcove: (n) a recess typically in the wall of a room or garden.

What an interesting definition. I always thought an alcove was more like a little chunk out of the mainland, where water creeps its way in, creating a still, calm environment.

Far be it from me to disagree with Mr. Webster–but since you have his definition, let me talk about mine.

I thought it was magical. Out on Hoover Lake, near Columbus, Ohio, there was this place. Maybe I’d better call it a spot. It was just an area of water near the shoreline, indented–about the size of two swimming pools–where we used to go fishing. We found it every time. After all, we thought it was magical.

There was a tree sticking up out of the lake, rocks along the shoreline, and the water was not terribly deep, so it was perfect for catching fish. I always believed it was kind of like a “resort area” for the little swimmers to go to–not suspecting there would be wise fishing souls like myself, to catch them on a hook.

I don’t really know if the fishing was better in that particular alcove. But I convinced myself it was. Matter of fact, I learned that the true magic in life is often in convincing yourself of something pretty good, so you can bring your heart and soul to the mission.

Catfish were in that alcove. I loved to catch ’em. I was a little squeamish about taking the hook out of their mouths because they have those barbs that can stick you. Often we used bread dough or a corn muffin as bait, because the catfish weren’t picky.

And it was easy to row over to the shoreline, get out of the boat, stretch your legs, take a good pee, and in just a minute, be back to the business of fishing.

I do remember being disappointed one afternoon when another boat came into our sacred turf. It felt defiling. How could it be special if other people discovered it?

But fortunately, they didn’t stay long. Completely missed out on the magic.

Isn’t that like life? One man’s alcove is another man’s disappointment.

So I apologize to Mr. Webster if I have misused the definition. But I’m afraid, considering my age, that I will continue to believe that my magical alcove on Hoover Lake is the vacation home of many a fishy possibility.