Belabour: (v) to argue or elaborate (a subject) in excessive detail.Dictionary B

Being mousy is always considered a negative profile.

Most folks think that the roar of the lion is preferable to the squeak of the mouse.

But I will tell you this–mice as a whole have an interesting approach to life.

Matter of fact, we had some of them in our house and I was completely unaware of it until one day I noticed that some of the pieces of bread I was taking out of the cupboard had tiny little nibble marks. I don’t know what caused me to focus on this phenomenon, but there was just enough crust missing that I had to ask myself, “What’s going on here?”

I showed the bread to a friend, and he laughed and said, “You got yourself a hungry mouse.”

Grossed out, I dropped the bread and would have run from the room, but pulled up short in order to maintain my masculinity.

So we set some traps, and sure enough, we found some mice.

But I realized that mice have a pretty good system, which keeps them from being recognized for their interventions, thus escaping capture.

They nibble at the corners.

I know that nowadays it is popular to scream in the streets and bang the walls to get attention.

Politicians and preachers belabour us with infinite details of their plans, making sure to punctuate with volume–and even threats.

But the truth of the matter is, when you are as “quiet as a mouse,” you can come in and nibble away at problems and people may not even be aware of your presence … just that when you leave, there’s a little less crustiness.

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dictionary with letter A

Ap·pre·hen·sion (n): 1. anxiety or fear that something bad or unpleasant will happen.

A pall in the room.

This is what I created the other night when I casually mentioned that I was diabetic.

Some faces reflected horror; others, pity. But the general disposition of those gathered was that they would have to sit back and listen to a litany of my sad tale or a description of my medications and treatment.

I surprised them because I just don’t do that.

But rather than appreciating the fact that I did not bore them with the elements of my constitution, they looked on me with a bit of dismay. I think they found be blithe.

Yes, if any word has been thrown my way as an insult, it would be blithe and all of its friendly synonyms.

  • “Silly.”
  • “Not careful enough.”
  • “Short-sighted.”
  • “Immature.”
  • “Naive.”
  • “Overly optimistic.”
  • Or even occasionally, “Ignorant.”

But I do not find blithe to be the absence of awareness, but rather, the negating of apprehension.

Case in point: when my doctor told me I had diabetes, I deadpanned in his direction: “Well, now I know what’s gonna kill me.”

He paused, looking into my eyes to see if I was serious, and when I twinkled his way, he laughed. He also spent the next two hours explaining the rigors of my situation and the care I needed to give myself.

I don’t mind giving myself attention–as long as it’s half of what I give to others.

Apprehension has never made my journey sweeter or improved my situation. Matter of fact, it tends to do the opposite.

So if I were to be accused of anything, and I certainly will be, “blithe” would be my preference.

Because the power of living a life which “takes no thought” for certain matters is the realization that my thinking does not always produce positive energy and often fails to even release the serotonin that could make my thinking better.

Do I have apprehensions? Yes.

But I would consider them to be pesky mice in my house … instead of pet hamsters in cages.


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