Tag Archives: old man

Crotchety

Crotchety: (adj) given to odd notions, whims, grouchiness, etc.

There are three words that seem to travel together. Buddies, if you will.

I don’t think you can see “crochety” without the word “old” hanging around, accompanied in the back seat by the word “man.”

Crochety old man.

Women aren’t crochety—women are bitchy.

Men, on the other hand, get a “cushioney” word, perhaps pulled out of a hat owned by Charles Dickens: “’Tis crochety, old boy.”

Also, men are old. Women, on the other hand, are decrepit.

At least with the word “old” you have the possibility of “wisdom” traveling alongside. But decrepit immediately conjures a vision of an old witch with a fondness for dining on the carcasses of little children.

The gentleman in the story gets the advantage of maintaining the word “man” to describe him, while the woman would be a hag.

So if you have a penis, you get to be a “crochety old man.”

Absent that appendage, you are a “bitchy, decrepit hag.”

After all, what does it mean to be crochety? It means that nothing is going your way anymore because your way is so old it’s covered with dust.

What can one do to age and still be a person who isn’t crochety?

I think there is a three-step process, whether you’re male or female:

  1. Shut up.

No one wants to hear all your stories.

  1. Listen.

And as you do, learn some of the lingo so you don’t talk like you came out of a 1970’s movie.

  1. Think funny things, think serious things—share the funny ones.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

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Chase

Chase: (v) to pursue in order to catch or catch up with.

What am I chasing?

It’s pretty important. It not only determines the direction I’m going, but also the energy I’m expending–and to a large degree, the location of
 my destination.

So what should be our profile on “the chase?”

Do we chase like cats, distracted by a simple strand of string?

Do we chase like rabbits, running hither, thither and yon, until danger frightens us back into our hole?

Do we chase like the cheetah, convinced that nothing can ever outrun us?

Life is never pleasant if, in the process of gaining what we desire, we exhaust our passion. There’s a truth. How we chase may be more important than what we chase.

I have a tendency to chase things ala turtle.

In other words, in my mind I see what I want, but because I have placed “slow down” into my mentality, I have ample opportunity to change my GPS on my way to the prize.

I’ve just never been convinced that getting there first is the best profile. Life is too fickle. People are too unpredictable. And circumstances–too changeable for me to be confident that acquiring the present shiny object is the ideal pursuit.

That’s why those who make I-phone 9 are already ready to bring out I-phone 10. They are quire sure that “the chasers” will pay more money just to prove they’ve got the new thing–and then justify it by amplifying a few subtle perks.

What am I chasing? What will make me don the boots of the quest? Not much.

I’ve never found that an up-close look at a piece of junk is any better than seeing it at a distance, and I’ve never discovered that seeking a worthless emotion feels better if you get there early.

Slow down, you move too fast.

Paul Simon said that. Paul Simon is still around. Paul Simon is still making music. Paul Simon is getting to be an old man, but he’s still pickin’–because he avoided the chase … and made “the morning last.”

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Bran

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Bran: (n) pieces of grain husk separated from flour after milling

I’m sorry to admit that I’ve reached an age when, for some reason or another, I feel comfortable to discuss my bowel movements in public.

Not with everybody.Dictionary B

There has to be some intimacy that’s been exchanged between us in order for me to uncork information on my flow.

I used to go to the toilet without reservation or comment. Often it happened too quickly or too frequently, but I always felt like I was just a “regular guy.”

Then suddenly the large and small intestine became territorial–perhaps because for many years they had been in competition with each other over size.

So the food I now place in my mouth has become like a reluctant old man who has found his favorite park bench and believes there are squirrels yet unfed.

It has become necessary for me to introduce bran–usually in the form of cereal–for my breakfast, without allowing it to look like I have done so because I have been overtaken by a cloud of decrepit.

Especially when I get around my children or younger humans, I will lamely attempt to offer the possibility that the cereal is to my liking and I would choose it over Lucky Charms any day.

Yet I can see it in their eyes–a mingling of mischief and pity which lets me know that they are aware that this consumption of bran products is necessary to unclog my dam.

Oh, damn.

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