Tag Archives: pleasurable

Dally

Dally: (v) to waste time; loiter; delay

I, for one, have grown weary of the judgmental attitude of the New Oxford Dictionary.

First of all, what’s so new about it? It acts like my grandma the first time she saw me in a turtleneck. Or for that matter, the first time Grandma saw me in anything that wasn’t popular in 1950.

Let us understand—I believe in the power of “dally.”

So much am I a supporter that I have linked my dilly with my dally to form a meaningful experience: dillydally.

Mr. Oxford, I am not wasting time. I am preserving it, lengthening it and treasuring it by sitting down and relaxing instead of hustling along, trying to prove I am some sort of “great worker.”

It certainly is not loitering, as you suggest. I am not perched on a park bench feeding the pigeons, sticking out my tin cup to receive donations from the innocent park-walkers.

Wasting time? Hardly. How is it wasting time to try to elongate moments by creating a slower pace of a more pleasurable style?

Truthfully, I do not see that people who rally produce more than those who dally.

And when you add a good dilly in on top of it—that being the desire to find something humorous along the way—you set yourself up in a lifestyle that is sparkling and tries to accentuate every breath, squeezing potential out of each second as it goes by.

I would dare to say that Thomas Edison, arguably the greatest inventor of all time, uncovered the light bulb in the midst of a dally. Exhausted over failures, he slowed down and decided to just experiment, and in so doing, found the correct filament to light up his life—and yours and mine as well.

I think there are many Presidents that did more during their dally time than they ever did campaigning, pushing, shoving and attacking.

So here’s to the dally.

May we always be in the pursuit of a simpler way to do things, a happier way of accomplishing them and a sense of utter relaxation while pursuing.

Crayon

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Crayon: (n) pointed stick or pencil of colored clay, chalk, wax, etc., used for drawing or coloring.

Elaborate was my plan.

Yes, many details, pieced together, far beyond my five years of life.

I loved crayons. But my mother never bought me a box that had more than twelve—and then, she never purchased the actual Crayola unit, which was so recognizable to my friends. So sometimes I showed up to play with our coloring books with my white box of eight crayons and they asked me, “Don’t you have crayons?”

It was mean. They could see that I had crayons—they just knew mine were “fake” and I was one of those kids who couldn’t afford “real” Crayolas.

I can remember like it was yesterday the first time I saw the gigantic container holding sixty-four crayons.

It was huge.

You couldn’t even use all the crayons—each hue pleaded for attention.

Fortunately for me, my friend allowed me to borrow from his pack of sixty-four, leaving me nearly teary-eyed and completely breathless. I never wanted to leave his home. After all, this was a house that contained the ultimate box of crayons, with sixty-four different opportunities.

Yet what started out as a pleasurable journey into the world of color ended up with me envious and angry.

So when my friend wasn’t looking, I reached in and took out six of my favorite colors from the pack and stuck them in the front pocket of my pants. To make sure he wouldn’t miss the crayons and there wouldn’t be a gap in the order as they stood like little soldiers in a row, I inserted some Kleenex into the slot and squished the crayons together, hoping to disguise the absence of the stolen six.

It worked.

He packed up the crayon box, put it away, and an hour later my mother came and picked me up.

Now, it was the next morning that my friend’s mother called my mother and asked if I knew anything about “missing crayons.”

I did but I wasn’t going to tell them.

The subject was dropped. They decided to take me at my word.

It would have been the perfect crime had it not been for the fact that I forgot to remove the crayons from the pocket of my pants, and my mother washed them in the machine—only to come out of the laundry room screaming over the messy, sloppy and smeary result.

I not only lost my crayons—I not only was unable to use what I had stolen—but the evidence of my guilt was now clearly melted all over my trousers.

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Blister

Blister: (n) a small bubble on the skin caused by burning, or other damage.

Dictionary B

One of my favorite things to do is to recall the actions of my youth and recollect how in the moment they seemed absolutely logical to me, and now I view them as either hilarious or in abject horror.

When I was in Junior High School I played basketball.

About two weeks after starting the sport, I got painful blisters on the bottoms of my feet. If you’ve ever had blisters, you know they produce burning, stinging pain that just does not let up.

So after basketball practice, when nobody was looking, I developed this sadistic/pleasurable ritual. I took a shower, got my feet really wet, and then I poked the blisters with my fingernail and peeled them off.

It was sick and icky, but in some bizarre way, exciting.

But it’s also why my blisters never actually healed, and it took longer for them to turn into callouses.

I guess the message here is that some people have the patience to scab over and heal, and others, like myself, find joy in ripping off blisters.

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Babysit

Babysit: (v) to look after a child or children while the parents are out.Dictionary B

Babysitting would be tolerable, perhaps even pleasurable, if you were actually asked to care for a baby. Taking care of an infant might give you loads of time between diaper changing and bottle giving.

But most people don’t ask you to babysit their infant. No, they want you to take care of children between the ages of two and fourteen, who they know could never be left alone because they’re so out of control.

So as a babysitter, you walk in understanding that you’re at the mercy of the parenting skills of people who are so anxious to get out of the door and away from their sprouts that they barely have time to grant you a courteous greeting.

And of course, the little ones save up their worst antics and lies for the babysitter. Here are some popular ones:

  1. “No, it’s true. Mom always lets us have 4 cookies right before bed.”
  2. “We watch R-rated movies with our parents all the time.”
  3. “My mom and dad don’t discipline me. You’re being mean.”
  4. “I’m allowed to wrestle with my little brother unless he bleeds or screams.”

Well, you get the idea.

Kids are humans, and therefore much too intelligent to merely be “tended,” but instead, require corralling and sometimes, restraint. So babysitting is an arduous, fearful, cautious and often thankless job.

Because to get the kids and the mom and dad to like you means that you must be lenient enough that the children don’t have a vendetta against you … and the parents do not feel that the destruction in the house warrants you being fired. 

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Animated

dictionary with letter A

Animated: (adj.) full of life or excitement; an animated conversation.

Do you remember the old commercial where a woman with a sour expression on her face turns to the camera and laments the number of prunes necessary to alleviate her constipation?

“Is two enough? Is six too many?”

I remember when I first saw the commercial–it really grossed me out. I was young and the idea of a constricted bowel life was beyond my comprehension.

Time marches on. Or in the case of this discussion, somewhat stands still.

I feel the same way about living an animated life.

We have many different opinions on whether a certain amount of excitement is enough or if an additional degree of enthusiasm is too much.

Matter of fact, we tend to compartmentalize our lives into occasions where exuberance is acceptable, and those profiles where we normally choose to some degree to be more adult or somber.

What is an animated life?

1. Wherever you are, be there.

I don’t need people to be jumping up and down, but I do like to have the sense that they’re present and aware of their surroundings.

2. Care about something other than your cares.

One of the surest ways to become boring is to have no awareness whatsoever of the feelings, needs, or sentiments of others.

3. Match your surroundings.

The Good Book phrases it really well: “Rejoice with those who are rejoicing; weep with those who are weeping.”

What a fabulous idea.

4. Go for one more.

  • If you’re in a conversation, ask one more question.
  • If you’re enjoying a movie, hang around for one more minute to discuss it.
  • Take another sip of tea before you leave.
  • Think of a reason to express appreciation.

Just one more. It is the definition of the social second mile. It lets people know that you have fulfilled your commitment, but you’re animated enough to offer an additional footnote.

That’s what I think about being animated. I don’t require that people leap to their feet and applaud my efforts, but I would like to know that my presence in their lives was significant enough to create some sort of pleasurable expression on their face.

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