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.

Boring

Boring: (adj) not interesting; tedious.

I used to be deathly afraid of being boring.Dictionary B

Because of this phobia, I almost accidentally became friends to my children instead of a good parent, denied my faith rather than creating a backbone for my principles, and attempted ridiculous entertainment projects to prove I was youthful and alive.

I don’t know why “boring” scared me so badly–except in our particular American culture, it is the word that ushers in the “last rites” for misunderstood ideas.

In other words, if something is determined to be boring, it is soon abandoned and left to die in the field of forgetfulness.

But then one day it struck me–every great notion and progressive invention in the history of our race was at one time considered boring.

Can you imagine Thomas Edison explaining to all the people who deeply loved candles and gas light lamps how his incandescent bulb might be able to work better, and ultimately even be cheaper?

Boring.

Or how about Abraham Lincoln, stumping to his Cabinet and Congress, how the addition of the freed slaves to our everyday life would give us a great brotherhood to exemplify the idea of liberty?

Really boring.

Or the guy named Salk, who came along and said that just weeping over children with polio was not enough–that maybe we could come up with some sort of vaccination to protect them from the disease instead of just praying for them and telling stories about their hideous struggles.

No thanks, Jonas.

Boring is not what is truly misplaced or ill-timed. It is the piece of truth that we do not yet understand, which we decide is meaningless because it mystifies our limited reasoning.

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Anthracite

dictionary with letter A

 

Anthracite: (n) coal of the hard variety that contains relatively pure carbon

 

Occasionally I find myself waxing philosophical, for which I truly apologize.

It’s not that opinions are like assholes, it’s more that opinions make assholes.

At least that’s my opinion.

So I pre-apologize for what I’m about to share, even though I think there’s much validity to the idea. Sometimes I think we forget that for “everything there truly is a season.”

For instance, for one time in our existence as a planet, we needed coal.

Brave workers went into the heart of the earth to extract this treasure so that we could fuel our lives and progress the human race beyond the escapades of mere fire.

Many of them gave their lives.

It was a season of coal.

But the truth of the matter is, as we learn to be more expansive, we as people might stumble upon ideas that are improvements, and rather than being sentimental to concepts that have “aged out,” we cling with a maudlin sense of loyalty.

I have this abiding belief that everything in life has been placed on this planet with two purposes. Often the first function is very obvious, but when that viability wears out, we should be prepared to find the additional goal intended for the object.

There are so many examples of this that I shall not bore you. Matter of fact I would encourage you to take this simple notion and study it for yourself rather than having me expound upon it in an attempt to convince.

But this is what I feel about coal: in the 21st century, to have men and women don hard hats and go into the core of the earth to extract this rock of interest seems both antiquated and unnecessary.

Yet for it to become completely unnecessary, we must do two things that the human race pursues with reluctance:

  1. Actually stop mining coal and find a less destructive and debilitating alternative.
  2. In the meantime, let our scientists find that second anointed purpose for this valuable substance.

Without this kind of wisdom, we generally work an idea until it’s exhausted and falls apart or we prematurely abandon a good gift and cast it aside.

Can we learn?

Can we realize that oil lamps were once the rage and very valuable for lighting up our streets, but when we took the time to allow Thomas Edison to illuminate our minds, we found a better way?

We also found other uses for oil.

I am optimistic.

For truthfully, my dear friends–I would rather end up being a fool who believes in human beings instead of a cynic, trying to explain my sarcasm to God.

 

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Amalgamation

dictionary with letter A

Amalgamation: (n.) a mixture or blend: e.g. a curious amalgamation of the traditional and the modern.

I love that word.

Matter of fact, I will go so far as to say that our society is an amalgamation of many amalgamations–some good and some bad.

I think the best amalgamations are when an obvious need is blended with a willing spirit, culminating in a needful revelation.

Let me give you an example:

People in our country are too cynical. One of the ways we’re cynical is that we think everyone has the right to disagree with the fact that the country is too cynical.

It’s not a vote.

Cynicism is obvious because we prefer to stagnate in unworkable ideas instead of pursuing risky options that might require greater commitment. So if we admit that we’re cynical, we can concur that we need a willing spirit to consider other options, rather than sitting over coffee talking about how miserable everybody is.

Minus that willing spirit, cynicism is no longer an emotion. It becomes a philosophy.

But if you have a willing spirit, you can develop a sense of adventure to try some new things and weigh them in the balances, to see what works and what doesn’t.

Otherwise, you begin to question whether the whole process of growing and expanding is really necessary in the first place.

Politics, religion and entertainment have sunk into a quicksand of cynicism, which tells them to remain very still because if they struggle they might sink faster. But here’s the truth: even if the best reaction to quicksand is to remain still, you will eventually have to get out of the mire, or your life will be useless.

We need an amalgamation in this country–recognizing our cynicism, repenting of it and welcoming new ideas, even if many of them seem ridiculous and without merit.

Because honestly, the funniest story that could be told: Thomas Edison sharing about the experiments that failed to work … on the way to the light bulb.