Welcome to my sandbox. While it may not be a surprise to anyone that has known me for a length of time, the newcomer should be (gently) made aware I play with words. Seriously play, as in puns, spoonerisms, obscure words and meanings, clever rhetorical excursions, oddly formed sentences, double entendres, malapropisms… you get the idea. I suspect it comes from a childhood spent mostly with books.
I have a comparatively limited set of memories of my younger days, say from age 15 or so. Some involving playing baseball (not very well in an athletic sense, but seemingly fun) and family vacations (camping was great fun if you could ignore the mosquitoes). But most involve a book or two…or ten.
I have always enjoyed reading, which makes getting older such a pain (needing glasses to read is life’s greatest annoyance in this millennium). I spent hours reading primarily three types of books: science fiction stories, dictionaries, and encyclopedias [Funk and Wagnalls, as mentioned in an earlier post). In my one-bedroom apartment, there are (at least, I’m not quite sure I haven’t missed a couple) twenty-three (23) shelves of books and other word-containing objects. That doesn’t include boxes in the storeroom (come to think of it, there’s a couple of shelves in there holding books as well) or the file cabinet with printed articles and pamphlets. My wallet holds five library cards and a box in the dresser has a couple more from a previous life (memo to self: the four books currently checked out are due back next Friday…).
So, in theory, writing a blog should be easy. Just open the spigot and let it flow. In practice I’m finding it to be about on par with mowing the lawn, a task I tried to avoid as much as possible when younger. Something that needed to be done and that was worse the longer I put it off, but that seemed like a waste of time (that could have been spent reading!) and (unreasonably) hard work. Fortunately I was confronted with the voice of reason (at first mom and dad, and later my ex) and (eventually) spent the time and energy to get the job done.
Apparently writers have an internal “voice of reason” as well. Some would call them Muses, but I think Nag is closer to reality. This morning, I awoke a couple of hours earlier than normal due (in part to a pee sized bladder) to an idea for a posting. Considering it to be far too early to arise from such a comfortable repose, I gently told my brain to shut down and go back to sleep. Ha! Fat lot of good that did. After only a forty-five minute struggle I
dragged my lazy leaped from my bed and came here to share my delight at watching another sun rise in peace and solitude.
And so, gentle reader, you might be wondering what any of the above has to do with a confection created by combining the fruit of the ficus carica and the flavor of plants from the genus mentha. In the spirit of full disclosure, I must confess to being slightly deceptive in naming this posting. It is, sadly, not the complete title as indented. The original title was to be “Fig Mints of My Ema Gin Nation” but I feared it would not be quite as compelling to read as the final choice. Perhaps I should reconsider my choices.
Perhaps I should have reconsidered my choice to get up early in the first place!
Hark! I hear the voice of my
pillow muse calling me from the other room. Until next time, then I remain…
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