The word for today is TEETH. I think about TEETH a lot. I have dreams in which my TEETH are falling out. When I wake up they are all still there. I have worn braces two times in my life, once as an a child and once as an adult. Now I wear a retainer every night so my "fang" does not reappear.
TEETH are the hard individual masses attached to our gums that help us bite and chew food. When I lived in Maine, I used to joke with my girlfriends that I just wanted to go out with a guy who has his own TEETH. My dog has TEETH but she does not bite. When she was a puppy I put my fingers in her mouth and rubbed her gums, so she would get used to the feel of someone's hands in her mouth, so she would let me brush her TEETH or reach in and grab a piece of food or something else that wasn't supposed to be in there. Sometimes I put my fingers in a puppy's mouth; lots of puppies have really sharp TEETH.
When babies or animals are TEETHing they need to grind the growing masses against something hard to ease their pain. Babies have pacifiers, TEETHing rings, non-toxic chew toys, thumbs (not so good); animals get bones, chew toys. They find wooden legs that hold up tables or chairs, shoes and other items that have their owners' scent (not so good). They need something to work with so the tooth can emerge from the gum, come into its own and do its job. The tooth needs some kind of resistance to ease its pain. The tooth needs to grow up (or down as the case may be).
My father is getting six new TEETH, dental implants on the bottom gum. He has little TEETH, anything little (or not "normal" sized) is seen as a defect in my family. It's costing him lots of money, and time and aggravation and discomfort, to get these implants. The small ground down TEETH were extracted and a temporary bridge was put in. A couple of months later the gums were prepared to accept the implants, but he still has to wear the temporary bridge for another four months. My father is 80 years old. "I don't know if he would've done this if he knew how involved it was," my mother tells me on the phone. "The whole process is going to take almost a year." But I can't imagine my father with false TEETH; I can't imagine him without TEETH. I can't imagine him without power or competence.
What is it that gives someone, something, an action, an idea TEETH. If an idea has legs, it will travel and move forward, but if an idea has TEETH it has power, grip, it will take hold, it will cut through nonsense. I want my life to have TEETH. I want to be strong and stable; I want to cut through all the nonsense, taste it, digest it, and then be rid of it. I want to cleanse my palate with a little sorbet and then be ready for the next course.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Arms
The word for today is ARMS, the kind you lift with, reach with, hold with, hug with, the kind that go in sleeves, that have pecs, triceps, biceps, or flab. An arm is also a part of a chair, a part of an organization or military operation. As a verb ARMS means to provide with weapons. Ever since nuclear weapons were developed, countries have been trying to win or defuse the ARMS race. In the Constitution the second amendment of the Bill of Rights reads: A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear ARMS, shall not be infringed.
I do not intend to write about the second amendment. I do though find it curious that the introductory phrase concerning a well regulated Militia, is so often, and so conveniently, forgotten, by those who advocate gun rights. When I think of the right to bear arms, I prefer to think of the right to BEAR ARMS, meaning everyone should be able to have big arms covered with brown fur that end in big padded paws. We could have bumper stickers that say "I believe in the right to BEAR ARMS" with a picture of a person holding a shotgun or automatic weapon in their big brown hairy paws! Of course one would have to decide if he or she believed in the right to black bear ARMS, brown bear ARMS, or polar bear ARMS.
So let's get back to the arms that are part of our bodies. When I was growing up I had long, gangly arms. My arms were so long that I had trouble finding jackets or blazers with sleeves that went down to my wrists. I didn't like to wear sleeveless tops. I thought my arms looked like fragile sticks protruding from an overgrown plant. Until just a few years ago, I preferred my arms to be covered up by fabric. I was ashamed of how long they were.
Now that I'm 50, I like my ARMS. My ARMS bear no flab, no shaking curdled skin unlike my thighs, sigh.. My long arms help me reach up high, they help me hold on tight, they help me hug and show affection. A part of me that I thought was a liability is really an asset. I am glad I have the right to bear my bare ARMS.
I do not intend to write about the second amendment. I do though find it curious that the introductory phrase concerning a well regulated Militia, is so often, and so conveniently, forgotten, by those who advocate gun rights. When I think of the right to bear arms, I prefer to think of the right to BEAR ARMS, meaning everyone should be able to have big arms covered with brown fur that end in big padded paws. We could have bumper stickers that say "I believe in the right to BEAR ARMS" with a picture of a person holding a shotgun or automatic weapon in their big brown hairy paws! Of course one would have to decide if he or she believed in the right to black bear ARMS, brown bear ARMS, or polar bear ARMS.
So let's get back to the arms that are part of our bodies. When I was growing up I had long, gangly arms. My arms were so long that I had trouble finding jackets or blazers with sleeves that went down to my wrists. I didn't like to wear sleeveless tops. I thought my arms looked like fragile sticks protruding from an overgrown plant. Until just a few years ago, I preferred my arms to be covered up by fabric. I was ashamed of how long they were.
Now that I'm 50, I like my ARMS. My ARMS bear no flab, no shaking curdled skin unlike my thighs, sigh.. My long arms help me reach up high, they help me hold on tight, they help me hug and show affection. A part of me that I thought was a liability is really an asset. I am glad I have the right to bear my bare ARMS.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Lap
The word for today is LAP. I thought I'd try a short, simple word since some of the words lately have been rather complex. Then, I looked up the definition of LAP in the dictionary. There is nothing simple about the word LAP.
There is the LAP that is part of the body from the waist to the knees (but only when someone is sitting down); there is the LAP that one runs on a track or swims in a pool; there is the LAP of a journey that has many stages; there is the LAP that occurs when an animal drinks water with its tongue; there is the LAP(ping) of waves against the rocks; there are parts of graphs or charts or actual pieces of fabric that (over)LAP one another.
The human LAP only exists when a person is sitting down. I can't think of another part of the body quite like that. An arm is an arm, a leg, a leg. We can cradle a baby by folding our arms, but we only have a lap when our thighs are perpendicular to our torsos.
Some dogs are called LAP dogs because of their size and propensity to sit in the LAP of a human. Though cats are more likely to sit in your lap, there is not a word LAP cat. Some computers are laptops. But we don't sit the laptops on our laps. Usually these computers sit on desks or on specially designed lapboards. When they were first designed they were considered small because they were smaller than desktop computers, but now there are notebook computers (the size of a notebook), and PDAs, personal assistive devices, which are much, much smaller than actual human personal assistants.
LAP is a word that makes me think of comfort. I do not have children, but there is nothing that feels as warm and safe as holding a toddler in my lap. Their body fits his or her 90 degrees atop my 90 degrees, I take my arms and fold them around the child. And for a short moment, we are both safe. Love and human kindness can LAP across our souls bringing the peace we feel when we hear water LAP the shore.
There is the LAP that is part of the body from the waist to the knees (but only when someone is sitting down); there is the LAP that one runs on a track or swims in a pool; there is the LAP of a journey that has many stages; there is the LAP that occurs when an animal drinks water with its tongue; there is the LAP(ping) of waves against the rocks; there are parts of graphs or charts or actual pieces of fabric that (over)LAP one another.
The human LAP only exists when a person is sitting down. I can't think of another part of the body quite like that. An arm is an arm, a leg, a leg. We can cradle a baby by folding our arms, but we only have a lap when our thighs are perpendicular to our torsos.
Some dogs are called LAP dogs because of their size and propensity to sit in the LAP of a human. Though cats are more likely to sit in your lap, there is not a word LAP cat. Some computers are laptops. But we don't sit the laptops on our laps. Usually these computers sit on desks or on specially designed lapboards. When they were first designed they were considered small because they were smaller than desktop computers, but now there are notebook computers (the size of a notebook), and PDAs, personal assistive devices, which are much, much smaller than actual human personal assistants.
LAP is a word that makes me think of comfort. I do not have children, but there is nothing that feels as warm and safe as holding a toddler in my lap. Their body fits his or her 90 degrees atop my 90 degrees, I take my arms and fold them around the child. And for a short moment, we are both safe. Love and human kindness can LAP across our souls bringing the peace we feel when we hear water LAP the shore.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Respect
The word for today is RESPECT. Not the R-E-S-P-E-C-T kind, not the angry, you owe me kind, but the kind that comes from somewhere deep inside, the kind you don't have to ask for, the kind you can't stop. The verb RESPECT means "to hold in esteem or honor," "to show regard or consideration for," "to refrain from intruding upon or interfering with."
I'm writing about RESPECT because I just watched the tribute to Michael Jackson that was held at the Staples Center today. Since his death, and often during his life, Michael Jackson has been the subject of 24-hour cable news fests. His life has been examined in ways, that, thank God, most of our lives will never be. Along with the great RESPECT we as a populace had for his talent, for his ability to perform, we collectively had no RESPECT for his privacy, for the part of him that he did not want to give over to the public.
In the days since his death I have not been compelled to write about Michael Jackson. I was not attuned to his incredible success in the 80s. Sure I liked his music, sure I saw some of the groundbreaking videos on MTV, but his persona, his pyrotechnics, his over the topness, never resonated with me. He became the stuff of tabloids and Entertainment Tonight. He was lost to the currency of serious culture. Until his death.
Since his death, I have begun to wonder why the news of his death hit our collective culture harder than John Lennon's, harder than Jerry Garcia's. It hit on the scale of Elvis's. People cared about who this man was to them. And he was different to everyone except in one key RESPECT. Almost everyone responded to his music with joy. He was an entertainer; he spread joy, and spreading joy is truly work of a higher order.
As I watched and witnessed today, the word that came to mind was respect. His life, his legacy and memory were treated with the utmost RESPECT. He was acknowledged as a man who wanted to use his gifts to bring the healing power of love to the world. I listened to everyone from Rev. Sharpton to Brooke Shields to Magic Johnson to Rev. Martin Luther King III to Congresswoman Sheila Jackson Lee pay homage to the man. I listened to Jennifer Hudson, Stevie Wonder, John Mayer, and his brother Jermaine sing to us because he no longer could.
I just thought of the song "Wanna Be Starting Something." I never paid attention to the lyrics. Here's the last verse:
Lift your head up high
And scream out to the world
I know I am someone
And let the truth unfurl
No one can hurt you now
Because you know what's true
Yes, I believe in me
So you believe in you
After I watched the memorial I went to the coffee shop to write this blog entry. Michael Jackson made me want to start something. I hope he makes you want to start something too.
I'm writing about RESPECT because I just watched the tribute to Michael Jackson that was held at the Staples Center today. Since his death, and often during his life, Michael Jackson has been the subject of 24-hour cable news fests. His life has been examined in ways, that, thank God, most of our lives will never be. Along with the great RESPECT we as a populace had for his talent, for his ability to perform, we collectively had no RESPECT for his privacy, for the part of him that he did not want to give over to the public.
In the days since his death I have not been compelled to write about Michael Jackson. I was not attuned to his incredible success in the 80s. Sure I liked his music, sure I saw some of the groundbreaking videos on MTV, but his persona, his pyrotechnics, his over the topness, never resonated with me. He became the stuff of tabloids and Entertainment Tonight. He was lost to the currency of serious culture. Until his death.
Since his death, I have begun to wonder why the news of his death hit our collective culture harder than John Lennon's, harder than Jerry Garcia's. It hit on the scale of Elvis's. People cared about who this man was to them. And he was different to everyone except in one key RESPECT. Almost everyone responded to his music with joy. He was an entertainer; he spread joy, and spreading joy is truly work of a higher order.
As I watched and witnessed today, the word that came to mind was respect. His life, his legacy and memory were treated with the utmost RESPECT. He was acknowledged as a man who wanted to use his gifts to bring the healing power of love to the world. I listened to everyone from Rev. Sharpton to Brooke Shields to Magic Johnson to Rev. Martin Luther King III to Congresswoman Sheila Jackson Lee pay homage to the man. I listened to Jennifer Hudson, Stevie Wonder, John Mayer, and his brother Jermaine sing to us because he no longer could.
I just thought of the song "Wanna Be Starting Something." I never paid attention to the lyrics. Here's the last verse:
Lift your head up high
And scream out to the world
I know I am someone
And let the truth unfurl
No one can hurt you now
Because you know what's true
Yes, I believe in me
So you believe in you
After I watched the memorial I went to the coffee shop to write this blog entry. Michael Jackson made me want to start something. I hope he makes you want to start something too.
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