The Walking Dictionary

 The Walking Dictionary was my elementary school nickname. I did not appreciate it as much as I should have because it is unwieldy. No one said! “Hey, Walking Dictionary, come hang out with us.” the way you might say, “Specs, over here.” I have grown into it since, though by now the people who gave me the name have forgotten it. I still love words for their own sake. I especially love medieval words. They are so mellifluous. I recently found a treasure trove of medieval words in Everyman and Medieval Miracle Plays. The plays are a treat in themselves. The homemade feeling of the plays takes me back to the amateur productions my church and school put on. I can imagine talking them into putting on a show from the book after I explained that it was ok that the plays aren’t Biblically accurate. I’m simply loving this book so much more than I thought I would.

New Medieval Words

selcouth/wondrous

swink/toil

losel/scoundrel

pottle/bottle

lorn/lost

McDonalds Coke

Coke from a can isn’t worth drinking. Coke from a plastic or glass bottle is pretty good, but if you really want Coke at its best, go to McDonalds. I don’t know what they do or why no other vendor or packaging options can match the perfection of McDonalds Coke. Do they have special machines? Secret recipe ice? I don’t know, but when I want a Coke I go to McDonalds.

I go to McDonalds for lots of things, small celebrations, consolation, nostalgia. It’s the home of so many early memories not just for me, but also for my children. It was my first job, and I killed the fry station. Three buses at once? Bring them on, I knew how to fast food. I still eat well-prepared fries with pride.

I’m hooked McDonalds. You’re my ride or die fast food. I get around, but I know where my home is. You can count on me, and my children to keep coming even if you have to change things up, like the fries. Maybe it’s time to diversify the sides menu so we can have better practices for producing potatoes. It might be fun. Imagine purple potatoes in the Happy Meals. Could be a good place to start.

Vanessa and the Dogs

 My mother is afraid of animals, even cats and dogs. I had a puppy for a year that I treasured, but had to be given away when we moved into a house on a highway. I still remember the experience fondly, and lately a YouTube channel has been stirring things up. Girl with the Dogs features a dog groomer taking filthy, occasionally badly-behaved dogs and bringing them into a renewed charisma. You can forgive the struggle when you see them get their spray of bubble gum dog perfume. 

The dogs come in all sizes and breeds. I’m learning all about coats and nails and nervousness levels. I’m actually surprised by how little trouble she has. Vanessa is after all a stranger. Professionalism really makes a difference in every profession.

Thank you for all the fantasy dog time. My husband is seriously allergic so we have a turtle. The turtle does not require grooming. Pity.

https://www.youtube.com/@GirlWithTheDogs/videos

 

The Land of Counter Pain

 I’m a little stressed out. Raising my children was a full out juggernaut. Each night’s sleep was like a drop in the bucket of what I really needed. I assumed that the weary lack of energy would subside when the strain subsided, but here I am, generally lethargic with big ambitions and meager follow-through. It has become worrying. How much longer will this go on? I have things to do, books to read, people to meet. 

The worry has become a contributing factor to my slow recovery. Every choice and the energy with which it is greeted is noted and overanalyzed. I need a respite. Organizing my books seems to be just the thing. The wifi isn’t reliable in my office, so I haul a laundry basket full of tomes into my bedroom and gradually transfer them from basket to bed and back again. It feels like tagging birds to trace their migratory paths. Fly little books and take me with you.

Intellectual Cavities

 

As I march along entering my books into Library Thing, I am beginning to feel a little sick to my stomach. It could be that I am reentering the world of sugar after abstaining, mostly, for all of Lent. I am prone to self flagellation and either over indulgence will do. The candy, with five young people to help it along is evaporating as we speak. The books belong on my shelves even if there are more than I thought there were. 

The chocolate bunny that has me queasy is The Library of Essential Writers. I bought all of them from Barnes and Noble several years ago (except for Lovecraft. I don’t do scary). All of the included authors were touted as classics and important that I mostly wasn’t allowed to read. I thought I’d just dive in and catch up on all of it, back before I had a real understanding of how vast all of it is. Crowhook has crammed my shelves with not just primary texts, but a growing collection of secondary texts about my texts. When everyone else was choosing a specialty I was trying very hard to look stupid which is generally an easy task. I want it all, but I’m a decade or two, too late.

My library probably won’t ever sing the way I hoped it would, but it may cast enough light for someone else with greater time or talent to get started. It’s worth a little brain ache.