Author: Bev

WTF, is an abbreviation or more technically, it’s an initialism.  FBI, is a familiar example of an initialism, which is the easier said abbreviation for Federal Bureau of Investigation.

FBI is not an acronym like the “word,” POTUS, which is an abbreviation for President of the United State, and is pronounced “POdus.”  We say the letters separately for the initialism, F B I, not as a word that would have to sound something kind of stupid like fibeye, which rhymes with ribeye.

Believe it or not, I did a stint at teaching back in the day.  Examples are the stock in trade of many teachers, “do you get it now?”

Back to WTF.  Let it be known that a whole bunch of American slang comes from our military.  And the majority of it arrived in the early-to-middle part of the last century via the NATO – an acronym BTW – phonetic alphabet, or some say, it more specifically came from the Navy.

You may have used this alphabet when spelling your name over the telephone, to a stranger.  I’d like to sometime in my spare time, learn the NATO alphabet because it was devised to be interpretable by persons from every nation.   I still stumble over my version of the phonetic alphabet on occasion, usually relying on Nancy for the N in my last name, when the NATO one is a very simple, November.  I do use “V like Victor.”

Initialisms have grown like weeds, probably hitting baby boom status in the last few years due to the proliferation of the text message.  Texting abbreviations are used for their brevity.  Who wants to type out on your phone, “by the way,” when you can shorten it to, BTW?

However, those military abbreviations often have, from my observations, been about screw-ups.  Also, to clean up the language used by “officers and gentlemen,” the U.S. Navy created some pretty fancy and funny euphemisms to escape their “cussing like a sailor” image in the mid-twentieth century.

So, about Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, what could it mean?  “Where’s the fubar?”  Uh oh, that’s an acronym for yet another military screw-up.  You may personally have to unravel the puzzle of the word fubar, as this chick does not cuss like a sailor.

SNAFU, is an acronym which has made it into the English language for something that is messed up.  Literally it means “Situation Normal: All -messed-Up (you fill in the F-word).”  Similarly, SUSFU means “Situation Unchanged Still -messed-Up.”  TARFU takes the place of “Totally And Royally -messed-Up.”

Then there are some flat-out funny acronyms like ASRAAM.  First say that three times without “cracking” a smile.  Even better, say it while looking at a picture of the Advanced Short Range Air-to-Air Missile, and tell me you don’t giggle just a little bit.  That one reminds me somewhat of the German word we discovered while driving a rental car along the auto-bahn, AUSFART, meaning EXIT.  Yes, you can laugh now.

I surmise that, “forever” we have abbreviated, initialized, and substituted similar sounding words for the “real” cuss word.  How else does one express, in polite society, rather pent-up emotions which threaten our sanity?  The “merde”-word becomes “sugar,” or in my case, an ode to the 1963 song-reference, “sugar-shack;” “holy-moly” substitutes for “holy-merde;” or “holy cow,” presumably an unpleasant dig at Indian culture.  The list goes on, in our efforts to clean up the popular cuss words of the time.

We use some pretty silly substitutes instead of saying “bad words” in front of the children, or in “polite” company.  Here are some that I’ve heard: What the heck or H E double hockey sticks, Judas Priest, Dang, Jiminy Cricket, Freakin, and its brother, Friggin, Heavens to Murgatroyd, Dear Gussie, Dagnabbit, Son of a Gun, Heavens to Betsy, Geez Louise, oh for Pete’s Sake, Horse Feathers, For Cryin’ Out Loud, and one I use often, and mean it, Bless Your Heart!

May I take the liberty to have some fun with the WTF initialism?  How about WTF, “where’s the faux-pas?”  I don’t see my mistake.  Where did I go wrong?  With this example we get to use a common French word.  That’s fun.

“Where’s the fire?”  What’s your hurry?  This incident isn’t a crisis, it’s just a Monday.

“What the fiddle-faddle?”  The stuff that comes out of the mouths of politicians is such nonsense.

“Where’s the fortitude?”  One reason for so much divorce is, some people give up too easily.  In celebrity circles, they give up too quickly.

“Wait for it, the fumigator” is on the way to disinfect and destroy all the pests that threaten us this year.  One of the scary ones is RSV.

“Wisdom trains the funambulators.”  Get ready to walk the tightrope of 2024 culture.  It threatens to be a crazy one.  So, strap on all the wisdom you can muster.

One might judge the content of this particular column as a FONSI, a Finding Of No Significant Impact. At any rate, please have a very pleasant, blessed, and love-filled (VPBLF) 2024.

I personally feel some joy in the fact that there is a season set aside and somewhat universally acknowledged for gift-giving.  It’s like a government sanctioned generosity of spirit.

In the book of Acts from the Holy Bible, there is a verse, “it is more blessed to give than to receive.”  On the whole of it, and in all honesty, that might seem a bit wonky.  After all, aren’t we supposed to feel especially blessed to be the center of attention, opening the gifts given to us?

However, I have observed in my lifetime that there have been quite a few moments when, giving something to someone was an absolute thrill.  There’s a special feeling of giddiness watching someone open a present and beam with happiness at something you selected for them with your whole heart.

So, there is a synchronous give-receive, action-reaction mechanism in the process of gifting.  Surely someone has conducted a scientific study proving some kind of serotonin boost in this gifting experience.  I wouldn’t be surprised to find that that scripture in Acts is scientifically proven to be truth.

When our daughter was young, we absolutely delighted in shopping for “shoe-box gifts” for the Christian organization, Samaritan’s Purse.  To this day, as an adult, our daughter loves selecting gifts for others.  In fact, I would say that it’s a toss up whether she prefers giving, equally as much as receiving, gifts.

“Tis the season,” for gratitude as well as generosity.  There’s something about the holiday lights that warms the winter cold and enlightens the heaviness in this season of longer nights than days, making us more easily acknowledge our thanks for gifts given.

I once said boldly at a church meeting, that “I can’t imagine it ever being wrong to give.”  But a woman spoke, just as boldly, that we should be discerning when we give, and that it is indeed wrong sometimes, to give.

So, as I often do in such circumstances, I checked myself and pondered her comment.  Should I be more cautious in giving?  The more I thought about it, I went back to my original stance, that it’s never wrong to give.  I thought, “who am I to judge the worthiness of another to whom I’m inclined to give.  How someone receives my gift is one hundred percent up to them.”

Then there are gifts, otherwise known as talents.  Back in the day, certain children were deemed to be “gifted” and were given more challenging lessons and opportunities for learning, than us regular guys.

I’m a tad shocked that in 2023, with all of our political correctness, that not only is the term “gifted” still used, it’s expanded to “gifted and talented.”  So there, you talent-less schmucks out there, you might be labeled GNT only if you imbibe in the occasional or daily gin and tonic.

It is my opinion that gifts and talents seem to be distributed pretty much across the board to everyone.  But some of those gifts appear to be more socially sanctioned than others.  Therefore, some folks seem to get all the awards and rewards for their gifts while others remain unsung and uncelebrated, although equally gifted and talented.

Should we get jealous of others with flashier gifts than ours?  If someone is more talented than me, am I envious?

I wonder if, instead of comparing our gifts or talents, to others, we might think of the greater gifts that we possess and those that really matter.  It might just be that these greater gifts won’t be found under the tree, but around it.  Ponder these gifts and let your heart shine when you see how many of them you already have, wanting nothing.

Health, someone who believes in you, vision – not sight, toleration, love of others, free choice, attention to yourself, a boss who wants you to succeed, ability to soldier on through the storms, freedom to be you, books, unconditional love – just because, passion for life, children, a positive attitude, imagination, self-expression, friendship ….

Next in this little experiment, try giving away some or all of these gifts, and just see if the writer of the book of Acts was right, is it indeed more blessed to give than to receive?

“Help, I need somebody.  Help, not just anybody…. Help me get my feet back on the ground…. When I was much younger than today, I never needed anybody’s help in any way… But those days are gone and I’m not feeling so self-assured….  Now I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors….”  Those are bits of the 1965 Beatles hit song, “Help!” by John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

In a recent dream, I was tasked with the responsibility of teaching young children about how God answers prayers.  I started with the universal beseeching prayer, “Help me!”  By the way, to “beseech,” is to eagerly beg.

First, I have to stipulate that REM sleep is vital to our health and well-being.  And it’s during REM-sleep that we dream.

There are a couple of mental health benefits to dreaming, one is overnight therapy for frayed emotions.  The other is to problem-solve and tank up on a fresh supply of creativity.  So, our dreams can be one way that God answers our prayer for Help!

In my dream, I counseled those kids that it’s very unusual for God to help us directly or instantly with a supernatural levitation or lifting us out of our pickle.  That’s kind of the definition of a miracle, and these are rare.  They happen, but not usually.

So, how does God help us, when we cry out, “Help me!”  Well, referring to John Lennon’s observation, we might get some help for our problem, by “opening up the doors.”

One way to open a door when your “feet aren’t on the ground,” or your feet were taken out from under you, or you’re grounded in some way, is to sleep on it.

You’re already “down,” so just stay there for a time.  Just pull the covers over your head, drown out the sounds that put you down, and sleep.

“Let me sleep on it,” is often said when we need to make a decision and need a bit of time to think about it.  Why does sleep help in such circumstances?  Because we will maybe get a dream-answer without taxing our waking brain into overtime.

How many times have we gone to sleep in emotional turmoil and when sleep finally came, we awakened, and it wasn’t so bad?  The answer to our stressed mind was REM-sleep’s dream therapist, whether we remember our dreams or not.

Another way to open the door to Help, is other people.  And, “not just anybody,” or not?  I disagree with Lennon and McCartney on this.  I think perhaps God sometimes sends random people, “just anybody,” to supply just the kind of help we need.

Have you ever exclaimed, “that was weird,” or “that was odd,” or my favorite, “go figure,” when someone did something for you or said something to you that was randomly kind?  Just when you needed it most.

One way of opening up the door to help, is positivity.  When you’re negative, you’ve inadvertently locked the doors to goodness, mercy, kindness, and help.  Just turn the key and crack open the door, peek outside and look.

“Help is on the way!”  But you must be open to it.  Another way of closing the doors to help is, stubborn expectations.

Whoa baby, if you want help, but you’re stipulating to God or yourself in your minds eye, exactly how you must receive that help, you might as well lock all the doors, take a pill and go to dreamless sleep.  You can’t dream with a pill, and nobody can get through your mind’s bolted door to help you.

“Help me get my feet back on the ground,” is really a cry for self-help.  You need to get your feet back underneath you.  Your feet.

You know the adage, “don’t give fish to someone in need, teach them how to fish.”  The same goes for getting your feet back on the ground.  The best help we can receive is the gift of self-help or problem-solving skills, knowledge, or wisdom.

I wonder where I can get knowledge?  How about a book, any book.  Reading opens doors to an unknown universe.

I’ve learned valuable gems of self-help, from reading the least likely books, articles, or chapters.  It need not be a “self-help” book, but try biographies, fiction, poetry, or a random bible verse.

Help is found most often when you’re not looking for it, but when you’re going about your business and getting on with things.  Do what you need to do, putting one foot in front of the other one and help will show up.

Sooner or later, you’ll get the help you need.  The Beatles are a pretty unusual answer to a cry for help.  But maybe their whimsical lyrical insights may help generate an answer to prayer or open the door to Happenstance, “a chance happening?”

A line from the 1993 comedy-drama, Mrs. Doubtfire, which we watched with our young daughter, over and over again, was delivered by the lead actor, Robin Williams in his character, Mrs. Doubtfire.  I can hear it as if he were standing in our living room today in 2023, “Help is on the way!”  What do you say, we believe him.

I’ve often wondered if it’s a tad rude to voice openly that I’m thankful for my various blessings.  Please note that I’m all about gratitude, as a virtue which I attempt to cultivate, even more than usual in this season of harvest.

Gratitude isn’t one of the traditional or orthodox Christian virtues, but it does seem to go hand in hand with one of those traditional virtues, kindness.  Saying thank you and please, pump you up with happy hormones.  And I think people receive those words as acts of, not just courtesy, but of kindness.

Just recently a man pushed in front of my husband and me, to get an answer to what must have been an urgent question, from a customer service representative.  She quickly and efficiently answered his question and he walked off to his destination, without an “excuse me” or “thank you” to be heard.  My husband, the kind man that he is, said “thank you” to the CSR.

The reason I wonder once in a while if it’s kosher to voice my gratitude is this.  There are people out there unbeknownst to me, who are struggling with anti-blessings in the same vein as my blessings.  Not everybody gets a rainbow at the end of their rain-storm.

Is it kind of me to voice my joyful gratitude around someone who is coping with misfortune in that same area of the human condition?  I’m sort of uncomfortable with it.

You see, I’ve been there when someone said, for instance, “I’m so blessed that I’m not sick.”  This was right after someone else shared with them that they’re struggling with some sickness.  Okay, or someone said boldly and with genuine delight, “I’m thankful we are completely debt free,” when I knew that people within hearing distance were struggling with debt.

I observed that these expressions of gratitude seemed viscerally cringe-worthy, insensitive, or they just plain weren’t listening in the classic, people don’t listen, they’re waiting to talk, vein.

In fact, one of the best ways to express your gratitude is to actively listen.  Active listening is when you delve deeper into the words being said, into the realm of hearing what the speaker may actually have meant by what they said.

For me, I feel more genuine in voicing my gratitude in generalities, rather than the more specific ways I mentioned above.  “Today, I’m grateful to be alive and kicking;” because presumably the person you’re speaking with is also alive and kicking.

Or maybe those sentiments above that make me cringe could have been more specific.  It’s always better to parcel your honesty with some humility; your brokenness with beauty; and your uncertainties with possibilities.  For example, the debt-free person could have said, “some debt is good for the credit report, but mine was too much and I’m happy to be getting past it.”

Perhaps the best way to give thanks is to always combine it with kindness.  For instance, we all know that the expression, “thanks for nothing,” is clearly not gratitude mixed with kindness.  “Thanks for that,” is probably sarcasm bordering on offense, rather than thanksgiving.

I’m still on the fence about whether “thanks” and “thank you” are equivalent.  Saying “thanks” sounds to me a smidgen like you’re in a hurry and you have to say something, so you eek out the word “thanks.”  And since, you’re in such a rush, there is no need for or inclination for the recipient to reply.

“Thank you” on the other hand, is a bit more formal, polite, and connotes that you genuinely mean it.  After a “thank you,” most people want to keep the social encounter going with a reply such as “you’re welcome,” “no problem,” or in texting shorthand, “no prob,” or “welcome.”

One of the better ways of expressing gratitude is to write a letter.  Has the “thank you” letter died out in the quick and efficient days of texting, emails, and social media?  I hope not.  Hopefully it continues on even if it’s a changed version sent via text, email or on social media.

I’m thankful for many things.  In fact, I attribute two hymns which we sang at our church every year around Thanksgiving, to my deep appreciation of God’s bounteous provision in America. One is, “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come,” which sets before us in lyrical form a picture of peace, with all the thankful folks, safely gathered, with wants supplied.

The next hymn has helped to nurture in me a vast appreciation for our earth’s natural beauty.  It’s “For the Beauty of the Earth,” which is a hymn of “grateful praise,” specifically for the beauty of the earth, the glory of the skies, the beauty of each hour of the day and night, the hills and vales, trees and flowers, sun and moon, and stars of light; the joy of human love, and “friends on earth and friends above.”

That hymn is kind of the total Thanksgiving package and I’ve always loved it.  However, I’m a realist and I typically mix my gratitude with “whaaat’s up.”  I do not sugar-coat the reality of what’s going on from day to day, for the sake of sentiment, but I do temper it with “hope for the best.” 

What better moment, than right here and right now, to thank you for reading my column.  I appreciate you.

I have very mixed feelings about the weather these days.  I’m one of those people who treasures jacket-weather but shudders a bit at the anticipation of winter.

In my mind, a jacket or sweater completes an outfit.  I feel under-dressed all summer long without a jacket.  But, coat, scarf, glove-weather is just too much stuff to juggle and feels a tad stifling.

I guess I’m just a weather-Goldilocks.  My husband is too.  Is it ever just, right?

I seem to always be rushing my husband through the seasons.  He lallygags, procrastinates, dawdles, and postpones winterizing, in my opinion.

I presume that the feeling is, if you put off preparing for winter, maybe it won’t arrive any time soon.  I personally don’t hate winter but there is an expiration date on my patience with it and if its arrival should be delayed, I’d be okay with that.

I find that with age, I’m not as thrilled with the exercise of shoveling snow as in times past.  It used to be that snow-shoveling for me was just another form of winter cardio.  However, the last year or so, my body has rebelled to this form of activity, much preferring a gentler, prolonged walk, for its fitness.

The “hard work” of stacking fire wood, push-mowing the lawn, and shoveling snow seem to have become less rewarding both physically and emotionally than even a couple of years ago.  Apparently, there is a difference between work and exercise; at least my body has deemed it so.

So, back to the concept of jacket-weather.  When a light jacket is just the right outdoor apparel, I can be said to “love this weather.”  I would be happy as a clam, tickled pink, and as satisfied as a pig in mud, if the temps would hang around in the mid-sixties and the humidity would stay low, all year.

A tree-hugger in every sense of the word, I equate Autumn with falling and fallen leaves.  I grew up jumping into massive piles of leaves and would do so now if, well, you know why I can’t do that now.  But I love the look of yellow, red, orange and brown leaves piling up all on their own with the assistance of hefty breezes now and then.

I can let my hair down in Fall weather, literally.  And, I guess this weather frees me to also figuratively let my hair down and not do the “uptight” up-do that controls the frizz and the extreme effects of summer weather.  Fall weather means liberty, to this individual.

But winterizing brings with it an altogether new tension of preparedness.  My spouse particularly doesn’t love turning off the outside water faucets.  Draining the line feels way too permanent to him.  He washes the car at home about twice a year but he wants to be able to do so whenever he wants to and somehow flipping that lever and opening the faucets is a step too far for him.

All too often we’ve had to cope with the unpleasant alternative to winterizing the outdoor faucets, burst water pipes in the garage.  Accordingly, winterizing has become preferred over the alternative.

We also clean out my husband’s man-shed twice a year.  Among other things, this involves transitioning some heavy equipment such as a log splitter, mowers, spreaders, various saws, and such.  This year after he and our grandson split an epic amount of firewood, he was delighted to give the log splitter a rest and put it away.  In exchange, he retrieved from hiding, his “man-shed heater” to prepare for his greatly anticipated hours of winter-contemplation, rest and shed-solitude.

The deck umbrella has gone into storage and the chair and table covers have been unearthed, much to hubby’s chagrin.  He wants to be able to sit out there in fifty-degree weather, but never will, remember that shed heater?  He gets cold nowadays when he used to wear short sleeved T-shirts all year long.

For many people, winter is bleak and dark.  Don’t get me started on why Congress tabled a bill to leave us in Daylight Savings Time all year.  Instead, we’re back to Standard Time with its darkness at five o’clock in the afternoon.  At least with DST we  felt alive, not to mention awake, until six o’clock.

Maybe it’s the thought of winterizing and the nostalgia of summers past that initiates a subtle dread in those of us of a certain age who are embarking on the winter of our lives.  Poets have often opined about the beauty of winter.

Among my favorite “winterisms” are these from Naturalist and Philosopher, Henry David Thoreau:

“Summer is gone with all its infinite wealth, and still nature is genial to man.  Though he no longer bathes in the stream, or reclines on the bank, or plucks berries on the hills, still he beholds the same inaccessible beauty around him.” – November 22, 1860

“The dry grasses are not dead for me.  A beautiful form has as much life at one season as another.” November 11, 1850

“Live in each season as it passes, breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.” August 23, 1853

“Nature now, like an athlete, begins to strip herself in earnest for her contest with her great antagonist Winter.  In the bare trees and twigs what a display of muscle.” October 219, 1858

So, don’t be afraid to winterize.  Count the days if you have to, but spring is surely to come in due time.

If you want to learn something deep about life, get to know a newborn baby.  I’m rather certain that the parents of a newborn don’t have the luxury of time to observe some of the things we grands can, what with feeding, changing, soothing, not sleeping, physical recovery, showering, working, and all the other things parents of newborns are called upon to do.

It’s been my pleasure lately to spend a few hours at a time cuddling my delicious grand-baby, and I observe some stuff beyond my aching jaw which is permanently stuck in the smile position.  He emits sounds that are something wonderful between a purr and a snore.  I believe those sounds are a, perhaps innate, mechanism of self-soothing.

With mama’s heartbeat, no longer a constant in their life, newborns develop self-soothing mechanisms, such as the little gurgles, grunts, groans, and chant-like sounds little ones make.  While they are feeding, sleeping, or just contenting themselves while taking in their enormous environment, newborn’s make such amazing sounds.

We, as adults self-soothe through some other operations, some of which are human-made, and many of which are unnoticed.  For example, religion, in the sociological literature is considered a social construct created by humans for self-comfort.  In fact, Karl Marx said that “religion is the opiate of the people.”

A former sociologist and a Christian, I say “what better opiate, than religious belief to provide solid foundational principles for life, as well as the ultimate in self-comfort.”  Frequently, we seek any kind of numbing agent, ranging from drugs, alcohol, overeating, tobacco, and a multitude of other substances, to help us through the hard times, rough days, challenges that we can’t easily overcome, or pain that is too much to bear.

Why not pray, for comfort?  Why not read a passage that speaks directly to your discomfort, that lifts that pain even slightly?

Social media wisdom is like glitter and coffee grounds.  It spreads everywhere, instantly.  But it is not always accurate.

In fact, this column idea was instigated by a fake Ralph Waldo Emerson quote, “to know that even one life has breathed easier because you lived.  This is to have succeeded.”  I saw it of course on social media, and immediately thought, “how comforting.”

This quote however, was not Emerson, it was written in 1906 by Bessie A. Stanley as a contest entry, defining success, in the Emporia (Kansas) Gazette.  It was attributed to Emerson in error in 1951 by a syndicated newspaper columnist, Albert Edward Wiggam and has spread like herpes all over the Internet, since.

Comforting quotes, biblical passages, and religious rites are all balm which thwart the blues that accompany most of us mere mortals from time to time.  Certain intellectuals, Karl Marx included, feel that such self-comfort is platitudinous and encourages us to accept the brokenness in our culture rather than forge new alternatives to the system which is in place, including religion.

Some folks who are considered religious, take issue with the concept.  Because religion is human-made, there are people who have strong religious beliefs but don’t consider themselves religious.  They consider themselves spiritual.  They further believe that spiritual things have little to do with societies’ institutions but everything to do with the things of God.

Who’s to say that self-comfort in the form of reading, taking a walk, shopping in moderation, praying, singing, dancing, even working, or such practices are not the adult way of self-soothing or searching for the closest thing we can concoct to match our most comforting past, mama’s heartbeat.

To spiritual people, self-comfort is a byproduct of a spiritual life, not the purpose for it.  Maybe, in fact, we’re striving to recapture the heartbeat of God, who most of us believe, created us.

I had begun this column when after three years of writing, I was compelled to tidy-up my column clippings and put them into proper storage.  If I hadn’t had that tidy-up, I would not have known that I already titled a column, “Clean it up, Please.”

So, I re-read column number sixty-seven, from July, 2021, just to see what I had to say back then about cleaning-up.  As it turns out, I have more to say about the subject.  This, then is basically the same thought, but a different tangent on the matter.

Apparently, I repeat myself on occasion and as age would have it, I don’t remember.  I did pause, however to wonder if cleaning up is a personal hangup, quirk, or obsession concerning whether I clean up too much, not enough or just carry around guilt about the effort.

It was Barney, the lovable pink dinosaur from PBS TV in the 90s who taught our little ones at the time, to “clean up, clean up, everybody, do your share;” at least I think that’s how it went.  And, I am quite familiar with a musical composition set for snare drum, which bears the title, “Clean it up, Please,” reminding the player to mind their technique (Robin Engelman).

At any rate, it is during the transition seasons, Fall and Spring, that we tend to do some cleaning,  If not cleaning, we at least do a little bit of redecorating.

Both cleaning and decorating are relative to the observer as well as the cleaner and decorator.  Other folks may wish we would “clean-up” this or that if it disturbs their definition of “cleaned-up.”

If your idea of “cleaned-up,” is perfection: no blemishes, flaws, defects, irregularities, and perfectly neat and complete; you may be setting yourself up for anxiety out there among the rest of us.  Everybody is flawed, behind their perfectly coifed facades.

I would go so far as to say I am a minimalist as to my redecorating for the seasons.  I usually go with a few subtle symbolic reminders of the seasonal change.  It’s enough to suit my sensibilities.

Some people, however, go all-out.  Their decorating is on a whole other level.  It’s not just one pumpkin, rabbit, scarecrow, strand of lights, or wreath, but multiples, in every color, texture, and shape.

What some people think are nice decorations, are over-the-top for the next guy.  My idea of seasonal decorating is rather subdued, gracefully spare, if you will.  But some guys like ornate and that should be filed under, “to each, his/her own.”

And, have you ever felt rather proud of yourself for cleaning-up a room, a landscape, space, or nook, gone somewhere else and observed their “cleaned-up” space and suddenly felt inadequate?  There are people, ordinary friends or family members who are professional caliber cleaner-uppers.  Sadly, I am not one of these persons.

I do, however, have a thing about putting stuff away.  My spouse is unfamiliar with the habit, just sayin’.  He gets the concept and values the reasons, but can’t seem to coalesce all of that esoteric stuff into practice.

To me, it comes naturally.  When I say naturally, I am assuming that I was brought up putting things away, hubby was not.

In case you are unfamiliar, the idea of putting things away, or “in their place,” is founded on several principals.  One, is that if every item has a place and one puts it in its place every time it is pulled out and used, you know exactly where to get it again when you again need it.

If an item is not put away after use, it inevitably gets misplaced and “lost.”  When you need to use it again, there is a whole circus of maneuvers trying to find said item.  You waste time trying to find thus and such every time it was used and not put back in its place.

Secondly, when you don’t put things away, the law of accumulation is set into motion.  Clutter and chaos ensue when things are not put away and a mole-hill truly becomes a mountain of stuff.

The thing about stuff is it becomes dated, unnecessary, a haven for dust, dirt, and decay.  Stuff is meant to benefit our daily lives, whether it’s pleasing to the eye as in decoration or collections that make us happy.  Or, stuff is utilitarian, intended to ease our existence in some manner.

The main purpose of stuff is not just to “have” it, “keep” it or store it.  There is something in the Bible, known as the “parable of the rich fool,” about building bigger barns for storing more stuff; as in, it’s not recommended for the wise among us.

Okay, give me another three years, and I’ll probably write about cleaning up again.  I can’t see at this point that I’ll get over my proclivity toward cleaning up the stuff that tries to fill up my life when I’m of an age where paring down and cutting back seems to be imploding from within.  God help my husband.