Month: January 2024

For the last six months or so, I’ve had some back pain.  I’m not having a pity party, so don’t be offended if you’re not invited.

This column isn’t really about that back pain, but an attempt to observe, out loud, what is, and adapt to it.  I recently heard a ditty, “It is what it is, and it’s not great.”  I’m contemplating this, in writing.

Once upon a time, I worked for a renowned research psychiatrist, focusing on childhood depression.  One of my tasks at that university job, was to supervise work-study students.

One particular student whom I deemed “moody,” essentially complained to the boss that I didn’t tell her what to do, instead asked her if she minded getting the mail from a neighboring building in the middle of a rain storm.  I thought I was being courteous and softening the blow.

However, to that young woman, whom the boss said was clinically depressed, I was sort of dancing around reality, in order to be polite.  And she clearly wanted me to stop it.  Or so said the boss.

I learned in that situation, to edit my enthusiasm.  “Be happy, nice, optimistic, but do you have to be THAT positive, all the time?  It’s annoying,” told me, to myself.

Back in that day we used to refer to someone with a “pie in the sky” approach to life, as a Pollyanna.  Unrealistic; excessively cheerful; all is sweetness and light, when sadness, frustration, anxiety, or at least neutrality is the more appropriate attitude toward certain external circumstances.  In less-than-ideal situations, Pollyanna remains stuck in wonderland.  It might be denial rather than optimism, sometimes.

Frequently we run into what might be perceived as “Pollyanna-ism” on the social media platform, Facebook.  Why?  It might be because we’re on a perpetual date, showing only our best side, and we’re wearing “social-makeup” on Facebook.

Some of us want to punch those perfect Facebook people.  You know the ones who are constantly, it seems, on a cruise, celebrating something with balloons, bells and whistles, or they’re at some exotic travel destination, promoting one event or another, and always dressed up.  Meanwhile I’m at Walmart on a Saturday night trying to get cat litter and there are even waiting lines at the self-checkouts.  This stuff might make Larry David (Curb Your Enthusiasm) want to barf, me thinks.

I’m a wife, mother, and grandmother, with a job, if not a career.  I entertain a passion for writing – really wanting to be like Dave Berry.  With my spouse, we own a business, maintain a home, and are sandwiched tightly between generations of family to whom we love and extend care, to the best of our ability.  Is there any wonder I try to be everything to everybody, and look half decent in the process?  I’m trying to edit my enthusiasm here, so, I’d really rather not hear from any of those perfect people, “you look tired!”

In terms of that back pain, I sort of decided in order for me personally to find some sort of healing, I’d first have to bump up my awareness of how I move about this planet.  It seems that I’m not doing myself any favors by moving around like when I was, say sixteen years old.

I think I’m going to try living a tad more deliberately.  For example, instead of restringing that rag rug in our entryway, in situ with my legs poised Indian-style, I’ll put it up on something, waist-high.

Instead of stacking the firewood by myself, inter-weaving the pieces “just so,” because I’m really good at it, I’ll revel in the fact that my grandson enjoys helping us with that rather hard work.  We can give the opportunity to him to feel good about a job well-done.

I had a dream that I was a Massey-Ferguson or a Farm-All tractor.  In case you’re not familiar, these are/were tractors that were durable, reliable, not in the least fancy or highfalutin, but made to last and get the job done. Hm.

Over the holidays I found that I can let tradition along with the extra work, slide a bit if it means I don’t have to live on anti-inflammatory medicine with a side of pain meds.  And, I can accept that help, is not your usual four-letter word.

You might reply, “but I have …to….”  like all of us accustomed to believing, “if you want it done right, do it yourself.”  Do you have to?  Must it be done right, or can it just be done?

Just because you used to, doesn’t mean you have to, now.  Things change.  People change.

Enthusiasm is positive, and perfectionism is helpful in providing us with a high standard to aim for.  Reinhold Niebuhr said, “Aim for the stars and maybe you’ll reach the sky.”

The downside of perfectionism and unedited enthusiasm, is it’s not the material of personal contentment.  It’s more the maker of anxiety about not being enough, or God forbid, “too much.”  Not to risk too much sociological theory, perfectionism and unedited enthusiasm work out best for “the man,” the society, the organization, the institution, and not so much for the individual.

Somewhere along the journey toward trying to become enough, following the trail-sign, “I have to,” some of us become “too much.”  I’m self-aware enough to admit that at times in my life, I’ve been that person.

Since we’re embarking on a new year, I’m planning to pay attention to how much is “too much.”  Instead of too much enthusiasm, having to be right, too much emotion, psychology, feelings, empathy, knowing…, I think I’ll try checking all that at the door and pretend that like Goldilocks, I’ve found that comfy place, called “just right,” and I won’t be afraid of how the bears will react to my having found their keys.

My astrological sign is Libra and it is symbolized by balances.  I hereby edit my enthusiasm and will attempt in 2024 to achieve some balance between what I really “have to” do, be, say, achieve, feel…. and what’s enthusiasm-worthy.  Maybe you and I can edit that ditty written above, to a more balanced, “It is what it is, and it’s okay.”

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.