Wordsmithing

The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are the winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Removed by screener... CL (C of TW note: I really want to know what this one was!!!)

3. Intaxicaton: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words.

And the winners are:

1. Coffee (n.) The person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted (adj.) Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.

3. Abdicate (v.) To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade (v.) To attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly (adj.) Impotent.

6. Negligent (adj.) Absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.

7. Lymph (v.) To walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle (n.) Olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. Flatulence (n.) Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash (n.) A rapidly receding hairline.

11. Testicle (n.) A humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude (n.) The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon (n.) A Rastafarian proctologist.

14. Oyster (n.) A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism (n.) The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent (n.) An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

Lookin' for a Pony

I want a horse. Not just a horse, the right horse. The one that will capture some of the magic of riding that I used to have and enjoy. When horses were simple. When people were more simple, and didn't let horses get away with bad behavior.

Before Down Under Cowboys and Whispering Horsemen made millions telling you how to screw up your horse. When the 'Natural Horsemanship' way was to ride your horse, expect the best of them, and work with them to make sure they remembered that. When the respect between rider and equine was based on hours in the saddle, consistent discipline and praise, not trainers and bling halters and rubber horsey boots.

I am frustrated by what I find in this quest. I have made a couple mistakes in the past, mistakes that cost me time, money, and tears. Mistakes that nearly broke my heart, nearly made me turn my back on this dream forever. I'm sure my husband wishes it would have. Made me willing to never own a horse again, not broken my heart. He just doesn't understand the pull, the attraction.

You, reader, went through the agony of my last horse thinking he was a stallion and running around squealing, nearly tripping over his semi-erect penis. Ick. He didn't even have any testosterone, just some ancient memory of his true calling in life. Whatever it was, it made him unsuitable for my purposes, that is, to be a buddy to me and to safely take me where I wanted to go, with others or alone.

I must be the eternal optimist, looking at the prime riding weather looming, and wanting to have my own horse to take advantage of it with. Last year, the best (and only) riding weather was when my out-of-control horse was in training, draining the budget and my emotions.

I want this year to be different. I want to ride. Next year, where will I be? I don't know. Now, here, this summer, is all I can be sure of. And, at 56 and closing in on the next September birthday, how many years do I have to ride the way I can now? Again, I don't know.

So, ignoring the rolling eyes, the sighs and tightened lips of my spouse, I search on, looking, hoping, dreaming, trying not to give into practicality and age enough to give up. Maybe it's like a man who buys a sports car later in life. Or an older couple who adopt a child. It's like saying 'My life isn't over. I can still enjoy the thing that gave me such pleasure then. I don't need to be content with looking at magazines as others have the fun. I am still able...'

And, really, what's so wrong with that?

Life in Limbo

I call myself a Lady In Waiting. Not the kind you think. Not the one who is a valued, pampered member of sub-royalty trained to decorate the environment around and serve a female member of the royal household. I call myself that because I feel like I have spent a long time waiting for something to happen, usually to or for someone else, not me. It has been this way for a long time.

One expects it to be thus when the primary caretaker of three young children. I have had to be constantly at the ready to coordinate, facilitate, and act upon the needs of their developing lives, a job I have done willingly, joyfully, and well. But, for the past few years, the kids haven't needed me so much. Still, I wait.

Wait to be summoned to assist a kid, wait to be needed, wait for George to retire, wait for a decision to be made about what town, or area of the U.S., for that matter, we might end up in after his constantly put-off retirement date. Waiting to get a dog until we have a place of our own, at my husband's request. (Seems having a dog for kids is understandable, not so for the desires of a middle-aged woman.) Waiting to get a horse of my own, at my husband's request. Waiting to move to warmer climes so that I don't hurt so much. I have become stagnated in indecisiveness and limbo.

And, I don't know how to restart. I can't remember how to live for myself. Even when I have time off without responsibility or schedule, I seem to exist in a self-imposed lethargy, waiting, keeping myself available. For what? I don't know. It is as if I am 'not-me-without-someone' anymore. What the hell is that about? I am a strong and decisive, successful woman who has accomplished much and broken through many gender barriers throughout several careers.

If I go away for some R & R, if I am alone, my stomach is in a knot, afraid that I won't be available if someone needs me. In my head, I plan the return route, the fastest way to get to whomever needs me. And my fears are not unfounded. Over even the past few years, I have responded to a ruptured appendix, arterial bleed, broken bones, animals needing euthanasia, a cerebral hemorrhage, child stranded in a disastrous host home in Costa Rica, immediate summons to court, well, you get it. I am needed often, and, when I'm not, my entire being seems to be waiting...for...something...to...happen.

I wonder if I am crazy, or well-trained, or compulsive, or dependent on my family for my feeling of validity. Or all those things. Or none of them.

I do know that this empty-nest thing is not all that great. I am not handling it with the grace and dignity I was sure I would. I feel out of synch, slipping and not holding in my attempts at finding solid footing. I want to escape the loop; how to do so is the question...

In my dreams and fantasies, I see myself in a small remote cabin, simple but clean, with a desk and a computer on which I am completing the writing projects I have carried around in the form of outlines for decades. And, there are books; books for reference, books for relaxation, books for company, books for their smell and feel. Fresh cotton curtains billow in warm breezes that sneak in open windows. Outside is a small barn with a bay horse and the sweet smell of hay and leather. A truck in the drive, a dog at my heels. No neighbors to be seen, the smell and sound of a nearby creek. That's it.

Neglect

I have neglected this poor blog of late. And you, reader, whomever you are. I could say 'no excuse', but I am Irish, and excuses are often more fun than just accepting that one has been a flake and accepting responsibility like an adult.

1. I have IBS and can't get off the toilet (true, but not relevant to this).
2. My dog died (true, but over a year ago).
3. My dad died (true, but 35 years ago).
4. My mom died (true, but 25 years ago).
5. My husband had a cerebral hemorrhage (true, but a year ago).
6. I took in a foster kid (true, two months ago, more about this later).
7. I ate something that didn't agree with me (seldom does).
8. I pulled a muscle burying a body.
9. I am hiding from the revenuers.
10. I am busy propagating edible conifers.

Well, pick one. That as good as you're gonna get. Or, just know that I got discouraged, depressed and bummed at life. We are barely on speaking terms even now, me and Life.

As Radar O'Reilly says in M.A.S.H. 4077th, 'I hope to better, sir...'