June 8 – “Silly words”

Some days you just have to stay close by the house and try to get a few things done.  Mowing the grass was at the top of that list for yesterday.  And that one is always a question mark with the lawn mower we have right now.  The one we used for well over ten years is still in our shed, but I haven’t been able to get it to start up, so last year we bought a new one.  I figured it would last at least as long as the other one.  They were both Briggs and Stratton motors.  Barring that I was sure it would last at least five or six years.  I mean, who could in good conscience sell an appliance like that and not expect any less?  It would certainly last more than one season, right?  Not so much.  It did fine that first year, but ever since it has sputtered and complained.  Most of the time I am able to get it to complete its task, but there have been days where I have had to mow the grass with the Weedeater.  Ever tried that?  Not exactly a task for an old guy with rheumatoid arthritis.  The “new” mower just doesn’t like long grass.  It does OK if all that is happening is one of those cosmetic mows you do before company comes when it doesn’t really need it, but there are a few shabby parts.  But let it get on up there where it is noticeably high, and forget it.  I can’t even get the thing to go one row with it sputtering to a stop.  So what am I doing wrong here?

OK.  That rant is over.  Kel and his family came by last night with four pizzas for supper.  Papa John’s.  April and Cailyn followed shortly after.  Seems they all had been to the library and they were next headed over to Moody Gardens’ Palm Beach for the library summer reading club kickoff party.  I was privileged to sit across the table from Josiah, the two-year old.  He was excited to be sharing with me his rapidly expanding vocabulary.  No, it’s not what you think.  He didn’t embarrass his Mom and Dad by letting loose with a cuss word at the grandparents’ house or anything.  It was much more fun than that, although that would have been pretty exciting, I must admit.  Instead he would occasionally blurt out a nonsensical one or two syllable made-up word, and then laugh heartily at his creation.  After one rendition that sounded something like “bostwig,” I asked “What did you say?”  He laughed heartily and replied “I saying silly woods.  I know a lot of silly woods.”  I know.  Phonetics.  How long has it been?  Silly words.  Well, he was right about that.  And since the “silly woods” had obviously garnered my attention, his four-year-old female cousin took notice.  Forcing her face to within inches of mine, she declared, “I know some silly words, too.”  And what followed was a string of nonsense syllables the likes of which I had not heard since … well, since the last time she and I had a conversation in silly language.  I confess, that’s one of my favorite things to do.  You don’t have to worry about nuances of word selection or fine points of grammar.  You just change voice inflection here and there, pause occasionally, and laugh a lot.  For some reason, that sort of conversation usually takes place between me and Cailyn or me and Caleb.  But, hey, I’m always happy to have another purveyor of creative speech.  Garflosh mit singlot dornitongle weengflambin  sittlewicket.  And that's all I have to say about that.

Psalms 94:12-13 says, “Blessed is the man you discipline, O Lord, the man you teach from your law; you grant him relief from days of trouble”

Father, thank you for the unbounded creativity of children.  Give me some of that.  Amen.