“Oh, my aching back!”  The red-headed lady was at it again. The young scamp reading a book on the couch across the room looked up, concerned for a moment that his mother was in pain.  As he gazed at her, reading her magazine, it was immediately evident that this was not the case, so he quickly went back to his novel.  But, as he perused the paragraphs, his mind was at work on the phrase he had just heard instead of the words on the page before him.  After a few moments, he ventured the question.  “Mama, does your back really hurt?”  “What?”  the lady looked up from her reading material. For just a moment, she appeared to be at sea.  “What are you talking…..Oh!  No, my back doesn’t hurt.  It’s just an expression; a phrase I use when I’m disgusted about something.”  It would not be the last time the young urchin heard that phrase, along with many others.

The household in which he grew up was actually one which eschewed empty language.  There were no acceptable by-words for the common curse words, as most families used.  Never was the word “heck” substituted for “hell”, nor was “darn” acceptable in conversation, unless one was mending socks.  You get the idea without a recitation of the myriad of words in common use today.  The husband of the red-headed lady called such words “minced oaths” and enforced the rule which prohibited their use stringently.  In this home, words meant things and were to be used accordingly.  Well…with the possible exception of the sayings which the red-headed lady used.  They’ve been discussed before in similar posts, so we’ll not give you a recitation of those either.

The brat who was reading the book, now mature, still remembers the hard lessons of learning to use words correctly.  An encounter, at five years old, between his mouth and a bar of soap is still a vivid picture in his now middle-aged mind, said encounter resulting from the repetition of one of those “minced oaths” after he had been asked to desist.  To this day, he stops and thinks about the meaning of those words, if one happens to slip out in his conversation.  Words have meaning.

But, “Oh, my aching back!” and its kinfolk need a bit of attention.  In part, my mind drifted to this as I began to write tonight because my back actually does ache.  A moving adventure this evening (for which I wish there were photographic proof) with a roll-top desk making the journey from the upper floor of the Lovely Lady’s brother’s house to the ground level below, has left me with a definite pain in the lower back.  You wouldn’t believe the tale of tipping the heavy oak desk over the side of the upper balcony and down to the deck around the pool below, before clambering down via the rail to lower it, so I’ll just save you the incredulity.  I will simply repeat that my back is indeed, aching.   It will recover, no doubt, but the trip back along memory lane had already begun and the road had to be traveled once more.  I hope you don’t mind.

We use similar phrases to describe people or things which annoy us, don’t we?  “He’s a pain in the neck,” is a commonly used description.  We also talk about a pain in the back.  Other parts of the anatomy may or may not occur to you to be used in that sentence, but in the interest of good taste, I’m going to stop with the neck or back.  We simply mean that we are burdened with that persons actions and attitudes.  We don’t really have any physical pain, but we’d rather not be bothered.  Why don’t we just say what we mean?  Why do we have to speak in euphemisms?  I wonder if, like Dr. Seuss’s lovable elephant Horton, it might not be better if we said what we mean and we mean what we say?  Of course, Dr. Seuss may not be the best example here, since he loved to write in analogies. But, you do understand what I’m driving at, don’t you?

Words have meaning.  We often talk just to hear the sound of our voices.  At least, that’s the way it appears, as we babble on and on.  The phrase “talking through his hat” comes to mind.  Although there are a number of ideas for where that phrase comes from, I tend to think it’s just a variant of “talking off the top of his head”; meaning that one speaks in an ill-prepared manner, just saying whatever comes to mind.  In spite of my upbringing, I still make this error frequently and it gets me into trouble, almost as frequently.  Our words should be chosen with care rather than tossed out haphazardly; thought through with deliberation instead of being spoken in haste.  Often, the words we say in a rash and glib manner are remembered by our listeners as serious and literal.  It’s all the more reason to make every one count, to speak each of them in complete sincerity.

You know, I begin to find myself running out of appropriate words as I write this.  To continue would only mean that I would borrow from the habits against which I am warning.  It must be time to find a conclusion to this activity for today.   I’m sure that most of you will concur.

I am speaking plainly when I say that communication is one of the most important tools we possess as human beings.  With our words we build…relationships, families, organizations.  With our words we can (and often do) destroy…the very same things.  It can only be helpful for us to be circumspect in our choices of words and phrases as we communicate with each other. 

I promise that I am not talking through any hat when I tell you that I am headed for home and bed now.  Perhaps this old body will feel better after a few hours of sleep.

Oh, my aching back!

“But I tell you that everyone will have to give account on the day of judgment for every empty word they have spoken.  For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned.”
(Matthew 12-36,37~NIV)

“I have been a believer in the magic of language since, at a very age, I discovered that some words got me into trouble and others got me out.”
(Katherine Dunn~American novelist/journalist)

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© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

“…now look at yourself. You’re not even a has-been. You’re a never-was.”  The quote, from a comedy in the nineties called “The Mighty Ducks”, gives me pause.  It even inspires a sigh of resignation from time to time.  You see, if you’re going to hit the skids, you have to start from an elevated position in the first place.  You can’t be a has-been if you never were anybody to start with.

I posted a joke the other day (what day don’t I post a joke?) for my friends and acquaintances to enjoy.  It was actually a loose quote of something the comic Lily Tomlin once said.  The joke suggested that I had always wanted to be somebody.  It went on to say that I guess I should have been a little more specific.

You see, most of us want to make it.  We hope for (secretly, mostly) the fame that comes with making it.  Like Thurber’s Walter Mitty, we imagine that we, more than anyone else, deserve to be the hero, the dashing leading man or lady.  The only problem is that real life and real people keep getting in the way.  So, like Thurber’s protagonist, we must content ourselves with at least imagining a hero’s romantic death if we can’t live the hero’s exciting life.  Sure, we’ll face the firing squad.  It’s better than dealing with the unrelenting stress of everyday relationships and life as we know it.

Why is it that we crave notoriety; that we covet the spotlight?  We certainly do some odd contortions to gain that goal, including name-dropping.  Why, I want you to know that I once touched the hand of Major Nikki Rowe, a decorated Vietnam War hero!  It was something I bragged of when I was eleven years old, the year the parade was held in his honor when he had escaped after five years of being held captive and tortured by the Viet Cong.  His convertible moved slowly out of the gates of the stadium and he touched the outstretched hands of those along the way, mine included.  Does that not impress you?  Well then, how about a closer and longer brush with greatness?  I played in my high school band with a young man named Mike Fossum who, only last year, spent six months on the International Space Station, after many years as a NASA astronaut!  He’s a real American hero!  Never mind that we weren’t close friends in school.  He did sit in the row behind me!  I’m sure that I said “Hi” a time or two to him.  Even if it is a weak claim to fame, I will do my best to borrow his honor by dropping his name whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Perhaps, some will rub off.  I just don’t want to be a never-was.

Sad, isn’t it, that we feel our lives so lacking that we must envy those who live the so-called good life and those who have gained fame by their exploits?  The thing is, I have finally, after years of living among them, realized that I’m already surrounded by heroes in my life.  Contrary to popular belief, they’re not exclusively the ones who save lives and property; not only those who bravely put their own well-being at risk for people in distress; not even just those who give up their private goals to work for others as public servants.  Sure, those folks could be described as heroes, but the folks I’m talking about walk past me every day on the street.  They take my order at the restaurant, repair the mechanical problems with my car, and even run the rooter machine down my sewer when it’s clogged.

The heroes whom I refer to are the ones who do what they’re called to do.  Period.  They don’t stand in the spotlight; they don’t take home the big paycheck.  They simply do what they have to do.  They teach.  They clean.  They build.  They pick up trash.  They are faithful, day in and day out, to the task for which they are gifted.  I have known such people.  I can name them, one by one, if need be.  How would that be for name-dropping?  My claim to fame is actually friendship and kinship with such heroes.  I hope that someday, my claim to fame will be to be counted among them, as one of their peers.

Many of the famous ones–the wealthy, arrogant ones–call these folk the little people.  But, when the rubber meets the road and it’s time to choose who we spend our lives with, most of us would (and do) choose to live with these “little people”.  The rich and famous are all about image…and they do look good.  But, as my father would say, “The proof of the pudding is in the eating.”  I have seen dishes on the table which appear to be delicious, but when the spoon is employed and the concoction is brought to the mouth, a grimace appears and the sputtering begins.  Good taste never comes from appearance, but always from the ingredients and the process.  If it looks good, as well, all the better.  Again and again, we find that many of the famous look wonderful, but leave a horribly foul taste in the mouth.

So, how about it?  Are you a has-been?  A never-was?  I’m wondering if there should be a third category.  Perhaps, we could call it an always will-be.  That’s the kind of person I could spend my life with.

I’d like for it to be the kind of person I’m becoming.  Time will tell.

“A hero is someone who understands the responsibility that comes with his freedom.”
(Bob Dylan~American folksinger/songwriter)

“Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.”
(I Corinthians 4:2~NIV)

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“Honey, this is a beautiful painting, isn’t it?  That bridge over the water is spectacular, and the buildings are so detailed!”  She is standing about six feet away from me as she speaks.  Funny thing…I’m looking at an oil painting with a bridge over a river which has buildings in the scene as well, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she must be looking at a different painting.  The one I’m viewing is all disconnected lines and fuzzy images.  The colors are vivid, but I just don’t see any sharp detail at all.  Not from where I’m standing.

I glance back and, sure enough, she is looking straight at the painting I am examining.  I’ve told her a time or two that she needs glasses, but perhaps now is not the time to reiterate that thought.  I back up to where she is standing.  As I focus on the artist’s work once again, I am astounded to find that I now agree with her assessment.  When I see the whole picture, I don’t notice the fuzziness, nor the disconnected lines.  The structure holding up the bridge is easy to see; the bridge itself a masterpiece of design.  The buildings in the distance look as if they could house families just like ours.  I begin to wonder if I am seeing things, so I move right back up next to the work of art once more.  Nope.  Fuzzy lines and color, nothing more.  This one is definitely a poser.  Exactly what is happening here?

It is not my intent to give a lesson in art history, but the explanation for what I am seeing is tied up in that subject.  The painting we are viewing is one of a genre described as “impressionist”, originally dubbed this by artists who were critical of its unfinished, sketchy style.  To them, it wasn’t a real picture of the object, it was merely an impression of it.  The name stuck and a new art form was established, changing the art world beyond recall.  I will confess that I am not quite a fan.  While I grudgingly admit to the genius of the style, I prefer more clarity, more detail, upon which to focus my attention.  Still, the ability to make a picture appear clear and finished from a distance, only to dissolve into lines and colors when in close proximity, takes a talent which I admire greatly and still do not understand.

I wonder if this is the reason that art museums often have velvet ropes up in front of their art work.  The ropes force us to keep our distance from the precious oils and water colors.  Is it possible that they’re not just trying to keep us from touching and soiling the work, but that they want to be sure we see the paintings from the correct perspective?  I don’t insist on it.  It’s just my theory.

You know, I’m not so sure that we don’t see the world in an impressionistic way as well.  It might be a good thing when we’re viewing art, but I have my doubts as to its usefulness in real life.  Again and again, I am shocked as I learn of acquaintances who are going through crises in their personal lives.  I looked at them from across the room just last week; saw their post on one of the social media outlets only a month ago.  From a distance, everything looked just fine to me.  How is it possible that the lines have become disconnected, the picture so fuzzy?

Perhaps, the message of the fuzzy lines is that we need to be sure and stay close to those we love.  Possibly, we should hold them tight and not lose touch.  It’s not a bad proposal.  From the perspective of a friend and family member, it’s actually quite a good one.  We should do that.  As people who want to serve, we are actually required to be in the place where we can do the most good.  It is an excellent and noble goal, which deserves our attention.

But, I have a sense that there is a more personal message, one of warning, which the idea of disconnected lines and fuzzy focus teaches.  You see, other people are not the only ones who have issues which need to be addressed.  The temptations and anxieties of our world are very real in our own lives, too.  We find ourselves working hard to keep up appearances, making sure that the picture from the outside looking in is one of control and focus, all the while knowing that the lines are stretching and becoming disconnected.  Instead of seeking help and admitting our problems, we work all the harder to repair the image–the facade of well-being, hoping against hope that no one will look closely at our situation; knowing all the while that it will never stand up to close inspection.  If only we can keep them at arm’s length, we are confident that we can make them believe all is right in our world.  All we need achieve is the impression of wholeness, not wholeness itself.  It is a juggling act which will invariably wear us down, a plate-spinning spectacle which is destined to end in disaster.

The impression of peace is not the reality of the same.  The impression of goodness is not the same as actually doing good. We need realism, not impressionism.  I am, of course, speaking about real life, not art.  You may enjoy what you will in the art world, but in our lives, in reality, truth trumps imitation every time.  We owe it to each other; we owe it to ourselves; we owe it to our God, to be honest and to drop our deceptions.

I still have more than my share of fuzzy areas and quite a few disconnected lines.  I’m working at connecting the dots, but I’m thinking that I need to let people get a little closer, too.

Perhaps you believe that it’s time to take down the velvet ropes as well.

Time will tell if the critics agree.

“Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.”
(Ephesians 4:25~ESV)

“From a distance, we all have enough 
And no one is in need. 
There are no guns, no bombs, and no disease 
No hungry mouths to feed.”
(“From A Distance” by Julie Gold~American songwriter)




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© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.