The following post is by MYRLN, a non-blogger who is Kalilily’s guest writer every Monday.
Wanderlost in Languageland
Language is our major means of communication. But sometimes it doesn’t cleanly live up to that function. That’s not language’s fault, though. The fault lies with those who use it…or misuse it. Meaning us. In the hands (and minds and mouths) of its users, language often goes down strange roads — sometimes by accident, sometimes deliberately, and sometimes through carelessness. Accident leads to some funny or incomprehensible or just plain dumb results. More sinister is the deliberate manipulation of language for what are ultimately dubious or selfish or manipulative ends. Carelessness often creates undesirable or questionable outcomes.
For example, the overuse of the word “hero” falls into the careless basket. Nowadays, many legal acts only slightly outside the ordinary activity of daily living are labeled “heroic.” A dog barks to scare an intruder, a child calls 911 to save a parent, a person joins the military. All “heroes.” No harm, you say? Well, what about when someone acts in a truly selfless, important way that has deeply meaningful results? Like the first-responders on 9/11, or the G.I. who dies throwing himself on a grenade to save his buddies. They’re heroes, for sure, but overuse of the word has diminished its meaning. The barking dog and the G.I.: both “heroes?” Both acts of equal status? Unh-uh. By labeling both with the same word, we’ve robbed the term of its real heart. And thus the G.I.’s unselfish act of its important meaning.
Language’s accidental basket is much more fun, ‘though sometimes annoying — as when a t.v. talking head after a commercial break says “Welcome back” to us. Huh? We’ve not been anywhere, just sitting in front of the t.v. all along. “Welcome BACK?” Then there’s the truck driving the main road in front of your car. On its tailgate is a sign: “Construction Vehicle. Do Not Follow.” What do you do? Pull off the road ’til it’s gone? Turn and go the other way? And product instructions/descriptions, too, can be baffling. The shampoo bottle says, “Lather, Rinse, Repeat.” Something that open-ended has you washing your hair every second of the rest of your life. Or the juice bottle: “Shake well before using.” Like you’re a dog ridding its coat of water? Or the small/tall kitchen trashbags. What makes for a “tall” kitchen or defines a “small” one? Oh, and there’s the Department of Motor Vehicles conundrum: at a 4-way STOP sign intersection, four cars arrive simultaneously, one
at each sign. Which car proceeds first? The one on your right, says DMV. Okay, great, but…uh…each of the four cars has a car to its right. Now what? Uh-oh…language making for an hilariously incomprehensible situation. Permanent gridlock.
Of real concern, however, is the manipulation of language for questionable or sinister ends…especially by government. “Weapons of mass destruction,” for example, used to evoke fear and/or anger to get a particular action started. “Detainees” — guilty of anything or not. “No terrorist attacks since 9/11 proves administration policy is succeeding.” (Yeah, and spitting once daily in each direction is also responsible.) “Mission accomplished.” Richard Powers, in his 1991 book, THE GOLD BUG VARIATIONS, wrote, “Wars come down to the control of information,” (suggesting the “encoding” of language, using it in deceptive ways). That’s a truth we’ve learned the hard way in this Iraq conflict. The current administration has, at every turn, withheld, distorted, and contradicted information by deliberately misusing language. Powers’ point was about keeping an enemy from knowing what you’re really doing. Our problem is a government doing the same to its own people. Assisted, perhaps, by the fact that, as a recent study discovered, only 1 in 4 adults read a book in a year.
Maybe what we need is to deal with language the way a 5-year old child does: by continuously asking, “WHAT?” until clarity is achieved. Maybe then language will be returned to its major function: communication.

Well, it’s not REALLY an empty nest because my grandson has just begun his half-day Kindergarten class, but my daughter has already launched her next career.
She has just set up her online store to sell the products of her very artful eye. My sidebar has had her general website up for a while: 1505 Photovisions, which also links to her store.
Over the past several years, she has developed a talent for capturing moments in nature that most of us usually miss as we hurry along to get done what has to be done. Taking the time to show her young son the marvels of nature gave her a chance to rediscover them herself — and to wait for that perfect moment to capture them digitally.
This happens to be one of my favorites.

So, if you’re in the market for any note cards or gifts with original nature photographs, check out my daughter’s online store.
Meanwhile, I’m ordering this mousepad:

For years, I’ve been trying to track down a novel that I used when I taught 8th grade back in the 70s. I remember the kids really liking it, and I remember the name of the book being “The Child Kings.” I swear that the author was Rebecca West, but that can’t be right.
I’m thinking that maybe it was a short story — but, at any rate, the tale tells of a day when everyone in the world wakes up to discover that the children are the physical size of adults and the adults are as small as children. Their minds remain what they were, but the difference in physical size changes everything.
I’d love to know if anyone else ever heard of this book.
I have this novel on my mind right now because I just answered a question on Facebook posed by one of my blogger friends about what book/s I read more than 10 years ago that I would recommend. As I thought about my answer, I realized that my taste in reading matter is not very sophisticated.
The two books I listed in my answer were The City Not Long After, which is really a young adult novel, but I thoroughly enjoyed “watching” the surreal machinations of young artists as they use their magic to save the city of San Francisco. I still own my 1990 paperback copy of that book.
The other book is If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him. That book was given to me at a very low point in my life and it helped me turn my life around. Maybe it spoke to me because Sheldon Kopp, the author, was a psychotherapist who understood the power of story to stir insight and understanding.
The part of the book I remember most was his comparing people on this planet to those in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Like them, we are all pilgrims, and we survive emotionally by telling our stories to each other.
I guess that’s why a lot of us blog.
P.S. Sheldon Kopp was the one who originated the eschatological laundry list that still surfaces in emails. These are the first few:
1. This is it!
2. There are no hidden meanings.
3. You can’t get there from here, and besides, there’s no place else to go.
4. We are all already dying and we’ll be dead for a long time.
5. Nothing lasts!
6. There is no way of getting all you want.
7. You can’t have anything unless you let go of it.
8. You only get to keep what you give away.
9. There is no particular reason why you lost out on some things.
10. The world is not necessarily just. Being good often does not pay off and there is no compensation for misfortune.
11. You have the responsibility to do your best nonetheless.
12. It is a random universe to which we bring meaning.
13. You don’t really control anything.
14. You can’t make someone love you.

Today I put the artifact that I made for r@d@r in the mail. After he gets it, I will post its photo.
Is it really magical? It is according to my definition of magic.

Those two concepts shouldn’t really go together, but they sure do in Amerika.
On Countdown tonight, Keith Olbermann made that statement that research shows that, over the past ten years, twice as many Republicans have been involved in sex scandals as Democrats.
Yet, it’s the Republicans who supposedly are the advocates of “family values.” Right.
And during the EWTN mass today that my mother was watching, I catch the priest praising the Republicans for championing anti-abortion, anti-sex education and anti-homosexuality. So much for the separation of church and state.
I think about the people who have been brainwashed into believing that the priest speaks for god. If the priest says that Republicans are the good guys, well, then that’s who should get their votes.
And then there’s this website for the organization “Teen Mania,” which was founded by a man who “ran away from home at the age of 15 and became involved in drug and alcohol abuse before finding Jesus at the age of 16 ” and subsequently began a quest “to raise up an army of young people who would change the world.”
“Teen Mania seeks to rescue teens, ones who are caught in lives of despair and hopelessness, ” and, of course it does this by attracting them to embrace the doctrines of fundamentalist Christianity.
The statements and statistics on its homepage are very troubling; as I look at the world around me, I suspect that they are pretty accurate. There obviously are too many young people whose lives don’t give them anything substantial to hold onto. No wonder they gravitate toward such “cults.”
My question is, where are there other options being offered them, options that are as attractive to them but are not based in any kind of religious fundamentalism?
Aren’t schools supposed to be the places where kids can go to get excited about what life has to offer them? Aren’t schools supposed to be the places where kids can learn to feel good about who they are and what they are capable of accomplishing? Aren’t schools supposed to be the places where the leaders (teachers and administrators) harness all of that young and vibrant energy toward creating a humane, nurturing, and supportive environment?
Ya think??

I wrote the previous post after 1 a.m., forgetting that at that time, not only was there a full moon, but the moon was in the process of total eclipse. Can’t help wondering if my mother’s manic mood yesterday had something to do with the pull of the tides. Or something shifting?
Dave Rogers let me know he forgot to leave the link in his comment on my post about “shifting.” It’s a link to an article about “A Huge Hole in Outer Space.”

What they can’t explain is a discovery announced a few days ago by Lawrence Rudnick, an astronomer at the University of Minnesota. He and a couple of colleagues have found what they think is another void in space — but at about a billion light-years across (that’s 6 billion trillion miles, give or take), it’s many times bigger than any void ever seen. It’s so big, in fact, that if it’s really there, it could cause real problems for all current models of the universe; the 14 or so billion years since the Big Bang isn’t long enough for gravity to have cleared out a space this huge.

Things shift whether we make them do so or not.
My mother is sitting in her recliner watching the mass on EWTN. I’m behind her at the kitchen table cutting up a watermelon and taking the seeds out (she thinks the seeds are bugs). I listen to the priest give his memorized chant and everyone else respond automatically.
I’m thinking that, unlike the story about the hole in the universe, which is literally awesome, the routine going on in that church, which SHOULD be awesome, is pretty boring. I remember it all lulling me to sleep when I was a kid restlessly stuck in a pew. I would read the gospels (like reading short stories) to keep me awake.
It seems to me, if you’re going to try to shift the universe (or convince your god to do it for you), you would need to feel passionate about it. You would need to generate the energy to propel your will and intention well beyond your earthbound mind.
I remember when a theory of Transcendental Meditation was that if a critical mass of individuals all meditated at the same time, the combined energy could change the world. Maybe shift the universe?
If all of those people in churches on Sunday morning would pray with real passion, intention, and will, would something begin shifting? Of course, that wouldn’t necessarily mean that it would shift for the better of humanity.
On the television, the priest is praying for the unborn children, preaching against abortion and birth control. Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.
My mother falls asleep in her recliner, and I being watching one Woody Allen’s lunatic movies. I had never seen this one — Everyone Says I Love You.
It’s a silly musical, far from awesome, but I’m getting a kick out of hearing Ed Norton, Julia Roberts, and Drew Barrymore try to sing. And Woody Allen try to dance. A little bit of lunacy is sometimes good for the ailing spirit.
I think about my plans to get out of here for five days in a couple of weeks. I’m planning to stay at my daughter’s for a few days and then drive to my women friends in Albany and hang out for a few more days.
Getting grounded with them will help me survive the ongoing lunacy here.
Before I go, I will put r@d@r’s actual talisman in the mail to him. Created with passion, will, and intention, it will shift his universe if he wants it to. If he wants it with passion, will, and intention.
And, maybe with a little awesome lunacy as well.
P.S. Speaking of Transcendental Meditation and lunacy, check out this awesome article by David Lynch of Twin Peaks and Blue Velvet fame.

There aren’t too many days like this, when she’s so wound up that she doesn’t take a nap during the day. And it’s a good thing, too, because that means I don’t have a minute to myself when it’s a day like this.
At least she was in a good mood this afternoon, giggling and laughing over not remembering who I am.
“Who are you?” She genuinely wants to know.
“I’m Elaine, your daughter,” I tell her.
Her eyes open wide and she starts laughing. “You’re Elaine?”
“Yes, I say. I’m your daughter.”
“I have a daughter?” Now she’s laughing even harder.
Her laughter is contagious, and soon we’re both running to the bathroom.
I sit with her on the edge of her bed while we both try to calm down. My stomach hurts from laughing so much.
She starts to cry. She leans her head on my shoulder and says “Please make me better.” And then we cry together.

The following post is by MYRLN, a non-blogger who is Kalilily’s guest writer every Monday.
FROM THE WHITE HOUSE
Dear Sir or Mr. Myrln S. Orcerer (whichever you prefer):
Your letter of Aug. 13 was received. Even tho I was on vacation (which means not at work, ha-ha), it was read to me by one of my aides. I was very upset by it cuz he doesn’t usually laugh when reading to me. But with your letter, he got the real hee-haws until it felt like he was laughing at me which is not proper for someone of my high office. By which I don’t mean elevation but importance. For I am important , as many people who want something from me keep telling me. Anyway, I referred that former aide over to Dick Cheney for what we call some remedial reading. If that don’t work, we’ll just have to write him off (the aide, I mean) as a lemon. Haw-haw. That’d make him a lemon-aide. Get it?
So now I’m doing this letter myself which will be a surprise to my other aides who think I don’t know how to typh…I mean, type. Maybe I won’t need so many aides in the future. Right now, I got a band of them. Haw-haw. That’s band-aides. Get it?
Anyway, your letter said I got us in a war and don’t know how to get out of it. Yeah, I do. I got a plan. Only it’s secret cuz if it wasn’t then them terrorists would know and then attack us on all sortsa fronts. And probly a couple of rears, too. Haw-haw. Get it? Rears? And there’s some folks like you that say cuz I fibbed a bit to get us into the war, how can anybody believe what I say now. Well shoot (no, Dick, I didn’t mean you. Haw-haw. Get it?), didn’t you guys ever hear of the 12-step program for liars? I’m working on it. I only got 11 lies to go. Jeez, give me a break. Anyway, someday the ‘Raqis will come and thank me on their knees and I’ll join them and we’ll all say a prayer together or maybe sing some nice big hymn like one of them I learnt in church. You wait and see.
So, that’s all I got to say, Mr. Orcerer. (Cheney says you’re really some kinda magician cuz S. Orcerer in your name says so. I say, yeah sure, like if my name was Tush Bush I’d be some kinda…oh…uh…never mind. Forget that one.)
Sincerely,
Gorge W. Bush
Precedent of the United Stakes (damned typewriter)
(the ‘Merican ones) (Stakes, not the typewr…oh never mind)

Shifting the universe is never easy. I mean, just ask Dr. Who.
So, I am struggling to come up with the right combination of metaphor and magic to help r@d@r shift himself and his family from where they are to where they want to be. I thought I was done, but what I created didn’t feel right. So I’m re-working it. I will post a photo of the artifact after I finish and get it to him.
It’s inevitable that, as I stoke my own energy fires for purposes outside myself, that my own purposes get fired up as well.
I’ve begun sheltering myself from the bad vibes around here by planning my escape.
When he feeds her a salami sandwich just before I begin to make her a well-balanced meal, I walk away and plan my escape.
When he blames me because he stubbed his unshod toe on the leg of the chair I’m sitting in, or because he can’t find his wire cutter, I walk away and plan my escape.
When he yells at me because I put the still-warm container of soup that I just made (from scratch) into the refrigerator (before it cooled down), I walk away and plan my escape.
I already have my Escape. And now I’m making plans.
That’s not to say that my plans might not gang agley The universe can often be pretty nasty while we make plans.
Then, again, you never know what might come out of nasty.
In this post on her blog, singer/songwriter Kristin Hersh tells eloquently and touchingly about being on a concert tour with family and band and dealing with situations that make you think that the universe has it in for them. This is just a taste of Kristin’s remarkable tale of what dedicated artists do to follow their “bliss.”:
I have to care, because soon, there may be no place for the next song to go. I think I’ll always play music. I think I have to. I’ll play in my bedroom, in my car, in my garage…but without an audience, without money, I won’t be on the road and I won’t be in the studio. And like it or not, music is a social endeavor. I wish it wasn’t, but it is and as such, it’s impact is stunted when it’s invisible. Music isn’t supposed to stay in the bedroom, the car, or the garage. It’s supposed to be given away, to become other people’s soundtrack.
So what happens is, we’re driving through the mountains and I’m stumbling around the bus, listening to music, making sandwiches for the kids and laughing with Bernie as we barrel down the highway like we have so many times before. I had just stepped over a dog to hand Wyatt a cup of milk when Ryder yelled, “Fire!” from the back bedroom.

Read the whole post and more on Kristin’s blog.
Sometimes it seems that we have no choices over where our lives take us. But we do. We do. Only there’s always a trade-off. It seems we can’t have everything we want at once. And so we have to decide what’s most important at this moment in time.
I write this to remind myself. My life is what it is, for now.
But I am urging the universe to shift, as I plan my escape.