The perfect place to think about words…glorious words!
I’ve been putting the emphasis on the second syllable, when it actually belongs softly on the first. You may ask WHY I’d have the occasion to use the word “fecund” enough to care, right? Well I CARE about words a little too much. Just ask my daughter, Lauren.
Lauren was an English major. Don’t come to our house and dangle a participle, people. We’re like vampires in a butcher shop. It’s a blood bath…
Lauren was with me in the Bahamas, the time I told the writer for that fancy-pants Travel &… magazine he was a misanthrope. I’d been listening to his endless stories about all the people who had WRONGED him – those he didn’t speak to anymore, and I’d HAD IT. Lauren attempted to soften the blow by saying, “Mom, he’s not misanthropic, that’s pretty negative. He’s just selective.”
I suppose I was uncharacteristically rude, because I was drunk. But so was he. I was a little miffed with the writer, because he came to Staniel Cay under the guise of writing an article about my family a la The Swiss Family Robinson, when he really just wanted to boondoggle, drink my beer, ride on my boat and take happy-chappy photos of the grinning Jamaican bartender at the Staniel Cay Yacht Club. Like there’s no Bahamians to photograph in the Bahamas?
It was yet another example of booze making expensive, ill advised decisions for me. You could say my life is fecund with these decisions…
I was telling Lauren the other day, that bad decisions had driven me underground. That I was hiding from myself – becoming a loner. Avoiding temptation.
She said, “You’re actually kind of a recluse, Mom.” And so it goes…
Lauren was an English major. Don’t come to our house and dangle a participle, people. We’re like vampires in a butcher shop. It’s a blood bath…
Lauren was with me in the Bahamas, the time I told the writer for that fancy-pants Travel &… magazine he was a misanthrope. I’d been listening to his endless stories about all the people who had WRONGED him – those he didn’t speak to anymore, and I’d HAD IT. Lauren attempted to soften the blow by saying, “Mom, he’s not misanthropic, that’s pretty negative. He’s just selective.”
I suppose I was uncharacteristically rude, because I was drunk. But so was he. I was a little miffed with the writer, because he came to Staniel Cay under the guise of writing an article about my family a la The Swiss Family Robinson, when he really just wanted to boondoggle, drink my beer, ride on my boat and take happy-chappy photos of the grinning Jamaican bartender at the Staniel Cay Yacht Club. Like there’s no Bahamians to photograph in the Bahamas?
It was yet another example of booze making expensive, ill advised decisions for me. You could say my life is fecund with these decisions…
I was telling Lauren the other day, that bad decisions had driven me underground. That I was hiding from myself – becoming a loner. Avoiding temptation.
She said, “You’re actually kind of a recluse, Mom.” And so it goes…
Today I’m not drinking because: I don’t want to get it wrong.
How come you’re not drinking?
P.S. “How come” is a colloquial phrase – a throw back from my Flint, Michigan upbringing and it’s TOUNGE IN CHEEK, people.
