I often wonder if suppression is not my bailiwick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I hate the vague; I hate words when used to hide crystalline understanding and thought provoking description.\u00a0 Find the damn words! Search for the rest of your life, write thick wordy dribble until the correct combination releases frustration; refuse wordlessness.\u00a0 Describe the time, the age and hang on to the sound and syllable. From experience I can attest that the search breathes life into the word or words sought after into a living, organism often called sanity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Warning; don\u2019t drift off into meditation.\u00a0 Grab a thesaurus. Damnable things really but if used improperly a thesaurus serves a purpose that the sickos who thought of such a cheat never dreamed.\u00a0 Pay for the subscription to the Oxford English Dictionary and sort it from the 19th century on down and believe you are doing the world a great service because a dictionary will slow a person down, engage the mind and distract it from its own self aggrandizement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The salt softening Mediterranean wind buffeted her hair into a sexy just-out-of-bed look.\u00a0 I can summon the self-satisfied smile she gave me. \u00a0 To her credit she enjoyed being sexy, even beautiful and took pains to maintain her appearance. During sex when I knew that the groans and pushes shuddering through her slender muscular body pulsated from her physical appetite my mind cleared momentarily and by ego induced thoughts, podded from pride, I had some of the most damnable ideas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brief thoughts bounced into my consciousness; it was my body, my ingenuity even my bank roll that caused her to do such acrobatic things on my behalf. \u00a0 Afterward when she walked about naked chatting to her mother in Provo Utah, I plummeted in shame.\u00a0 She was a high-class hooker, and we both knew it, the only one who didn\u2019t know it was her doe-eyed mother who believed every monosyllabic word she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In twentieth-century writings (I won\u2019t say literature, I\u2019ve come down a few steps from self worship and cultural pride) I connected with all the pokes and jabs at the Roman Catholic Church.\u00a0 I agreed with critics of the Catholic teachings and traditions regarding sexual morality.\u00a0 Now, well into my sixties, I think of my strict Catholic schooling which left me with a vocabulary, a diligent work ethic and the ability to forge a lucrative way in life.\u00a0 My parents thought it very important that I succeed and have plenty of money; they worked hard, did without and sacrificed.\u00a0 Where did that lead me?\u00a0 I\u2019ll tell you; In my junior year in college at a state-run university known for producing great twentieth-century minds my parent\u2019s diligence left me wondering why they bothered with the archaic Mass.\u00a0 The real presence, the Holy Rosary, the adoration chapel were too simple an answer to complicated questions.\u00a0 Besides, I was in a hurry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then my parents died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I aged and found passion harder to find in women of my\u00a0age and then in a moment of weakness I was saying \u2018I do\u2019 to an Amazon in the county courthouse. \u00a0 Her vows wrapped around me like ice cold chains.\u00a0 I glanced over at her mother, just six years older than me.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t seem the type to raise a daughter capable of committing herself in marriage for financial stability, the opportunity to travel and the sureness of relaxing nights by the fire while I worked late.\u00a0 The things my bride said to me on the night we consummated our wedding, her plans for the future to keep me young and virile exposed me, pulled my joints loose metaphorically and from that night forward I collected old dictionaries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My wife\u2019s lack of vocabulary was paralyzing me. \u00a0 No bread.\u00a0 No wine.\u00a0 No heady aromas.\u00a0 No clench within my chest when humbled by her practicality or attempts at empathy ever occurred.\u00a0 Her concise, often repeated and well-pronounced verb drenched sentences left me knowing what she would say before she finished a thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not everyone can grab the right word.\u00a0 Not everyone can understand the effort.\u00a0 Not everyone can stand the cold dunk of proverbial water that searching for meaning often takes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There is an island within the vast freshwater seas of the Great Lakes that I love.\u00a0 Early in my career I saved diligently and bought a piece of property there.\u00a0 I built a simple home, not large and I go there as often as I can to read to my wife.\u00a0 I can see my younger self there smirking over the clever jibs and jabs that old school tradition deserved from a culturally superior world.\u00a0 Oh, the eye rolling I did and the clucking agreement I spoke to no one there when young.\u00a0 Oh, the pathetic pride I felt some clever writer summed up the stupidity of faith and waiting; now the place echos with the classics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On our third anniversary I told her I wanted to surprise her and brought her to the island; it charmed her.\u00a0 When I stripped down naked in front of her, my actions aroused her.\u00a0 When I chained her to the bed, she was my slave.\u00a0 When I left her there screaming inarticulate and shocked I felt as a professor hoping for more from a spoiled and pampered student.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Try to understand I didn\u2019t reject her, it was an escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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My wife\u2019s lack of vocabulary was paralyzing me. No bread. No wine. No heady aromas. No clench within my chest when humbled by her practicality or attempts at empathy ever occurred. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,3,19],"tags":[11,21,25],"class_list":["post-380","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-flash-fiction","category-short-fiction","category-writing","tag-amwriting","tag-shortstory","tag-great-lakes"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"amp_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/380","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=380"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/380\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":678,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/380\/revisions\/678"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=380"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=380"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=380"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}