I was reading today.
Not that odd actually. I read SOMETHING everyday. But today I was actually by myself, with a real live hard backed book, reading something that I wanted to read with no one asking me questions or expecting anything out of me at the end of it.
It was lovely.
As I was reading, I found myself sinking into the words. And then, a real live interruption occurred. Not a big deal, normal, daily life edging out the quiet space the author and I shared. I went on with my day, but in the quiet moments, I found myself going over the words that had delighted me. Chuckling to myself, finding joy in the cleverness of words strung together to paint a picture for me to experience inside my mind.
I know I'm a word person. From lyrics to poetry to prose, words have always stuck with me. OTHER people's words. The details of a scene that can be shown with words...the simplicity and the magnitude...words are cool.
Things like:
"Lastly, in lieu of these shifting scenes, came back the rude market-place of the Puritan settlement, with all the townspeople assembled, and leveling their stern regards at Hester Prynne--yes at herself--who stood on the scaffold of the pillory, an infant on her arm, and the letter A, in scarlet, fantastically embroidered with gold thread, upon her bosom." Nathaniel Hawthorne - The Scarlet Letter
Or
"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all..."
Emily Dickinson
Or
"Jesus wept" John 11:35 NASB
I don't really memorize, but I do remember the jist. Thankfully Google / Bing / Yahoo and the like have made it unnecessary to memorize popular words so long as I always have my phone near me. I'm a little ashamed about it. I mean really, my mom knows all the words I know and more, and she never spaces out on how to spell them...maybe I'm more jealous than ashamed.
I just know that I'm an odd ball because of this passion for words. Now it's kind of cool. In my 40s my peers understand me and often think me charming for my quirky vernacular. (or at least that's what I tell myself.) But...oooo...growing up? Not so much.
My bestie, Kehaar...I've told you about her...we lived in Florida at the same time from the time I was 9 until 13. She was a word nerd, too. And I have many lyrics and rhymes in my head that we learned together in those years But then, as happened a few times in my life, we moved, and then moved again...Two high schools my freshmen year doesn't make for deep friendships who understood my...ehem...charm. Honestly, I didn't like to write back then, so I didn't chase where the other wordy kids hung out.
But in my second high school, my English teacher, loquacious in her own right, pushed me (kicking and screaming, I might add) onto a path that would eventually lead me to my love of Shakespeare and eventually my love of chronicling...and I suppose even blogging.
Someone teased me the other day that I speak like I write. I had no idea what she meant, I mean, doesn't everybody? But I suppose she meant that she liked that I have too many words and a nutty vocabulary...and I'm glad because it is fun to figure out new words that fit the situation. Except when I'm tired...and I'm out of nouns...then I use words like doohickey...and stuff...liberally.
or if I've had more than one glass of wine...then all bets are off...
Just keepin it real.
See ya around...
