Mind At 3:33

Whoever knows me knows a strange person (I'm leaving the "very" out). Juxtaposed, whoever knows not a strange person knows not me. Not to say "weird" but strange. Eccentric may be more apt, my homiletics professor at Gettysburg told me, "You have an eccentric preaching style, but it seems to work for you, so OK" so OK, it's more than style, sadly, it's my being. Thunderstorm and here I lie sitting up in bed drinking a mug of coffee, in a beloved Papa mug which I won't allow downstairs lest something happen to it. From one of Linda's keurigcups, the coffee is a bit weak because I forgot to add a spoon of crystals from the Luzianne jar that's here by the upstairs coffeemaker just for this moment. But, OK. What does the mind do. The door is open, and I'm enjoying the vigorous thunderstorm. Not violent, but vigorous. It'll be good for the yard, eh? What does the mind do? It uses the eyes to stare at the digital clock: 3:33.

Mine is red, not green, but 3:33. What time of day could fill up, light up, the most of the little digital bars? Well, 8:88 of course, but we have no such time (maybe we shouldn't be in such a hurry). In fact, the middle position can't go higher than 5, can it. 8:58 leaves two digital bars blank in the middle position, so not 8:58. Try 8:18, nope, not by half. Let's just go up. 8:28 leaves two unlighted. 8:48 leaves three. Try going down. Yep, it's 8:08, see?

Only one blank bar. BTW, that's not my watch. Since being retired in 1998 I no longer wear a watch or carry a calendar, I use my iPhone instead, and at 78 (which leaves four bars blank, which is obvious to anyone who knows me), the Mind is stretched to keep up with the gardenia phone, wallet, and keys, not even to mention that one of Linda's assignments every time I walk out the door is to ask and make sure, "are you zipped?" But 8:08 is the max. However, it's too late, no point lying here watching for that exciting moment, it's hours away.

Well, maybe weird is the word.

Holy Week brings intriguing juxtaposing. Why and how juxtaposing, juxtapositioning, juxtaposition? Well, “how” because we lay Him in the tomb and seal it, then have Him alive for Last Supper, once for Bread and Wine, then for the Humility of Servanthood as He washes feet, then, agonizingly, we try Him again, condemn Him, and make Him carry the Cross to Calvary again. And “why” "juxtaposing"? Why, because I said so. Because I said so, just like between Humpty Dumpty and Alice:

'But "glory" doesn't mean "a nice knock-down argument",' Alice objected.

'When I use a word,' Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, 'it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.'

'The question is,' said Alice, 'whether you can make words mean so many different things.'

'The question is,' said Humpty Dumpty, 'which is to be master — that's all.'

So, right, who is in charge, the word or the speaker, who is to be master? I agree with Humpty Dumpty. As the speaker, one mustn't allow oneself to be slave to the words one uses, the speaker must be master of the words he uses, the words don’t even get a say in it. If a word doesn’t want to mean what I choose it to mean (“certainty” is an example), I may whip it into shape. Americans have done that with “hopefully,” which now means not what it wanted to mean, but what we chose and choose it to mean, how we worked it. Even “hopefully’s” defenders have given up and come round, though they get five points each time they use "hopefully" classically, but three points off each time they use it vulgarly.

"Belfry" is another example. As Anu Garg said last week, belfry was originally "berfrei" a watchtower. But because the watchtower had bells, people thought it was belfry, and wanted the word to be "belfry," and the word had no say in the matter. Which must be somewhat humiliating, but who cares what words think. Anyway, Humpty Dumpty is right, we must be the master. However, unlike most of us, HD is not only right, he’s fair, as he goes on to explain to Alice that when he makes words do more than ordinary work, he pays them extra. In fact, he says they come round on Saturday to collect their wages, which he seems to find rather annoying. HD is also a fair poet, as he showed Alice.

The outrageousness of the whole conversation, which I love, is what makes it so insane, ridiculous, and potentially funny. However, I have tried using it to be humorous with people, and it never works, nobody ever understands and I always come off feeling like HD after his fall. One reason is that I tend to ramble in both thoughts and words. Speaking of which, Humpty Dumpty is quite proud of his beautiful cravat, a gift of the king, actually, and was offended when Alice asked if it was a belt.

But about that juxtaposition.

Never mind, it’s brillig, time to knock off ships work and finish calculating these HNES financial aid applications before going to walk with Robert.

If the thunderstorm clears. And if I can get my mind off the Love, and the Humility, and the Cross.