"Bless Your Heart"?

What is it called when the words you say have a meaning completely opposite from their actual  definition? Here's a for instance that is pretty innocuous. Or is it? I'm not sure.

In conversation if you tell someone something and they respond in a hearty voice with, “Good!” or "Great!" You kinda get they don't mean good or great at all. What they probably mean is, I don't have time to listen to your pathetic stories. Or, you are boring me so bad, I’d like to slap you, but I love Jesus. Or, leftovers again? Or….?

The satirist at The Cresset, (a literary and art journal published by Valparaiso University) – Tom Willadsen, wrote a little rant about what "Bless your heart," really means, and it got me thinking about my own use of handy verbal punctuation and a little habit I have of taking others to task for their use of it.

I've had some conversations about that very phrase and my friends agreed that, for example, if someone says, "Bless her heart, she's trying to lose weight" what that really means is: “I’m sure glad I’m a size 4!”  Or, “too bad she can’t stay on that diet, because she’s a big momma.” Or, “I lay money on it. She’s a closet eater.” I had already decided not to use that comment again. But there are others I need to excise. Just saying I’m not exactly snow-white here. 

Willadsen wrote:

“I now use the phrase as a verbal crossed fingers behind my back. I say “Bless your heart,: but I mean:

·      Each day in my prayers I lament that you had children, or

·      As far as I can tell, your sole purpose on the planet is to irritate everyone you encounter, or

·      Given a choice between having white-hot tungsten spikes thrust through my lungs, and accepting your invitation, I’m going with the spikes, or

·      Remember that device I told you about that measures my hostility? Your request has rendered it obsolete, or

·      I hate you.”

My thinking this is funny might reveal something twisted in me. I can yammer on about how we ought to be living and growing in the fruit of the spirit – in fact, only the other day I pressed hard on someone who was verbally unkind to another. This could be dangerous, like I’m the self-righteous, brickhead Publican dumping on the Sinner over in the corner.

On the other hand, if satire is, as the dictionary defines it, “the use of humor, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people's stupidity or vices;” and if satire is what Willadsen is doing, then, he succeeded and maybe we can laugh because we see ourselves and humor helps it go down a little more easily.

Unspoken Truths

Christopher Hitchens was on a recent 60 Minutes episode and it was fascinating to hear this man who is deeply flawed, but so eloquent and, could one call him arrogant? talk about his fight against vocal chord cancer which has metastasized. He’s a man who has loved his voice in both speaking and writing and he’s used it, or sometimes misused it very effectively. I heard, but can’t confirm that he called Mother Theresa that ugly little dwarf from Belgium. Really? He’s said plenty of nasty things about others and against Christianity, but he does it with such eloquence you have to admire him and laugh, even while you disagree.

I’ve wondered whether the experience of so much loss and suffering at this end of his life will soften or change him. What could be better than this crusty soul coming to Christ? I pray he does.

In a recent article that appeared in Vanity Fair he begins it with an excerpt from T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold

   My coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

He concludes with a truth that seems as Christian as it is human – that we are meant to live and die in the company of friends – that our relationships to one another in some sort of community increases wisdom and eases the loneliness, especially when we are suffering a fatal illness.

“My chief consolation in this year of living dyingly has been the presence of friends. I can’t eat or drink for pleasure anymore, so when they offer to come it’s only for the blessed chance to talk. Some of these comrades can easily fill a hall with paying customers avid to hear them: they are talkers with whom it’s a privilege just to keep up. Now at least I can do the listening for free.”

You're Welcome

What’s with toadsdrinkcoffee? Well, we’ve lived in a house named Toad Hall since 1981. Toad Hall was an imaginative designation from our children who thought the old house looked like the mansion from the book, Wind in the Willows. This, in part, because they were little people and used to the low-slung adobes of New Mexico. I’ve been thinking we should’ve named our home something more chic or artful like Cascade Creek Cottage and we’d sound, if not look, a bit more charming. But we’re stuck. The “drinkcoffee” half is no surprise. We love coffee. I don’t like to think of it as a need, but I suppose if you have a nervous breakdown from accidentally drinking decaf, you need it, so I confess: regular, steaming, cold-pressed, iced in summer, laced with cream – just the sound of the grinder or the teakettle heating water for the French press – makes me happy. Coffee is a way of comforting friends and strangers. So, if you came by, I might offer you a cup of my favorite, Ethiopian yergacheffe. And finally, there is this: BLOG is a word a toad would probably like – it would sort of remind her of her damp, marshy home and she’d check it out? Right. It’s ludicrous to pretend toadsdrinkcoffee could replace a latte in real space and time, but we’d still like to think if you stepped into our living room or blog you’d feel safe, a little bit at home, and that we could talk about anything. You’ll probably get more of Margie’s voice here than Denis’. And a final warning: I’m not good with commas and I know how bitter that makes some people feel. I suggest a 20 ounce coffee with a triple depth charge, and you’ll be more apt to overlook a lot of things that upset you.

Savory Friends

Last night we had dinner with Steve and Karen and Rachel. They cook like the apocalypse is coming and we'll never get this again. Lovely. It's not often I eat magenta colored food -- a whole plateful of beet risotto with a side of baby green beans, with crusty whole-grain bread. And chocolate -- a souffle you could eat forever because its velvet smooth layers of cream and cocoa just slide across your tongue. I looked at my bowl and sadly thought of licking it. Sometimes we're able to grab moments like this. When someone cooks for me, sure, it's sweet, but it's as much the dreaming, talking, and yes, Rachel, even the ranting -- that is good, and safe, and right. I pray they will be blessed for welcoming us as pilgrims in need of a brief wayside rest. Margie