I was talking with a friend of mine the other day who was telling me about her spunky little daughter.

Mom says, “When you obey me, you will be happy.”

After a bit of thought, Elsie says, “No, Mama. You will be happy.”

It cracked me up. And then I got all freaked out about parenting. Argh. I don’t know how my mother put up with me for so many years.

“A word to the wise ain’t necessary - it’s the stupid ones that need the advice.” - Bill Cosby

“Even when they are looking, people usually see only what they expect to find and they do not see what they assume for whatever reason could not exist.” - William C. Dement

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

Nausea has been making its rounds. Friends, my husband, and I have been feeling sick, but in the midst of gagging and retching, I’ve been laughing. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been asked, “Are you feeling nauseous?” or heard “I’m nauseous.” ROTFL.

There has been a lot of discussion about this in recent decades, and many American dictionaries flag the disputed senses in usage notes. As you say, the distinction that has been taught is that nauseous means “causing nausea” but nauseated means “feeling or suffering from nausea”. So if a person says “I am nauseous”, a purist might reply “Yes, you are; misusing words like that makes your listeners feel sick”. (This comment is best relayed from a distance.)

Read the rest.

LanguageHat is always comforting to read. LH brightens my dark days and makes bright days even brighter. Today, he posted a strange but beautiful poem by a poet I’ve never heard of before, Stanley Kunitz.

The Thing That Eats the Heart

The thing that eats the heart comes wild with years.
It died last night, or was it wounds before,
But somehow crawls around, inflamed with need,
Jingling its medals at the fang-scratched door.

We were not unprepared: with lamp and book
We sought the wisdom of another age
Until we heard the action of the bolt.
A little wind investigates the page.

No use pretending to the pitch of sleep;
By turnings we are known, our times and dates
Examined in the courts of either/or
While armless griefs mount lewd and headless doubts.

It pounces in the dark, all pity-ripe,
An enemy as soft as tears or cancer,
In whose embrace we fall, as to a sickness
Whose toxins in our cells cry sin and danger.

Hero of crossroads, how shall we defend
This creature-lump whose charity is art
When its own self turns Christian-cannibal?
The thing that eats the heart is mostly heart.

Somehow, it reminds me of Proverbs 13:12.

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick; but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.

“Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren’t.” - Margaret Thatcher