Eating Paper

This weekend, I participated in a 5K run/walk with several cousins. Most of them ran, but I /walked. I still went 5K and enjoyed the hot chocolate provided by the race. Walking back to car, we fell into conversation about terms, brand names, and idioms. For instance, in the US, we call small bandages that you stick on “band-aids” even though that is a brand name. It has become synonymous with the item itself. However, once in Stratford-Upon-Avon, I had a little trouble getting one at a Boots chemist because Brits call those little bandages “plasters.” I had no clue – but I did have a mighty blister; so, I persevered until I got what I needed. Band-aid is a brand name recognized as a product name regardless of manufacturer pretty much across the United States; however, there are other examples that are more regional.

In the Deep South, all carbonated soft drinks are Coke. When you stop at the gas station, the person going in will ask everyone in the car if they want a Coke. Then they will ask what kind of Coke they want and that may be anything from a Dr. Pepper to a Sprite to a Fanta. In other areas of the country soft drinks are “pop” or “soda” and in parts of the south those terms are becoming more and more common, but Coke is still well recognized. Still even more regional is “Nabs” for packaged peanut butter or cheese crackers because Nabisco was the first company to market them. I’ve lived in several places and this term seems specific to parts of Mississippi, not even the whole state.

I say all that to say this: as I have gotten older, I often use idioms that I think are common to everybody only to find out that they are apparently specific to my family alone. For a long time, I felt like such a weirdo until I decided that perhaps my family simply had very colorful ways of saying things. Perhaps many of the sayings were translations from some translation from the Danish side of my family. Maybe they had their roots in the rural Mississippi part of my family. Who knows? The end result is that we have LOTS of colorful phrases, one of which applies when you are feeling sorry for yourself and having a pity party. You say that you should “just go out back and eat worms.”

I’ve shared a little with you about my foundling cat Drucilla. She’s been with us for about a year and a half and is probably the highest maintenance demon I have ever had in my home. She is a love, don’t get me wrong, but she is so imperious that most of the time I refer to her as the Tsarina and she seems to think that name fits. Because she has no incisors and her renal health is delicate, I often feed her tuna and, recently, sardines (which remind her of her trips to the Black Sea as a kitten). She jumps up next to the fish plate indicating that it is time for Cook (that would be me) to serve up a smackeral. If I fail to do so within what she considers to be a reasonable amount of time – two minutes – she “goes out back and starts eating worms.” Actually, she starts eating the paper towels. Not even kidding. Sometimes she jumps up on my desk and starts eating my papers there. Perhaps when she was living in the woods she once found some grease on a piece of paper so she tests every piece of paper now to see if the miracle repeats, I don’t know. I just know that I find these little gnawed scraps of paper all over the house if Her Imperial Majesty is not given a little bite of fish every 90 minutes or so during the day. Ridiculous. She fills her stomach with paper rather than wait just a little while!

Then I look at myself.

How many times in my life have I gone for the cheap substitute because I got tired of waiting? How many times have I sold myself short because I didn’t put the work in?

There have been times I have failed when I legitimately gave it the best I had and I think that’s okay. We are not all meant to do all things. Sometimes we have to know when it’s time to walk away AFTER we have given it our best. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the times I half-assed something I said I wanted, then abandoned it before I got it. Those are the things that haunt me. I have always been well-known for my patience, which ranks somewhere alongside a toddler in the candy aisle and a beer drinker waiting for the restroom. Yeah. Schoolwork was always easy for me before college. I rarely had to study; so, I never learned how. Then, when I needed to know how, I didn’t even know what I didn’t know.

From time to time, the question comes up: what advice would you give your younger self? That would be mine. Give it your best if it’s something you really want. Stay focused, swallow your pride, ask questions, and never settle for eating paper.

One thought on “Eating Paper”

  1. Glad to hear it’s not just my family that had “colorful ways” of saying things. I was almost 25 before I knew what duct tape was. My Dad always called it “Hundred Mile an Hour Tape”. Something left over from his Army days, I think! ; )

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