From the windmills of my mind to yours and back again. And, from there to other musings from someone who is not always here but may not be there either…
By: John Silva – November 18, 2021
Euphemisms. Go ahead, try and say it. You have to scrunch up your face to produce the four syllables required to pronounce it. First, you extend your lower jaw forward like a chimpanzee and pucker up your lips into a small circle that gives you the “ewe” sound. Second, you cover your lower lip with your upper front teeth and blow to get the hissing “Fah” sound. Third, you close your lips and make a humming “mi” sound. Fourth, open your mouth slightly and push your tongue forward and tensing your lips press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and make a buzzing “zzz” sound. And, finally, close your mouth and make a “mmm” sound making your teeth vibrate.
Ewe-fha-mis-zums… not exactly easy peasy. It doesn’t easily roll off the tip of your tongue… and it certainly doesn’t sound winsome. Rather an odd sounding word, to say the least. You create the future sounds in your head in a microsecond before it’s uttered. The digital information bounces from your brain’s synapses to your nerve endings to the mouth parts and only then is sound produced. The vibrations ooze and drip from your mind pregnantly waiting to be born and ejected from your mouth. They hang forbiddingly in the air like bits of stale dust blown from the tombs of Pharaohs while the shifting sand dunes silently look on.
You might think the title for this essay is a bit bizarre or macabre. Well… too bad! Deal with it! Suck it up buttercup! We’re all going to die… the only question is when… so, what’s the big deal?
Euphemisms can be clever, droll, and even comical. Here are a few common ones you’ve probably encountered.
She gave up the ghost… That’s creepy.
He’s gone. Excuse me?… Exactly where did he go?
May he rest in peace. Face it! This guy was a dirtbag. He doesn’t deserve to rest in peace.
My aunt passed away. Was that this way or that way?
He kicked the bucket. Ouch… I wonder if it hurt?
They pulled the plug. I guess it was lights out for him.
Here is a sampling of some old chestnuts from my pickle barrel:
I hope I can finish. I’m squeezing the last bit of toothpaste from the tube.
Its time to shit and get off the pot. The crossword puzzle will still be there tomorrow.
I’m on eighteen, and I can see the flag.
Dear reader, please pardon the segue, but the last euphemism reminds me of a golf joke I’d like to share with you… I hope you like it.
The duffer was having a terrible day attempting to play golf. He made more slices, hooks and missed putts than any person should ever have to endure in one game. And, that’s when he realized the next hole was the home of The Evil Queen of the Lake i.e. the water hole from hell. Trying to control his anger and disgust, he told his golfing buddies that if he lost another golf ball to the evil queen… he was quitting golf… forever!
He reviewed every golf tip he’d ever come across, kept his eye on the ball, kept his head down and wham he crushed it. For a while he thought he might have a chance, but the queen sucked his ball right out of the air and dropped it with a splash into the lake. Otherwise known as the queen’s black hole. In a fit of rage, he took his clubs, balls, and bag and with a terrific windup threw them all into the lake. Splash! And, that was that!
Disgusted, he stomped off the course! In the club’s parking lot, he located his car. But, after a few minutes, he was storming his way back to the queen’s lair… madder now than ever.
Confused, his buddies asked him if he changed his mind? Sloshing around in the pond and slogging through the mud and pond scum he screamed… NO! NO! NO! Confused, his buddies asked him why he was waist deep in the lake? Trying not to explode, he explained his car keys were in the !!#%!*&$% golf bag.
Proving, there are some days when you shouldn’t even think about getting out of bed.
Well… where was I? Oh yes.. Euphemisms about death. Have you ever thought about your final ride? Do you think it is funny or sad when the conductor announces End of the Line! Last Stop! Everybody Off! And, you’re the only one left on the train?
Or, have you ever heard the Ghost Riders thundering across the sky yell out… hey cowboy… it’s all over… time to get out of the pool… you’re history… kaput… a goner… yea baby, it’s hasta la vista for you… and… of course… it really is over.
I remember a few winters back, I was enjoying a week long ski trip to Park City, Utah. And, on that particular day, I was taking the shuttle to Park City West, a nearby ski resort. The old school bus was gasping for air as it traveled up and down the two lane snow packed road ten thousand feet above sea level. The seat springs were shot and some of them stuck up through the worn seat covers. These “special” seats were reserved for the unfortunate late arrivals. I hope they brought a pillow. Not exactly the finest of accommodations, but a darn sight better than walking eight miles loaded down with all of the ski paraphernalia one needs to make a reasonable showing on the slopes.
The driver was a crusty old coot. But, you could tell he was the real deal because he wore the obligatory beat up, shapeless, felt cowboy hat flawlessly. Maybe, you’ve met someone like him. He’d probably in his eighties with a tooth or two missing, his face a dark brown, deeply creased, and crumpled. Yep, just like he walked out of a McMurtry western. His eyes squinted at you from behind his weathered face, and you knew… that he knew… that you knew… that he had lots of stories and secrets he would probably carry to his grave rather than waste them on the likes of you or some no count ski bum.
He reminded me of a character you’d read about in an old paperback complete with a beat up cover and dog eared pages. A book someone had left laying on the top of the toilet tank in a stall in the men’s room. It was left as a gift, a kinda random act of kindness… western style.
When I asked him which ski resorts he liked best and where he skied, he contemplated my request for a time to determine if I was worthy of an answer. He said none of the ski resorts were to his liking… too much fussing… too many people… the slopes were too crowded and he wouldn’t be caught dead waiting in one of those damn lift lines.
Without being asked, he offered his thoughts on the evils of tow ropes, pomels, tee bars, chairs, and gondolas. They were all just a blight on the landscape. so much junk designed to keep you from enjoying the beauty of nature and yourself. He half grunted as he said “It keeps a body all hemmed in.” Besides, he said, it was boring, too expensive, and not much fun. Could he really be talking about those groomed slopes with each run color coded from easy greens to terrifying double black diamond runs that scared me half to death? Really?
Well, where do you ski then? I asked. He explained to me how he and his friends would get on their snowmobiles and head for the wilderness with its virgin snow, secret chutes and mountains with no names. And, when they got to a favorite destination, they would grab a tow rope attached to a snowmobile and ski “up” the mountain. The towed skiers danced their way “up” the mountain clutching their ropes and doing fancies… western slang for tricks. And, when they got to the top, they freed themselves from their tether… made a quick U-turn and blasted down the mountain carving happy trails in the unspoiled snow. A pristine wilderness devoid of roads and the relentless pursuits of developers and engineers driven to make a profit by destroying the natural beauty of the area. There were no lift tickets, no lines, no crowds, and best of all… no rules. The skiers took turns driving the snowmobile taxi and they gunned the beast up the mountains making wild and crazy designs in the snow. If a driver managed to flip a skier he was towing, he got extra points for his effort and skill.
With a smirk, he said “Now, that’s skiing”! Somewhere in the telling of his adventures, he managed to slip in a euphemism of gem quality. He said, “I’m eighty-six years old and I’m running out of sidewalk.”
Well folks, it’s three am and that’s it for tonight… I’m beat. Time to count some sheep, cows and double black diamonds. Let me know if you come across any other euphemisms worthy of inclusion in this exceptional assembly of witticisms… I’m really getting into it.
Love, peace, and joy to all of you and yours.
What follows, is a euphemistic bonus of additional thoughts that arrived too late to be incorporated in the main story. Here is an encore just for you! At this point in our lives, we are all ticking time bombs (Contributed by Mary Jane)
Dinner’s bout done.
This story is just about over.
The cupboard’s getting bare
This roller coaster ride is almost over.
The odometer is reading 99,999.
The gauge says the tanks bout empty.
Did he make it? Nope… he bought the farm.