Here a Word, There a Word

At odd moments throughout the day or night, I play a word on the scrabble-type game on my phone called Wordfeud. On any given day I have six or seven games ongoing, which could mean I play six or seven words or could mean dozens. Playing is good for us! Maybe I’m just trying to justify an activity that some might deem pointless, but truly, I observe numerous benefits.

First and always first for me is the connection I maintain with other people. My most active opponent is Nancy. She and I live far away from each other, but she’s a wonderful person and I like her a lot and this is our thing. Through the consistency of play and occasional chats – even just to say “I never heard of that word!” or “Well done!” (to which she invariably and modestly replies “I had the right letters”) – we maintain a lovely friendship.

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Secondly, playing a word takes me away from whatever else happens to be going on at the moment, or gives me a reason to redirect my thoughts. The momentary distraction somehow helps me do the thing I was doing before just a little better. Why? Maybe my brain chemistry is jumpy? Maybe the back and forth allows it to rest and regroup and carry on more efficiently overall? I have no idea. All I know is that I get things done despite this background activity.

Also, I enjoy the challenge. Do I remember how many U’s there are and count how many have already been used before I decide I need to find another way to play my late-game Q? No. Do I remember all the two-letter words that start with D? Is DE a word? DI? DU? No. How many times did I play QUO (as in status quo) and have it tell me “QUO is not in our dictionary”? (Why not? That one baffles me!) But even though I am not as competitive as some people, I still get a thrill from making high-scoring words so I keep trying to do it.

Mainly though, I enjoy the not-always-obvious parallels to everyday life. Here are ten that have occurred to me:

  1. You don’t always get what you want. Sometimes, no matter what you do, you just don’t have what it takes to make it work. If I had had a T in the game above, I could have made NIGHT out of NIGH, and used that to connect to the DW (Double Word) space that later held the K in AUK. I could sit there all day wishing I had a T, but I don’t. I could sit here all day wishing I had the money to make my vision of a new kitchen become a reality, but I don’t. No amount of wishing makes certain things happen. I simply don’t have the T or the money. Onward we go with what we have.
  2. You sometimes learn something new. What is AUK, you may ask? According to Wikipedia, “an awk or alcid is a bird of the family Alcidae in the order Charadriiformes. The alcid family includes the murres, guillemots, auklets, puffins, and murrelets.” Did I know this when, not having a T, I played that word? No. But it worked. Do I try to know what the words mean that are unknown to me but work? Sometimes. The main thing is that it’s new, and I am stretched intellectually and possibly enlightened about something I didn’t know before. John Holt’s book Learning All the Time articulated beautifully for me (at a time in my life when this truth was not self-evident) that we do not stop learning when we graduate from whatever school we attend. Ideally, we should be learning our whole lives long. ZINE is a word? FEATER? PIA? Apparently!
  3. Some of what we do is predictable and that’s not always bad. When I go first, I almost always start at the left and move right toward the center space (which you have to cover in the first move) or I start above that space and work down to it. I seldom start at the middle space and play a word down or to the right. Similarly, I almost always put milk and sugar in my earl grey tea. I almost always park my car in the same spot. Life is full of what’s unpredictable and challenging. Some elements being almost always the same is stabilizing and helpful.
  4. Sometimes something funny comes along and you get a smile. In my game this morning, Nancy played FLIRTY, which brought its own images to my mind (you have your images, I have mine!). BLAH brings to mind Frog and Toad Are Friends, a silly kids’ book by Arnold Lobel. (Frog ran up the path to Toad’s house. He knocked on the door. “Toad, Toad,” shouted Frog, “wake up. It is spring!” “Blah,” said a voice from inside the house….) In our everyday world, people say and do funny things randomly, and they make us smile. The more of this, the better, I say.
  5. Sometimes you get really lucky. The more of this, the better too! Having the right letters to make a word using all of your seven letters in one word happens occasionally (and results in a lot of points which of course could be pivotal in winning), and we applaud it and bask in it – until the next maddening collection of letters is at the bottom of our screen, waiting for use. The fact is, a good bit of life is the luck of the draw and in different ways we all have blessings. You got really good parents, or a fabulous teacher that the kids in the other class didn’t get, or you had a boss who believed in you and made career advancement possible, or someone couldn’t use those concert tickets and gave them to you for free! What I get (or got) is different than what you get or got, but we all have something someone else doesn’t. Take note of what you have that’s good. Don’t lose sight of it.
  6. You can’t argue with the authority. If the game says it’s not a word, it’s not a word, and you can’t play it. Some things are confusing. Why is JELLO a word? I would think it’s a proper noun like TUESDAY and therefore unacceptable. But it works in Wordfeud. Do I have the right to argue this? Will my protest matter? No. I have to deal with it whether I agree or not, whether it makes sense or not, whether I like it or not. Likewise, if the result of a given election (not that I have a particular one in mind!) is objectionable to you, you have to find a way to deal with it. If the county regulations require a permit for building a porch, you get one. If the street sign says One Way, you go that way. If a tennis ball hits the line during a game, it’s in. If you don’t water house plants, they die. Some things cannot be argued with.
  7. You don’t always see a way at first. I sometimes look at the possibilities and could play this word or that one and can’t make up my mind, or I don’t see anything good at all, and I just close it up. Not always, but sometimes I find that if I wait a bit, I see things in a way I didn’t see them before and all of a sudden I have a move to make. Where did that come from? I had rainwater washing into my chicken coop area making not only a wet mess but also an unhealthy environment for my chickens. I stared at it and stared at it. Then a berm came to mind. A retaining wall came to mind. The shovel came out, and the power tools and measuring devices, and now the rainwater washes around the coop instead of into it. Did I plan it that way from the start? No. Did I see the solution at first? No. But wait. Think on it some.
  8. Some people are just better. Whether they have better skill, better memory, better (consistently better!) luck, I don’t know, but my sons Lincoln and Samuel kill me almost every time. I don’t know how they do it. They rack up the points unbelievably almost every time! You’ve maybe heard that statistic about how if the underdog doesn’t win x-percentage of the time (with rats it might be 30%) they get too frustrated and don’t want to play anymore. It might also sometimes work in reverse where it’s not fun for the winner to always cream his opponent either. Nonetheless, isn’t it the same in life? Doesn’t it seem like some people get all the breaks? There are reasons for this, as there are reasons for Lincoln and Samuel’s domination in this game, but when the reasons are not apparent, it can be maddening.
  9. Unexpected (good) things happen sometimes. You’re behind by 85 points, you’re sure this game is going to become the next loss in your personal stats, and suddenly you have all the right letters for a killer word. Yes! (Or if you’re me it’s Oh dear! if I’m already ahead by a wide margin and don’t wish to demotivate or otherwise deflate my opponent.) The same in life. You can have a string of bad luck with bosses and then find yourself with a gem. You can have a pain in your leg and then happen upon a particular position or exercise that makes it – voila! – suddenly better! You can be too tired to take the pans of newly-made granola out of the oven when it’s done (before going to bed but after you’ve turned the oven off) and find that the delay made for a marvelous, perfect crunch (yes, I will post my granola recipe soon!). Ultimately we control so little. But random delightful surprises pepper our life with joy and fun. Bring it on!
  10. In the end, a lot of things don’t matter that much. If I win or lose this game, life goes on. If I play a word and then realize I could have played a better one, oh well, too late. If I don’t get my new kitchen, I’ll still be able to cook dinner in my old one. If I absentmindedly park in a handicapped spot and get a $180 ticket (bother!), I have to pay the fine. If I am out of milk and instead put just honey in my tea this morning, or nothing at all, it’s not the end of the world. This game helps me keep a good perspective.

All good reasons to keep playing, don’t you think?

 

The Happy Lion

The long-range result of most anything is hard to predict, but in general, good begets good. When I was a kid, twice a year or so we had a book fair at school. My mother, God bless her, let me choose a few each time. I remember there being a flyer ahead of time describing the available books so that I could make careful selections. Bound pages with captivating drawings and compelling stories have always been a thrill for me; perhaps it started here. I eagerly devoured each new little book, unaware (as children are) that ideas and attitudes take root in the early years.

I remember only two books specifically, and of these, only one survived: The Happy Lion by Louise Fatio with pictures by Roger Duvoisin. I loved the exotic, Parisian setting and the characters’ foreign names, the lion’s unexpected adventure in town, the looooong sounds of the fire engine, and the sweet, unlikely friendship between the lion and Francois.

happy lion jpg

This simple drawing on the last page of the book of Francois and the happy lion together says it all: We are friends, and that is that.  It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks about that, or if they approve or understand or appreciate. We just are. The text confirms it:

From then on, the happy lion got the best tidbits the town saved for him.

But if you opened his door

He would not wish to go out visiting again.

He was happier to sit in his rock garden

While on the other side of the moat

Monsieur Dupont, Madame Pinson,

and all his old friends came to see him again

like polite and sensible people

to say “Bonjour, Happy Lion.”

But he was happiest

when he saw Francois walk through the park

every afternoon on his way home from school.

Then he swished his tail for joy,

for Francois remained always his dearest friend

I never felt like I had a dearest friend when I was a kid. I had friends, but not a dearest. It sounded very nice. What is a dearest friend? Let’s even forget the superlative for now — what is a dear friend? Once you have been around the block a time or two, you have a general idea about the definition, or at least you have your own definition, and whatever that is, I say stick with it: the way you look at it is the best way to look at it.

As for myself, the very idea of a dear friend warms my heart, and warmth is not usually a quick thing. I don’t think Francois became the happy lion’s dearest friend the first day he visited. Instead, as is generally true, I suspect their friendship happened little by little. One day the sun was shining and the birds were singing and the lion was basking in his safe and comfy world, when along came a boy, not doing much, just near. Maybe he walked along the edge of the moat, glancing up at the tawny gold fluff now and then, staring more than he realized, wondering, admiring.  He wants to be near me, the lion thought, and was happier than he had been before. The boy, for his part, was fascinated with the big, beautiful creature: the lines of the body, the gleam of the fur, the fluff of the mane, the size of the yawn, the graceful gait, the thoughtful eyes. The lion did nothing extraordinary (for a lion) but the boy did just like to be near him. And the lion felt special, chosen even. They made eye contact, which did not scare either one of them, so they looked at each other some more. It was a mutual like — interesting, unthreatening, pleasant. Something to go on.

On another day, clouds blocked the sun and the breeze was a bit chilly, but still the boy came and still the fur gleamed and still the lion’s eyes drew the boy’s attention away from everything else. He sat across the moat, not noticing that the bench was damp from the night’s rainfall, not noticing that he pulled the collar of his jacket a little higher on his neck against the chill, not noticing anything but the incredible animal. He gazed less shyly. Bonjour, Happy Lion, said the boy softly, and the lion smiled to himself and thought: I knew I liked him. Now I think he likes me. It’s not my imagination. Lucky me!

Day after day, the boy came. They did not change the world around them — the sun shined or it didn’t, Monsieur Dupont groomed his beard in that pointy way, Madame Pinson knitted scarves and socks all the day long, the squirrels and birds competed for food and nesting places. But Francois and the happy lion changed each other. They made each other feel different than they had felt before. To be liked, just because, this was something remarkable.  To have a friend, to have someone you could call a dear friend, this too was something remarkable.

Time. Togetherness. Smiles. Softness. More time. Care. Gentleness. More time. Understanding. Ease. Peacefulness. More time. Increasing beauty. Precious moments. Depth. Comfort.

And then a need.

It was not a need at first. The lion was simply curious and took a step through the door of his house and into the bigger world. He did not intend the hubbub that followed. He was just being his calm and friendly self, but the world was suddenly different. Things happened that he did not understand, people acted in ways that confused him.

“I can’t think,” said the happy lion, “what makes them do that. They are always so polite at the zoo.”

He began to lose faith.

“People in this town are foolish, as I begin to see.”

Just when the situation might have gotten ugly and frightening, along came Francois and met the need of the moment perfectly.

SUDDENLY,

behind the lion,

a little voice cried, “Bonjour, Happy Lion.”

It was Francois, the keeper’s son, on his way home from school!

He had seen the lion and had come running to him.

That’s what friends do. They run to us, come alongside us, walk with us through the confusing stuff, the scary stuff. They make us feel better just by being there.

The happy lion was so VERY HAPPY

to meet a friend who did not run and who said “Bonjour

that he forgot all about the firemen.

And he never found out what they were going to do, because Francois put his hand on the lion’s great mane and said,

“Let’s walk back to the park together.”

“Yes, let’s,” purred the happy lion.

“Being there” used to mean being there with someone, with in the sense of physical presence. Francois met up with the lion in the confusing city scene. Two kindred spirits, side by side, faced it together. In almost all cases, being with someone includes not only presence but also some kind of touch, a sense of comfort or perhaps even safety, and words. Words may be slippery and at times unreliable, but they have been part of our world for a very long time. In-person interactions include words as well as instant responses, the option to show rather than tell, and lots of nonverbal cues, mood indicators and behavior predictors. But we are not always in person. Sometimes words are written and communication changes.

Don’t get me wrong – I am ever grateful for written language, poor and incomplete a tool of communication as it may be at times. Words of greeting, news, counsel, humor, or desire help people who are not in the same physical space connect with each other. Until not so very long ago, distance communication between two parties was mostly limited to words on paper, sent via painfully slow routes. Letter-writers waited (interminably it seemed) for responses. Couriers sped along when a matter was urgent, and telegrams improved that speed. When the telephone was invented, people got used to hearing a voice through a device. And then the internet came, and email and cell phones and texting and skype and facebook.

I remember when email was new. I remember explaining it this way: I will type a letter to my friend and see the words on a screen in front of me, and then I will hit one of these buttons (keys, we now call them) and the letter will be sent (God only knows how!) to the person I am sending it to, who will be able to read my letter on their own screen. What a wondrous thing!

The frequency and methods of communicating not in person keep increasing. All this technology, in theory for some and in practice for others, improves the connection between people, easing the physical distance. Each advance seemed specifically designed to get closer and closer to the real thing, to enhance that connection, to lessen or seemingly negate the physical separation.  Email and text afford nearly instant responses (assuming you respond to every beep and buzz), and often include visuals that add enjoyment and understanding. Face to face video interactions (skyping, facetiming, whatever you choose) get you closer still.

I will grant there is good in technology – a lot of good — and I am very grateful for it. We do keep trying to get close. We do recognize the value of closeness. We know and want the real thing and we do what we can despite the miles. Also, while technology may not be the real thing, it is something, and something is better than nothing. We have more something than we used to.

But I will not grant all good. Technology is not the real thing, no matter how good it gets. The screen may be a window, but it is also a barrier. No technology will replace physical presence. Words on paper or on a screen are still devoid of eye contact, touch, smell, intonation, smiles, detail, and subtle clues that something is delightful or amiss or needed. Emoticons help a little. Video goes a step farther. I applaud the effort and intention and the bits of time people spend thumbing a text to a friend, but I will venture that if the happy lion had a cell phone during his rather confusing and challenging situation, he may have heard the beep and seen “Bonjour, Happy Lion” from Francois and it would perhaps have helped a little, but I doubt it would have met the need of the moment perfectly, as Francois being there in person did. Francois put his hand on the lion’s great mane and said, “Let’s walk back to the park together.” There is no emoticon for that, no substitute.

The other downside of communicating via technology is that it can remind us of what we don’t have. Like having bowl of steaming soup in front of us on a cold day that we must just stare at but are not allowed to eat. Like window shopping when we have no money. Like watching lovers when we are alone. Is something always better than nothing? We each must decide what, and how much, we can handle.

Can you be or have a dear friend using technology alone? Of course. You will just miss some things, and will miss them by noticing the absence of them and possibly by lamenting the absence of them. You will miss the gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder (or your mane, as the case may be), the smell of coffee brewing in the background, the almost invisible look of delight when a certain something is mentioned. An hour with someone we care about is worth a thousand texts. Nonetheless, we do, and will continue to do, the best we can with the tools we have. Technology will improve yet again and will get us as close as we can be without actually being there. But I will hope that we are coming full circle, that all the advancement in ways to simulate physical presence will serve to remind us more pointedly of what we’re missing and this in turn will urge us strongly to get to a place that is not simulated. Now that’s something to look forward to.

In the end, dear friendship involves doing what we can with what we have, working within our own bounds of time, resources, comfort and ability to enrich, strengthen and protect the life of someone we care about. In the pencil drawer in my desk is a tattered index card with the following quote handwritten on it by me long ago. More times than I can remember, it has reminded me that I don’t have to do everything, but I should do what I can.

I am only one

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything, 

But still I can do something.

And because I cannot do everything

I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

                                        —Edward Everett Hale

Francois did what he could do, and look what it meant to the happy lion. What he did was very good, and it was enough. Technology or no technology, that’s all any of us can do. And the best thing to do next? Rest. Smile. Then do more.