Words

I’m sitting on the floor in the living room with my laptop on top of the sofa table. The reflection in the video screen shows the image of a woman I hardly recognize. With my disheveled hair, baggy cardigan sweater, and pink cashmere scarf around my neck, I look like what I imagine an eccentric writer should look like. Unfortunately, I have nothing of interest to write, which is why I’m stooping to self-centered expression.

I feel like I’ve already used up all my insightful words and clever comments, never to be reclaimed again. I find that I have less to say as I get older. Sometimes I wonder if we are all rationed only a certain amount of words, and I’ve squandered mine foolishly. I’m destined to live my final years wordlessly, unable not only to voice my thoughts, but bereft of words, searching for them in the desert of my mind.

Carrie Fisher wrote in her book, "Delusions of Grandma":

“Cora had a ravenous need to talk to people. To feast on the carcass of what they would figure out together. Vultures of reason, of the unsatisfactory why, glow in the eye, they gorged, stripped bones, sucked them scary white.”

I do love conversation in this way, but more than just talk, I love words. I love written word as much as the spoken word. When I read, I take each word in separately, swishing it around in my mouth, consuming it. If I get excited and skim, I have to go back and re-read what I might have missed. I feel like a traitor, a cheat, if I don’t read each and every word, no matter how insignificant.

My son, Clark, accuses me frequently of making words up. He’s 15, so he knows every word in the English language, which means if I use one he doesn’t know, I must be making it up. I think he accuses me now just to see my reaction. I have had people tell me that I use words they’ve never heard of, but it always surprises me. My vocabulary is ordinary. I know that in the recesses of my mind there are hidden storehouses of words, that if I could just recall, would make me seem to have an extraordinary vocabulary, but I have a terrible memory for them. Today I searched my brain for 7 2/3 minutes before I could remember “backlash.” And I frequently misuse words, such as …..hmm….what is that word I’m always using wrong? See what I mean about my memory?

When I was a child I used to read the encyclopedia and the dictionary. Not cover to cover, but I would leaf through them and find things that interested me. D was always my favorite letter in both books. It shouldn’t be any wonder, since my initials were D.D.; I’ve always felt that D is a superior letter.