Embellish

Embellish [verb] (ehm behl ihsh)

1. To add ornamental or fictitious details
   

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Ever heard of the phrase, "To guild the lily?"  It's a commonly uncommon phrase that means to overly embellish.  A lily is meant to be embellishment enough, according to Shakespeare in King John:

SALISBURY:
Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp,
To guard a title that was rich before,
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

Brushing up on my Shakespeare for this entry feels a tad ironic, as I have fond memories of reading his works in high school only to think, "Man, this guy is really overplaying it."  Apparently, I was destined to bring Shakespeare and over embellishment together, even as a wee high schooler.  However, let me be clear: his works are not so much enhancing that which is considered plain, but rather deciding that something near perfection - words, beautiful words - was not good enough to present by itself.  "Get to the point already," I chanted in the middle of Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer's Night Dream. "Just say what you mean!"  

Of course, my complaint with this literary hero is the exact reason many love his works - the ornate nature of it all that reveals wit, satire, and, to some extent, wisdom.  Or perhaps I'm just embellishing it.

Yoke

Yoke [verb] (yohk)

1. To join together

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When the joy of a three-day weekend loses its glow, it's time to start yoking puzzle pieces.  Admittedly a pile of chaos as the process begins, that pile is soon sorted, joined, and completed. 

"Sorted, joined, and completed" - four words that make 1000-piece puzzle seem like a walk in a park. (Or perhaps a Segway ride in the park; apparently such tours are very popular in metropolitan areas.) However, that is far from the truth.

Choosing to start a puzzle is choosing to walk into battle.  Each piece aims to deceive, to remain in the pile with its compatriots and allude the title of POW that one receives once its rightful place is found.   You spend hours - nay, days - strategizing, implementing tactics, and being fooled time and time again.  You're worn, bleeding, and aggravated by the time the last piece is put in place- but it's done.

So, now the true gratification comes into play: Smooshing up the puzzle and shoving it back in the box.

Now that's joy.

Deleterious

Deleterious [adj] (dehl uh teer ee uhs)

1. Subtly or unexpectedly harmful
   

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While one may assume that seeing a 5-foot long, disembodied lobster claw outside may be deleterious to one's health, I beg to differ.  In fact, I would even go as far as to say that said lobster claw may be a blessing in disguise, particularly if it was seen on the roof of a hotel in Boston's Long Wharf. 

The above claw made itself known to this visitor to Beantown as I opened my hotel room curtains to peer onto the green below.  While the green itself was lovely, a red blur on the roof caught my eye.  I looked to my left and there the oversize claw sat, as if thrown there by a giant.

"Welcome to Long Wharf," it chortled, immobile yet strangely talkative.  "Enjoy your stay!"

And I did - and the lobster claw helped to make it that way.

Attenuate

Attenuate [verb] (uh tehn yoo ayt)

1. To reduce in force or degree
   
2. Weaken
   

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Waking up to 18-inches of snow on the ground proves that it's going to be hard to attenuate winter's wraith.

Oh, this fluffy icon of the season may seem kind, especially from a spot by the fireplace.  From that vantage point, it's a picturesque Winter Wonderland - a glittering blanket of white on every surface; neighbors making snow angels; snow-tornadoes dancing on the streets to a seasonal opera only frozen water particles can hear.  In a word, lovely.

Then, of course, someone opens the front door to your warm, cottage home, a raging Arctic breeze whirls through the living room, and suddenly the outside world seems less kind, less picturesque, and oh-so cold.

But not cold enough to resist the need to go outside - to clear off the walk, to snow blow the driveway, to venture into the world and continue with the day.

Winter is proving hard to attenuate; but, then again, so am I.

 

Loquacious

Loquacious [adj] (loh kway shuhs)

1. Full of excessive talk
2. Given to fluent or excessive talk
   

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"Today, I'm just going to listen," I thought, reliving the moments of the day before when I wished I had been more eloquent, less loquacious, or simply attuned to the atmosphere of the room.  I think this, feel a rush of possibility in my chest, and then proceed to be blessed with the gift of gab for the rest if the day.

Another small resolution, as Freddy Mercury would say, bites the dust. 



But, at the very least, this one is keeping up.  Day two and we're on our way.

Transitory

Transitory [adj] (trahn sih tohr ee)

1. Temporary
2. Lasting a brief time

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I've always been in awe of those who can live a transitory life - moving from one place to the next like a leaf in the wind.  Or rather a leaf with a car, clothing, pots and pans, and a credit card bill.

Imagine it:

One can move into town without a care in the world (save for food, shelter, water, and safety).  One can set one's things down and every step taken is new - nothing is bound by the past; no expectations of a familiar area to dictate one's path (or to supply support or an open ear).   One can take on a different skin and decide to be "Rose" or "Phil" or "Gustav" because no one knows one as anything else (or is interested to know much more than what one offers).  And the next day?  The next day one can change it all - pull up one's shallow roots and find a new "home."  Boundless possibilities for a rootless transient.

I'm in awe of the transitory life; "... in awe..." much like one can be in awe of a the peacocks at a zoo - beautiful from afar, but it's best that the creatures stay where they are.   

Give me roots and I'll show you happiness.

A Mission of Rendition

I avoid my blog. 

Yes, avoid.  It's odd, I know, but when comes right down to it my blog has become an area of contention with my brain.  "You should post something," my brain hums.  "I can do that," I reply.  "How about this?" "No.  Write something better."  "This?" "No." "This?" "Er - you do know what 'better' means, don't you?"  Insert my head hitting a desk.  Repeat said image until you think you're the Queen of Sheba.

However, as the year draws to an end, I'm tired of writing and not posting.  So tired, in fact, that I'm about to embark on a mission: A Mission of Rendition.

Sounds snazzy, eh?

The concept:  I need to blog more.  I also need to study for the GRE.   Ergo, in the New Year, I will study while I blog by starting each entry with a word - say, enigma - and using that word as a prompt.  By the end of the year, I'll have 365-or so words under my belt, as well as a blogging regimen.

Lofty, yes.  Doable, yes.  Possibly fun, yes.

Time to get that word list going!