Before I get into the meat of this post, I want to document something I wrote for another post I subsequently discarded. I liked this little snippet from that post, but didn’t like the rest. Maybe I’ll use this sometime in the future:
I have nostalgia for a time before I came to understand immortality has a limited duration.
All right. Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll continue. The title of this post came straight out of a definition presented online at dictionary.com. Why the words hold such appeal to me is something of a mystery; yet indeed they do. They suggest, to me, either the title of a literary work or an achievement beyond the reach of tedious people. But, in fact, the words define the word “brim.” As in, the projecting edge (brim) of a hat or the rim of a canyon.
I looked up brim for a reason, but once I got there and saw the words, the upper edge of anything hollow, I forgot my purpose. Not just my purpose in looking up the word, either. My purpose. My. Purpose. Why I am here. My reason for being. Ma raison d’être. No, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t forget. I’ve never known. None of us have. We make up stories, we create elaborate explanations for our existence. We pretend to know why we, of all creatures on Earth, are imbued with such advanced intellect and knowledge and skills and…all the rest. But we just don’t know. And we never will. We should be okay with that, but we’re not. At least most of us don’t seem to be okay with that imponderable question.
We’re seekers, though, searchers for answers that, we realize with some degree of certainty, do not exist. In that sense, we’re not especially smart. But we put a different spin on it. We say, instead, we are insatiably curious. That sounds more appealing, doesn’t it? More appealing than admitting we’re as crazy as a cat lady on the seventh Monday of February.
My reason for looking up the word brim must have been important to me at the time I began my search. I doubt I was looking it up for the definition; I know more than one definition for the word. So what could it have been? If I’d wanted a synonym, I would have looked it up in a thesaurus, so that wasn’t it. If I’d wanted to know its etymology I would have looked it up in the Online Etymology Dictionary…probably. But dictionary.com also includes very basic information on word origins. So that could have been it. No matter. None of this rings a bell.
Yesterday, my wife spent a good part of the day trying to get her primary care doctor’s office to communicate with a local medical laboratory to coordinate a blood draw. Something so simple was so completely screwed up and made so complex, thanks to broken communications technology and inept communicators. Neither party accepted responsibility; my wife finally got them to correct their mistakes. Well into the afternoon, my wife had her blood drawn; the doctor wanted it done early in the day.
Today, I am going to my church to listen to three candidates for representative for Arkansas state District 22, all Republican, respond to questions. No Democrats are running. One Libertarian is running. I’m likely to vote for her, in the absence of a Democratic candidate. I am attending the luncheon at the behest of a friend, who organized the event on behalf of AARP. Later, I will attend a meeting of committee chairs for my church.
Tomorrow and Thursday, I will drive to Little Rock with my wife for more of her medical appointments. And on Friday I will go back to church for another committee meeting. This week already seems jammed with appointments and obligations and other such demands on my time. Next week is similarly scheduled. One of these days I will carve out an entire week during which I can control every moment of my time. One day. When I’m older.
We had planned to go have lunch with friends tomorrow, meeting mid-way between their home in Fort Smith and ours in Hot Springs Village. Those plans were dashed by tomorrow’s ultrasound. Health comes before pleasure, though, so we will delay our already delayed visit with our friends.
One of my brothers called my attention to an offer to sell a double-decker bus, outfitted with a kitchen on the bottom deck and booth-seating on the upper deck. It also has what appears to be a structure that can be attached to the side (and covered with canvass) for additional seating. The owner converted an old double-decker into the mobile cafe. It would probably be illegal here. It looks like it would be quite the adventure to operate it. The fact that it’s located in Bristol, England makes it a bit of a challenge, though. If I were thirty years younger, single, and flush with cash, I might just pursue that adventure.