When I saw that “base” was the prompt word today, the first connotation that crossed my mind was how my mother used to use it when describing something evil, tawdry, low-down. Someone had a base intent, performed a base action or a photograph or story was base and tactless. As I remember it, she was not the only one to use the word in this manner, so I was surprised to find no mention of it in online dictionaries. There, a base was merely the lower part of something, the basis or foundation. And so the piece I wanted to write I found to be baseless in fact. Ironic, on this morning when I have an appointment and need to be elsewhere soon.
I’ve since been assured by Kate that she, too, knows that connotation of the word, but it brought to mind to me that everyone must have one phrase or saying or word used in their family that they later found was not known to the world in general. I’d love to hear any stories about your peculiar family words that you’d care to tell–either by pingback to your blog or just as comments below:
No mere pea in any pod,
nothing about her crass or odd,
all things about her svelte and mod,
designer clothes, designer bod,
her face a mask, her spine a rod––
Gucci-clad, Manolo shod.
Fortune gave an early nod
to one the whole world came to laud.
Yet as we throw the final clod,
how sad this beauty blessed by God,
choosing to end the whole charade,
now lies beneath the welcoming sod.
Her famous smile––a mere facade.
Some minds are so locked, they will not open to the touch.
Even “Open Sesame!” will not budge them much.
It seems their former mindsets hold them fast within their clutch,
squeezing off the access of new ideas and such.
Perhaps old ways of thinking have just become a crutch,
until they have that stubbornness oft noted in the Dutch!
I like to think my mind remains open to new thought.
For most of my life, I have been willing to be taught;
but when it comes to bigots, their efforts come to naught.
By the likes of Donald Trump, my attention can’t be bought,
and so I try to keep my ears entirely where he’s not,
for if I have to listen, I soon feel them growing hot.
I know what comes from such a man is likely to be rot,
so when I hear his puffed-up voice, my patience is soon shot.
With me his crass pontificating always comes to naught––
his words with fear and loathing usually fraught.
His hysterics reminiscent of Hitler and Pol Pot
dangle bait before a fish not willing to be caught.
A mind as closed as my mind will not open to his touch.
He never will win ingress with fear tactics and such.
Thank God my former mindsets hold me fast within their clutch,
squeezing off the access of bigotry and such.
Perhaps old ways of thinking have just become my crutch,
or maybe all my stubbornness is just because I’m Dutch!