The power of words

 

Perhaps my favorite time of day is early evening. Right now, the Christmas tree lights are on, my electric fireplace glows, my new electric candles burn brightly, the lamps radiate a golden light, and the room seems soft and comfortable. Except for the slight sound of the heating unit, it is calmly quiet. A time when I feel sheltered and safe.

Usually, I share these moments with Sophie, but she is lying outside on the concrete patio. She still has fever, and I know the cool concrete feels good to her. Yesterday she was livelier, even barking at the yard guys to tell them what she thought of them, wagging her tail all the while. A trip to the vet this morning raised my hopes some—her glucose is still high, and she still has fever. But the mass in her stomach, on x-ray, has “moved on” slightly. According to the vet, there is thickening of the gastric wall which might indicate gastritis. They will do an ultrasound tomorrow, and I desperately hope we get some solid answers. Sophie today is resisting eating, though she’s drinking water, and we have had some good loving sessions. It’s now been almost two weeks, and we are all stretched thin, the poor dog most of all.

Often at the beginning of a new year, people choose their word for the year. I haven’t seen as much of that this year, but a friend did post that her word will be intentional. I thought about it, and my word will be either kindness or compassion because that’s how I want to treat others in the coming year. I don’t think it’s my word for the year at all, but I learned a new word recently: “hireath,” from the Welch, meaning longing for a place. I think I learned it from a fellow writer who has recently moved back to Saskatchewan, where she was raised. To me, it is a barren, cold, windswept land; to her, it is home. It is truly a delight to read the posts of someone so happy to be where she is. I’ve thought about the place I long for, and my mind always goes back to the Indiana dunes on the shores of Lake Michigan. But perhaps the place I long for is right before me--the cozy safety of the cottage.

Sometimes I think my word of the year will be anger. This year, perhaps more than other, I intend to fight against the destructive forces that are tearing at the fabric of our society. I read today that Ron DeSantis of Florida will be calling the political shots in the Texas legislature this year, as if it isn’t bad enough that we have Greg Abbott. The lege, the article claimed, will follow DeSantis lead in working to prevent Federal pandemic control (no vaccine mandates, no mask requirements), to permit public scrutiny of school libraries, to criminalize gender medical care of teens and children. Somehow abortion wasn’t on that list, but it and voter suppression are definitely on the conservative agenda. Conservatives yell and scream about losing their rights and “freeduhm,” and yet that is what they are doing to all of us, taking away vital health protections, essential educational tools, basic human rights. Out of blind ignorance and disparagement of science, they are going against common sense.

Another word I heard today for the first time is “Christianism”—not Christianity, but Christianism. Think about it. It perfectly describes the kind of militant, authoritative, judgmental pseudo-religion that has in too many so-called believers replaced the precepts of the Christian church and the followers of Jesus. Like other political doctrines, it is an “ism”—Nazism, Fascism, Socialism, Communism. I think it fits perfectly, and I am scared as hell of it. So I will fight with words, the only weapon I have at hand.

What’s your word for 2023?