Imagine women sitting around a fire, speaking a language that is so new it has barely begun to evolve.
What are those women doing? Telling stories. And do we ever love to tell stories. We love to talk! I believe it’s in our DNA; every single atom that remembers sitting around that fire. I admit there’s a few guys that can spin a pretty good yarn too. I’m married to one.
It’s only been the last decade or so that we’ve begun to use the male-oriented, “just the bottom-line,” method of communicating. Or have we? “Just the facts, ma’am,” remember that show? How does this bottom-line mentality create a picture that entertains and stirs the imagination?
The current culture in America is so hurried and fast-paced that everything is either abbreviated or texted in a language that only the tech savvy can translate.
Every family has their own language. Their “words they live by.” It often begins with a young child innocently using her own words, her own language. It isn’t long before the whole family is using them too.
I’ve seen this in about every family I know. Including my own.
Even after the kids grew up we continued to use their unique vernacular, perhaps it was our way of holding onto the memory of our tribe.
When the grandkids came along I carried on the tradition. The girls were afraid of spiders. My philosophy of “do not fear, yet be cautious,” fell on deaf ears. The word “spi-dee-ah” as my youngest son called them, didn’t have the malevolent ring that “spider!” seemed to have.
When they were old enough I would send them on spider patrol. I figured it was a good way to not only keep them busy, but teach them to earn money as well. Every one
they found and carefully caught in the house (no maimed or dead spiders were allowed) earned them a nickel.
Words are golden. Words carry an energy, a vibration, a memory. Words we will always cherish. Words to live by.