the giving season?

I am not sure what Halloween means to most people.  Or better said, I have never been able to figure out the fascination with Halloween. 

I am not a big fan of dressing up, but I always enjoy giving out candy.  It means being able to see tons of cute kids -- and big kids.  I love the different looks and attitudes (fear, excitement, enthusiasm, etc.).

But I am not a big decorator in general, so the season doesn't move me in that way.

When I lived on the east coast, I was always astonished by the lengths that people went to in their decorating.  Seriously, I believe that Halloween was more celebrated and decorated than Christmas.

It seemed incongruous with the kind of holiday Halloween is. I mean, do people realize as they put up their decos that this is a pagan holiday?  Do they think about the way the early Christians co-opted a holiday about dead people in order to make it more holy?  Do people even know anything about Halloween at all?  What is the attraction?

In the past I have wondered if it was all about the dressing up, the ability to become something completely opposite of who you are. Don't get me wrong, I love to attend my friends' party in Oakland, in part, because it is their favorite holiday.  They collect decorations, adding something marvelous every year; they have an entire room of costume parts for those who show up at the party without a costume.  They are serious Halloween celebrators.  In fact, I missed the party, again, this year because I am here and they are there... but I am sure that they were having a good time since I got some midnight emails with pictures (thank you iPhone technology). 

This year, as I observed those in pre-celebration, I noted a completely different angle than I had ever considered.  A few days before Halloween, every where I went, someone was offering me candy.  There was a cauldron of candies at the financial aid office; a little bowl of lollipops at the library; someone else suggested I take a lollipop somewhere else ... I declined, as I don't eat lollipops.  But I thought how out of place this crazy generosity was in all of these places.  Usually, the only signs of non-verbal communication at the library checkout desk is "please don't talk on the cell phone." It is a decidedly defensive not welcoming or generous tone.

As I stood there taking in the scene, overly decorated circulation desk (imagine the spiderwebs and other Halloween themed decos oozing from every surface), I remembered how the two professors I see on a regular basis had also brought "fun-sized" candy to class.  Surely they were not in the minority in terms of bringing candy to share with students.

Finally, there at the library, I asked the young woman checking out my books, if she thought that maybe Halloween was the holiday that inspired the most generosity.

She looked at me like I was crazy.  And, believe me, I am inclined to agree with her on this point, more and more each day.  She said she thought Christmas was a more generous season.   Theoretically, I agreed with her in the sense of what each holiday "stands for."  But, I said, think about it, how often do you see this kind of display (pointing to the makeshift candy dish) at Christmas?  She thought for a moment and shook her head.

Strange, but maybe Halloween does inspire a spirit of generosity.

At Christmas time we are forced to buy gifts, and, in that way, be generous.  If we are very honest about it, we will admit that it feels oppressive and like a burden to be generous at Christmas (or whatever other winter religious holiday that you celebrate that requires you to buy gifts).  We get grouchy and impatient.  It doesn't help that we get bombarded with the same 50 Christmas songs (in stranger and stranger variation every year) starting on November 1st... oh, how I am dreading tomorrow for that reason.  By the end of it, the last thing we feel is generous.

It is an odd comment on the commercialization of holidays:  Halloween is not the poster child for generosity and Christmas for anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds.

Pictures swiped from the internet; these are my favorite Halloween scenes.

Only in NM?

Guy with dreads formed into what can only be called oversized Pippy Longstalking pigtails (almost down to the color) in an unconventional outfit walking across the street with a goat (on a leash).

I noted the hair without much attention to it really. It didn't strike me as odd enough to take another look.

What finally drew my attention was the straight-laced man behind the other shaking his head.

Then I took in the whole picture. I was particularly tickled by the happy gait of the goat.  He (or she) was prancing jauntily in its harness through the intersection.

I thought, now there's a goat that loves to go for a walk.

I am sure the other man would have been shaking his head at my observations as well.

yesterday...

...one of the horoscope that says it's for me said this:

Letting yourself be emotionally exposed is difficult, but you can do it -- and you should do it. Your bravery has been proved to other people many times over, but have you proved it to yourself? Someone close to you wants to know more about your inner thoughts, and this person wants the truth. Don't try to candy-coat your feelings in an effort to make them more palatable. You have to let them all spill out -- don't edit a single word. 

I am not sure if it is accurate.

It is true that in order to lead the boot campers through our morning and afternoon talks, I often have to dig deep into my personal experience.

They are a good group... fairly dedicated, and for the most part, close to being done.  They are over-achievers... and not super flexible in terms of being vulnerable.

So, there I am, every morning, and afternoon, revealing my achilles' heal, my tender spots, my open wounds.

I guess if it helps then it is worth it.

Perhaps it is the reason why I am so irritated by those who are not dedicated, not willing to take responsibility for their slackness.

Maybe those people just irritate me.

Maybe I live my life more exposed than I realize.

Glub glub glub

All of my energy is focused on getting this group through writing boot camp right now.

Um, I am still trying to get my work done.

And eat.

And sleep.

I had to take a break to wash dishes.

Not writing on the blog for that reason.

But thinking of you.

Jewels

I am sharing these jewels with you in part because I haven't shared links in a while, but also because I am, once again, jammed to the gills with work.

I enjoyed these stories on my study breaks... hope you like them.

We don't often get to hear this side of the story ... we are often more inspiring, influencing, and/or motivating than we know.

I hope this line convinces you to read this article:  "After all the commemorations on the 10th anniversary of Sept. 11, there is a story left to tell."  We need more forgiveness in our world.

And if we can't have forgiveness, how about some redemption? I love this story.

There are many days when I wonder if I spend my days in vain ... seeing this district actually take on the A-G curriculum is like a little water in the drought, but it is also hope.  Sadly they didn't make these moves while I was still inside of this initiative, but I have to believe we laid the groundwork.

And we all need some humility sometimes as hard as it is to reach for in some situations. This lady is a rockstar and I want to read her book!

I will end with this because it is like the best bittersweet chocolate you have ever tasted.

the drive, part 3?

No, I don't have any photos, but I have this word glimpse from the road.

One of the non-landscape magical pieces of my ride comes courtesy of a huge truck.  Almost every trip, several times per trip, I pass these large fin-like contraptions getting a ride out west.  I imagine they are the blades from the wind farms I have seen in California, but I don't know for sure.

There are two sizes.  The *smaller* of the two can fit onto a gigantic flat bed truck and doesn't need an "oversize load" truck to travel with it.  On these flat beds, there are two of these humongous gray blades, that I like to think of more as fins.  They are tucked up against each other like cozy twins.  But on the back side, I can see black things poking out of the non-finlike end.  I imagine these are the connectors that will radiate power to turn the blade.  But, maybe they will just hold the blade in place as it rotates around the motor?

I fell in love with these improbable road companions the first time I saw them.  I was traveling in the opposite direction the first time.  I thought it was a fluke (not a whale's tail), but just a rare oddity.  Some wind farm needed a replacement blade, and here it was traveling along I-40.  But, they have been fairly constant companions since August.  Some days, I will see four or five nestled twins traveling west.  Some days, I have to be happy to have just one set.

Then, one day, there was an even larger blade.  This one travels by itself, making it much more precarious.  I can see it tremble with the air moving around it.  It is so large, it needs the "oversize load" trucks in front and behind.  Though sometimes these guys get separated from their charges.  These really seem like shark fins to me ... cutting through the air in search of their ocean and maybe some prey.  But, like I said, they also seem precarious ... and, in that sense, helpless and a little lost.  I am in awe of them every time I see them.

Who knew there were different sized blades on those huge wind farm "fans"?  I guess the engineer who designed them, but not me.

Where do they come from? Where exactly are they going?  Are they populating new farms or are they just replacement parts??

I am easily amused, but these huge blades are endlessly fascinating to me.  Someday I might get a photo, but I will have to remember to bring my camera with me for that to happen.

Poetry Thursday... a new ritual?

There is some kiss we want

with our whole lives,
the touch of Spirit on the body.

Seawater begs the pearl
to break its shell.

And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild Darling!

At night, I open the window
and ask the moon to come
and press its face into mine.
Breathe into me.

Close the language-door,
and open the love-window.

The moon won't use the door,
only the window.

-Rumi

refuge in the not so secret garden

I love to hang out at my local sb.  I enjoy the certainty of the place, the regulars, the hot barista(s) that sometimes inhabit my fantasies, and the hotman, of course.  Mostly, though, I love that I can go there at any time of day or night and feel SAFE... safe in the sense that no one will look at me askance if I stay for hours and only buy one tea bag.  There is no need for explanation.  Partly it is the culture of the place, as I have explained before.  But it is also partly that I have worked my way into being a regular.  I talk enough with the baristas.  I make eye contact enough with the other regulars.  I engage in neighborly banter occasionally with the other cafe sitters.  It wasn't an automatic sense of safety, it has been cultivated.

For a while I have been cultivating some other spots.  There is the one I may have already blogged about inside of the transitional housing building. It is run by the homeless shelter as both employment and job training for homeless and near-homeless folks.  I was trying to go every week, but I have not been able to get there for the morning session in a few weeks...perhaps I will get there on Thursday.

For the past two weekends, I have gone to another independent coffee house for my morning or late morning through afternoon studying.  I think I have now gone three times in the past month.  The reason I first went there was because there is no internet.  I wanted to get in a concentrated few hours of writing, so sensory deprivation seemed appropriate.  It doesn't hurt that they have super yummy treats.

The first day I sat in the main building; the second time I retreated to the other enclosed area.  It was super cold both of those days, so sitting outside was out of the question.  I had never ventured into their back patio area, though I had heard it was lovely.  This weekend, the weather was perfect for sitting outside. 

This patio is like a secret garden, except it's not a secret.  Everyone at this place seems to be a regular, or to be friendly with the owners.  The owners, incidentally, are literally mom and pop and their daughter who has two daughters.  The little girls are super friendly and so cute.  It is sweet to see both grandparents doting over them as well.  The daughter is a little sour, but her presence is not so forceful that it is too negative.  Catching the little one's eye and playing usually clears the fog of her scowl.

I walked through the passageway to the garden/patio and immediately felt like I had walked into a refuge.  Little sparrows walked and slitted around the tables liked they owned the place. I immediately pinched a piece of my delicious muffin and tossed it over.  The little sparrow pecked gingerly, but then got distracted looking at me.  She (pretty sure it was the female) tilted her little head, eye searching for a better look at this human.  I had the feeling that she was trying to figure out if she knew me.  Was I regular?  she seemed to be wondering.

Not yet... but I guess I am working on it.  The young man who works the counter is the friendliest to me.  He offered to hold on to my brownie until I was ready to go, asked what I was working on today, and brought me water when he saw that I had run out of americano and muffin.  The grandmother smiled when she saw the young man talking to me like he knew me, and appreciated that I was talking to the five year old.  It is no easy thing to become a treasured regular at the independent coffee shop.

In fact, as I was picking up the brownie, I said something to the little one, and she decided to come out and visit with me.  So we sat with her grandparents' dog at the little table and chatted.  I wanted to know why she wasn't wearing the black wig.  "Black wig?" she asked coyly.  I reminded her that I had seen her in it a couple of weeks ago.  She giggled and said she didn't know where it was.  I can't remember what all she wanted to tell me besides to show me the scary spiders on the wall.  She divulged that she is home-schooled. 

This posting is a little bit all over the place, but I wanted to share a sense for what it looks and feels like in the not so secret garden, but I didn't have a camera.  It is an open space between adobe style buildings.  The buildings facing the Route 66 are businesses mostly not open on the weekend.  You can smell the yummy treats and savory breakfasts cooking in the coffee shop.  The back door of the kitchen lets into the garden.  The other pieces of the building encircling the garden are "private residences" as the painted notice alerts wanderers. There was a pile of wood outside of one of these residences.  I could see the chimney peeking out on the side street side of that building.  I guess that it must be a working chimney or else that wood pile was just decorative.

There are hand-painted flowers accents some walls, and the windows were all rimmed in that blue they like to pair with adobe.  One window was accented with the blue trim and the river stones.  On others, there are tiled pictures: the virgen on one wall, and an Italian countryside behind me.  There are oddly placed iron (or faux iron) room dividers in the area with the tables.  There is also a "fire pit" though it seems like something you might find inside of a sauna.  I bet on cold days it would radiate plenty of heat without an open flame.  I thought I could see some vapor rising out of the rocks, but it didn't seem likely they would have lit it on that day.  The tables in the sun had brightly colored cloth umbrella shades.  It was cozy and safe and warm and inviting.  I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the coffee shop.

I am hoping to become a regular someday even though it will mean breaking my rule and telling someone my name.

blowing

My favorite weather is wind. 

I like the feel of the wind in my hair.  I imagine the hair all around my face making me appear medusa-like.  I like the sounds it makes, even when they are bone chilling howls.  I love the rustle of the leaves. I imagine, at this time of the year, that the trees are sighing in relief to lose those leaves.  I can almost feel the restless itch that calls the wind god. 

In my mind, the words are whispered in nahuatl: Ehecatl.  When I am out on a run in the hot sun, sometimes I lift my arms and call to him, hoping he will send some cooling wind.  His name escapes my lips often when I feel the strong wind pushing me across the street, or when I am watching the trees sway and bend with his might.

Wind can be inconvenient and dangerous, especially when I am wearing my contacts or driving the car, but I still love it.

I feel like it is blowing out all the old ... as well as blowing something new in.

I do hope that it dies down before my two hour drive, though, only because my neck can't take the strain of gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

But it will be the price I pay if the weather gods decide to blow.

argh ugh...

I am not meaning to sound like a pirate... but rather a frustrated graduate student.

Picture me, head in hands, at the same table since 3:00 pm... the paper I am "revising" has swelled from four pages to eleven and I have yet to address the comments on the last three pages of the original document.

Then picture the four other papers waiting to be revised.

And then the stack of student work (it's virtual because it is actually all on the screen) that needs to be corrected and recorded tonight.

Oh... and the class lecture and activities that need to be planned for tomorrow... and, and, and ...

Instead, I am packing it in for dinner and a study break to watch House.  Oh, and I will switch gears and compassionately grade student work ... until I can't take it anymore.

Torn

I have been meaning to blog about the occupations. I even had a title for the post: Occupy Life.  I got a little distracted, however, when I read about the man trying to settle his custody dispute with guns.   I guess Occupy Life would be appropriate for either story.

I won't link to the articles because I am sick to death of the bad people getting so much press. I finally found an article that just details the lives of those who were killed.  I just want to know what gives some people the idea that they have the right to take the lives of others.  I guess I will never understand that kind of entitlement.

I don't have the energy to finish up on the Occupy people... but you can read this piece by Steve Lopez about his night with the Occupiers in Los Angeles.  I heard this wonderful piece on Latino USA. It questions the notion that the folks in NY can truly represent the 99%.

I have a million more things to say about this ... and maybe I will get around to it... but I have so much due this week, it is doubtful.

I also read this lovely piece about a mother who wonders how one parents a child who will die before his third birthday... in this world, the one we inhabit currently, I am beginning to see the virtue of living each day as though it were your last.

I am still working on how to make my life match my intentions.  Hoping it is still true that it is the thought that counts.

Reason to Wake Up

the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

don’t go back to sleep.

you must ask for what you really want.

don’t go back to sleep.

people are going back and forth between the

door sill where the two worlds touch.

the door is round and open.

don’t go back to sleep.

-rumi

borrowed from jen lemen (jenlemen.com) 
photo credit: actually a sunset, but you get the picture; me digital camera, not fancy, 2009, California

quick postcard

This morning I rose early to go work at the farm ... I had all the best intentions, and I was even bringing an extra pair of hands.  Alas, when I tried to get into the field where the others were working, the gate was locked.  So, my friend and I decided that it would be better for us to go get a hearty breakfast that we did not earn.  Certainly well-intentioned people deserve breakfast treats, too, right?

In any case, we got a visual treat as we were pulling out of the farm.  There was a rag tag band of dogs at the exit.  They hadn't been there when we pulled in minutes before... but now, there they were.  One large dog, a boxer mix, with a collar was pretending to be the leader.  He was surrounded by three smaller dogs, lap dogs.  One was a brown dachshund, another was black something and another was white with curly-ish hair. 

As we approached, the little white dog was rolling around in the dirt... happy as a clam.  He stood right in front of the car, maybe waiting for a treat for being so cute?  The others parted to the right, but looked on expectantly.  My friend wanted to roll down the window and pet the bigger dog.  But the little white one was moving around to the left ... and I feared running one of them over.

They looked like they were trying to pretend to be a pack of wild dogs.  I started writing stories in my head about them immediately.

Some family must have woken up without their pets this morning ... again.  These guys looked like they were successful escape artists that didn't really know what to do with their new-found freedom.  The area is a neighborhood with farmland between, so surely someone will see them and call their owners.  As I intimated, I don't think this is the first time.

My favorite part was how tough that big dog looked ... and it was all show.  Surely those little guys brought him along as muscle, pretend muscle.  He was about to get on his back and show his tummy, too.

suspect, UPDATED

I think that it is a good idea to engage parents in the education reform process.  I particularly think it is important to engage in an honest conversation with what parents want public education.

However, parents are not the only stakeholders, or even the most important stakeholders.

In fact, when it comes to public education, we are all equal stakeholders even though particular children of particular parents might be partaking of the process at any given time.

This "movement," however, is neither organic nor popular.  It is financed by foundations (including Gates) that are moving very particular agendas about public education.

And it is a shame that these reporters did not interrogate these "unions" in order to find out who is really running this show ... and whose priorities will be advocated... I am suspicious.
----
It would appear I am not the only one suspicious... here is a piece I heard on the radio this morning.  If you haven't heard CounterSpin, you need to get on it. I am usually headed to class on Tuesdays at 8:30am (when it plays on our local npr), but since I was home sick, I caught this!  


Yay for being home sick.


On my list of documentaries to check out now:
American Teacher, the trailer
The Inconvenient Truth behind Waiting for Superman
It will be screening in Pittsburg (PA) tomorrow, and if you are in NYC, you can catch it on October 14th and meet the film makers... wish I could be there!

setting the record ...

straight?

I enjoyed reading the longer story about Al Davis. 

Glad Oakland won one for him yesterday, too.

I have lots to blog about but no time right at the moment... once I get passed the Gallup trip this week, I may have more time ... we'll see.

Happy Monday.

Too Much Information??

We live in an era when we don't know how often we are being videotaped or monitored in some way.  Some act as though no one can see them; others live in fear that their every move is being analyzed.

The truth is, no one really cares what time you went through the toll. There is really only so much storage capacity for video or audio.  But, if your police cars and now your uniforms have cameras fitted, perhaps that would make someone think before he/she acts.

Or not... Oakland's latest police shooting was captured by the officer's one uniform camera.  Now what?

RIP

From NYTimes.com

When a co-worker asked me how I felt about a new CEO at apple back in august, I said that I thought it meant Steve Jobs was dying.  I guess, then, I wasn't surprised.  But it is still sad.  I hope he felt accomplished in the end.  He certainly was an intense, complex and brilliant guy.

It is important to enjoy life while we have it. May Mr. Jobs rest in peace and my his family take refuge in the knowledge that his physical pain has ceased.

The links above are from two different sources... always fun to see how different news outlets represent lives.
Some interesting differences:
-how the Apple got its name
-the way his personality is portrayed in one where the other focuses on the secrecy and difficulty of getting info about his personal life.
-the birth of the company... one barely deigns to name Wozniak.
-the use of Mr.

HWP WTF?

If you know me in real life, you know I don't really trade in text-speak. This is true even in texts, though, I do shorten words in order to get maximum content in 160 characters. [Shockingly, I think that renders me ready for twitter. I do not tweet. I fear if I were a bird I might also refuse to tweet if only to not be associated with the concept.]

Preamble rant aside, I have a purpose for the title. And, not coincidentally, it is another rant.

But the real purpose is this post is to declare the termination of the online dating experiment.

After the last first date, my reaction was "I deserve two free drinks for that one." (A friend encouraged me to stick with it by promising a drink for every first date; I was already up to four before this last one.). To be fair, it was not that bad.

It is just that I have so much to do and so little free time, it seems extra to spend it with people who misrepresent themselves. People who I have nothing in common with and who only want the company of somebody, anybody. 

I won't go into details...the anonymous may not always be innocent, but I still respect anonymity.

So, HWP.

It took me a long time to figure out what that meant. I wish someone would tell craiglisters that there is no character count on postings. There is no need for alphabet soup on the posting. Seriously.

This rant crosses my craigslist perusal with my okcup!d activity; and, in that way, it is not directed to any individual. Rather I just want to register my displeasure with both media and their attendant shortcomings.

HWP, for the uninitiated, means height weight proportional. This is, apparently, a desirable quality in women. It is listed by men in their myriad wants portrayed in symbolic fashion: ddf hwp 420 friendly nsa fwb etc.

It is, however, a mystery to me that any man could accurately recognize any woman as being height weight proportional.

Why is this a mystery?

Well, you see, when they imagine (this is a deliberate word choice) their body type, they invariably choose athletic, fit and, only occasionally, average. This never seems to take into account the mass hanging from their front-side sometimes affectionately referred to as the beer belly.

That is to say, if they think that a beer belly denotes athletic or fit in terms of body type, how might this affect their ability to decipher a woman's physique?  Or worse, what is it that imagine HWP to represent in a woman's physique? 

As my favorite character might intone, "the mind reels!"

Picture it for yourself and get back to me. The pictures in my head are not anatomically plausible without cosmetic surgery and an utter lack of food intake, if you get my drift.

The thing is...if you are going to meet someone someday, that person will see you.  So, are they lying? Or are they just unable to see body type in themselves even though they are body type obsessed when it comes to women?  Or is it that they don't get it at all, are unable to decipher body type, but feel they should ask for HWP because it's done?

I am confused.  And irritated.  And done with the obfuscation and hiding behind the screen.

I don't have a lot of time to meet people, but I am going to stick with live action from now on.  It's probably better in the long run to just face the fears of rejection head on ... just sayin.

The Ride

I have been taking the advice of another blogger ... and I use my ride time as therapy.  How do I do this, you might ask.

I sing ... loudly.  I use my body and my hands.  I belt it out... whatever it is I am listening to.

One really wonderful byproduct of my ex-husband being an asshole is that I have a cassette player in my car (it's a long story, but suffice to say he said, "no" to me getting the cd upgrade for the car... as if he were paying for it).

And I have all these homemade mixed tapes in the console between the front seats.  Sometimes they are unmarked, so it is a treasure hunt of sorts when I put it into the player.

A couple of weeks ago, I put in a tape, and I got some seriously tailor made therapy.

Here are some of the songs:











Oh, Tracy Chapman, did you have a window into my soul? What a treasure. Back pain or not, I am looking forward to this voice and the gorgeous landscape this morning...hope your Tuesday brings healing to your life.

When...

is it acceptable to let go of a dream?

This is not a rhetorical question ... I really want to know.

If you have an idea, please share it.

Thanks,

me

photo credit: me, digital not fancy camera.  That is not really a self portrait.  It is a cute little green bug that reminds me of the praying mantis that has been visiting my doorway for the past couple of nights. I should just get out the camera and take a picture of him... but, here you have it: an almost praying mantis for your thoughts (potentially more valuable than a penny).

 My passion journal answered thusly:
"Never cut loose from those longings -- for what are we without our longings."
Amos Oz
And the last line from the epilogue where the above quote can be found:
"Patience, I say.  There is no shortcut."

Okay... Professor Oz, noted.

weltschmerz

I decided to use the word of the day for a virtual balderdash round with my family ... as a warm up for turkey day.  You blog readers may not vote because you already know the real definition, but you can enjoy their imaginations.

Imagine me reading these with a straight face:

weltschmerz
overall best in show at Munich's Oktoberfest

weltschmerz

German chocolate sprinkles

weltschmerz

a fungus that grows between rocks in the Bavarian mountains

weltschmerz

sentimental pessimism

weltschmerz

fat globules in sausage links

weltschmerz

to belch loudly in the presence of royalty

weltschmerz

Once I hear back from them on votes, I will let you know who bullshitted the best on this word.
 I found a pictorial representation of weltschmerz... from N. Delanghe. And a comic strip of the same name (it "ended" in 2008).

From wikipedia

Happy Sunday!

word of the day?

I have this little app on the iPod (the one I call the little guy) that tells me a word of the day.

Most of the time, I ignore it... it was an "upgrade" on the app, I don't remember telling the app I wanted to get a word of the day.

But, when this word pops up on the little guy, how do you look away??

weltschmerz

Yes, you read correctly. The word of the day for October 1, 2011 is weltschmerz (even the dictionary/spell check on blogger is baffled).

Then, I saw the first few words of the definition and I was hooked:

"sentimental pessimism;"

With a beginning like that, how can you not want to know more? And, yes, there is more...

"sorry that one feels and accepts as one's necessary portion in life."

This one has got to be in balderdash this Thanksgiving...

And, it is used in a sentence (a favorite practice we have when playing Balderdash):
"Cohen confused his mood with his chronic weltschmerz." 
I don't think the use of Cohen was coincidental.

Shouldn't this have been the word of the day for next Friday?

And now, an unrelated picture, but then again, this may be the photo equivalent of a Balderdash "definition"

From the Train. 2010