Ostomy Memories of a Neighbor

IN THE LITTLE UTAH TOWN where I lived, I never saw another man wear shorts.  Having moved there from Florida, I wore them all the time but, even in the heat of summer, everyone else always wore jeans.  On the far side of the unpaved street at the end of my driveway, behind a narrow hump running parallel with the road, lived the former ward bishop who was getting on in years.  He looked like an old woman who looked like an old man, his sagging face and pear-shaped torso a testament to the ineffable pitilessness of gravity.  His ‘waistline’ had migrated downward over the years to just below the point where his ponderous belly tucked uncooperatively into an area just close enough to his crotch to excite disgust.  He seemed a pleasant enough man but was dogged by rumors that he had beat his sons, notwithstanding his perceived religiosity.  The sons had survived whatever their early years had been like, and both had long since moved away.  The old bishop spent much of his time in his ancient sawmill which abutted his house.  Some days I would hear the grinding of his big saw and would wander over just to smell the fresh sawdust.  He’d long since given up proselytizing me, so we’d talk about the neighbors and the weather.  In all my visits, he never once mentioned his sons.   

I learned 2 new words today and, even better, I learned how to pronounce them. It's so sad that at my age I will forget them in less than a nanosecond, but thanks anyway, Henry!

For years, I have had a practice of writing down words that I have to look up, along with the definition.  That helps me retain it for future use.  I keep an unabridged dictionary opened on my desk, as I am going to it often.  Because I am attracted to authors who themselves have monstrous vocabularies, that has helped me to build up my own word salad.