#Bloganuary Day 13

What does your ideal day look like?

Scrap the walker, the mask, and everything related to Covid, including Covid

Eat breakfast

Walk a mile or two or three

Drive—not be driven, but drive—downtown

Philkon Phil Konstantin, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Sit in a bookstore coffeeshop—BookPeople would do—drink coffee with cream and sugar, and write

Leave the bookstore with a stack of books—mine, all mine

Have lunch at a cafe; the Magnolia would do

Go to the mall, buy clothes that fit and shoes that feel good

Drive some more, nowhere in particular, just drive

See Greater Tuna with the original cast at the Paramount Theater

Have dinner at a restaurant; the Magnolia would do—they’re open 24/8

Come home, get a good night’s sleep, and do the same thing tomorrow

IN OTHER WORDS

Do things I haven’t done for the past two years. Add to the list, See family and friends close up, travel more than thirty miles from home, and . . . 

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When I began this post, I didn’t have a specific theater production in mind; I just wanted to sit in a theater with a crowd of unmasked people and not have to worry about being coughed on. And then it happened—an idea!—I really, really want to see Joe Sears and Jaston Williams in Greater Tuna. Again. For the umpteenth time. And then A Tuna Christmas. Again. Also for the umpteenth time. I can’t get enough of those shows.

But Sears and Williams are no longer acting in them. Since they started in 1981, I guess that’s reasonable. Still, I can’t imagine the play without them. Or as a film production. Half the fun is sitting in the audience, watching two men play twenty characters, change costumes and personas in seconds without a hitch.

Anyway, Tuna hijacked the post. So here are some links to Youtube.

 

Day 24: Mulomedic

Today’s word is mulomedic.

It’s one of four endangered words I adopted today from the Oxford English Dictionary’s Save the Words.

An adjective, it means relating to the medical care of mules.

Example: Mary wants to be a mulomedic veterinarian, but her mother says Basset hounds are where the money is.

When I adopted my words, I promised to use them “in conversation and correspondence, as frequently as possible to the very best of my ability.”

Goodness knows how I’ll work mulomedic into the conversation. William and Ernest are going to the vet’s for their vaccinations next week; perhaps I can use it there.

“Dr. Smith, are you a mulomedic veterinarian, or do  you limit your practice to cats?”

But I didn’t choose the word to make life easy. I chose it because I like mules. They’re good folks.

The guides at the Grand Canyon lavish praise on the mules that carry tourists on the mile-long ride almost straight down to the canyon floor. No rider has ever toppled into the canyon, they say, because the riders practically glue themselves to the mules, and the mules don’t fall.

A white mule played a pivotal role in my life. Telling the story requires a detour to Tuna, the third smallest town in Texas, located somewhere “between San Angelo and Hell, ” “where the Lion’s Club is too liberal and Patsy Cline never dies.”

In a scene from A Tuna Christmas, Stanley Bumiller and his mother’s aunt, Pearl Burrus, are on stage together. Stanley’s community service at the Tuna Little Theater has been threatened by city secretary Dixie Deberry, who has threatened to turn off the electricity because the theater hasn’t paid its bill. Pearl is concerned about Stanley’s possible return to incarceration as well as about the Christmas Phantom who’s sabotaging the yard decoration contest. In the middle of their talk, Pearl grows solemn. The next lines go something like this:

Pearl:         Stanley, I’m worried. I had a dream the other night. Dreamed about a white mule.

Stanley:    Hell, Pearl, a white mule’s death, ain’t it?

Pearl:         No. A white horse is death. A white mule’s generally nothing worse than car trouble.

Now back to me.

About fifteen years ago, I was at a low point. I’d been there for a number of years.  Although things looked as if they would smooth out, I was still living under a cloud.

One morning, driving up Texas Highway 80 toward San Marcos, I saw a large animal loping toward me in the borrow ditch on the opposite side of the road. Afraid it would stray into my path, I stepped on the brake and turned on my hazard lights as a warning to other vehicles.

I had assumed the animal was a horse, but as we neared each other, I saw it was a white mule.

And the moment I recognized him, I said to myself, “Hallelujah, it’s nothing worse than car trouble.”

Then I laughed all the way to San Marcos.

That is a true story, and another instance of how great literature affords solace in times of distress.

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My other adopted words are gnathonize, aquabib, and leeftail. For definitions, click on the link to Endangered and Underused Words, on the left sidebar.

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Those not already initiated into the joys of the Tuna trilogy–Greater Tuna; A Tuna Christmas; and Red, White and Tuna–are encouraged to find more information at http://greatertuna.com/index.cfm. The row of icons across the bottom of that page is key to getting around the site.

A friend says the audiences at these shows are sitting there laughing at people on stage who are laughing at them. That, too, is true.

A Tuna Christmas is playing at the Paramount in Austin through this Sunday. I wanted to go, but I’ve seen it five or six or eight times, and I’ve memorized most of the dialogue, so I didn’t think I could justify another trip. Next year, however…

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