I have invented a few words in my time. You’re welcome.
Among my finest is the word “geneosity”. This is to be used to describe an act – and the person who does it – of a very generous man (me) who is willing to share his genius with the world.
My latest breakthrough? My wife melted a whole bunch of nearly expired candles and put them into a jar with the idea she would use that candle wax up. But, how to insert a wick. Hmmm.
Geneosity strikes again.
“Why not stick a birthday candle down the middle of the goo,” I said. Works like a charm and it feels like my birthday every day.
Now I need to get to work on a new word. Something to describe an amazing genius who drives around in an old beat up Chevy with a bullet hole in the back bumper. Idiot has already been taken but I might work some form of it into my new creation.
I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.
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