YES, I SPEAK HOLSTEIN …

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I love a good malapropism, especially from kids. And this one’s a doozy.

It was the groom’s fifth wedding. His 7 or 8 year old son was part of the wedding party, and apparently he had heard the phrase enough to voice it just before the minister was about to speak.

Of course, the son spoke it rather loudly. With obvious exasperation and a theatrical head- and eye-roll that could be easily seen in the back seats.

The minister speaks to the congregation: “If there is anyone here who knows why these two should not be joined in marriage, …”

When out booms the voice of the groom’s son: “Yeah, yeah. Speak cow or forever holster your peas. What’s that mean anyway?”

From the minister at the front of the church to the usher at the back, laughter erupted. Even the bride and groom, who for a brief moment looked mortified, burst out in laughter.

That moment was worth the otherwise crushingly boring ceremony that had dragged on for almost 2-½ hours and came dangerously close to putting even the wedding photographer to sleep.

So the next time you wonder whether to voice your opinion, remember the poignant words of our pint-sized philosopher: Speak cow or forever holster your peas.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

HOW TO SHAVE 5 MINUTES OFF YOUR MILE RUN TIME IN ONE WEEK …

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Two weeks ago, Joe ran an eleven-minute mile on a flat track. It was the best time he had run in five years.

Last week, Joe ran a six-minute mile, in the woods, while jumping over logs and dodging trees and bushes. The bear behind him ran slightly slower.

The dramatic one-week difference in Joe’s running time?

Motivation.

LOVE MEANS NEVER HAVING TO SAY …

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“Do you own a yacht?” the interviewer wanted to know.

It seemed a question completely out of context, having no relevance to the middle-aged woman’s need for food.

“Excuse me?” she responded. “Do I own a what?”

“A yacht,” he said, rather snarkily. “Do you own a yacht?”

“A yacht?” she asked. “You want to know if I own a luxury boat? You do know I’m applying for some help with food to feed my children and myself. If I owned a yacht I probably wouldn’t need help with food.”

“So is that a ‘no’ answer?” he asked, still snarkily.

“You’re seriously asking me if I own a yacht?” Her question sounded like she simply couldn’t believe that such a question was even in the realm of possibility to be asked. “Why not ask me if I own a boat? Or maybe a canoe. Or maybe a rubber raft. One of those might be reasonable. But a yacht?!”

“If you just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ we can move on to the next question,” he said flatly.

“The next question?” she asked rather sharply, her voice rising. “What’s that? Do I travel to the unemployment line in a Rolls Royce? Or maybe you want to know if I’ll be dining with the President this evening after feeding my kids with your free box of macaroni and cheese. What is the matter with you people?”

“Okay. I’ll put no yacht,” he said, completely unmoved by her vexation, as if he’d heard it hundreds of times before and simply didn’t care any longer. “Next question,” he continued. “Have you ever been arrested for prostitution?”

“You know,” she said as she stood up. “F#(k you."

The interviewer barely looked up at her. He simply grabbed a new set of questionnaires and called out, “Next.”

So permit me to offer this simple aside. If you’re working in the compassion sector and you find your days to be sadly similar to the one described above – change jobs.

Seriously. Find a different line of work, or at the very least, a different organization within which to work. You and the people you are there to help, will sincerely appreciate it.

Compassion, after all, is still about love. And last time I checked, love had nothing to do with upsetting someone to the point of such exasperation that the F-bomb is dropped.

Seriously. If that describes you, become a different you.

WHY IS THE WATER SO MUCH WARMER HERE?

OH, RIGHT. PEE BREAK.

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Not that I advocate relieving yourself in clean whitewater rapids,but I do advocate enjoying your

Monday Morning Chuckle.

WHAT YOU DO IN THE PRIVACY OF YOUR BEDROOM IS YOUR BUSINESS …

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It wasn’t especially early in the morning. In fact, the sun had been up for at least five hours. But there sat George, in the corner booth of the restaurant, unashamedly pandiculating in front of everyone.

Wait. What? Pandiculating?

Yes, pandiculating. It means stretching while yawning. (And yes, this is the first I’d heard of the word as well, but you’d be surprised at what you can learn from those word-a-day calendars).

But back to George’s pandiculating. He would yawn and stretch this way. Then he would yawn again and stretch that way. He would tightly shrug his shoulders up toward his ears, and you could hear his bones or joints or thoughts softly cracking. (I suppose it was his joints that were cracking, since cracking a bone would be undoubtedly painful and thoughts cracking would most likely be silent.)

He did this for about fifteen minutes before he settled down to quietly read his morning paper and drink his coffee.

And as fascinating as it was to watch George’s pandiculation, it was equally fascinating to watch the others in the diner yawn shortly after seeing George yawn, although they did so without the accompanying stretches.

As George was leaving, I told him I noticed how much he was yawning and asked him if he’d had a “late night” or something. He admitted that for the past week he had only been getting about three or four hours a night for sleep. He also told me he was planning to “sleep the weekend away.”

I envied the possibility of sleeping away a weekend.

More importantly, I decided that getting “enough” sleep should be a priority in life. Especially since not getting enough can lead to all sorts of problems, from weight gain to aging prematurely to loss of concentration. In fact, sleep deprivation can be so extreme that it can even lead to death.

So here’s a suggestion for us all. Get at least 7 or 8 hours of good sleep most nights. That’s typically enough for the average American. (And yes, despite what the self-esteem gurus espouse, you’re most likely “average.” Unless, of course, you’re part of the Eclectic Family, then you’re quite higher than “average.”)

AN OUNCE OF AWARENESS IS WORTH A POUND OF PLANNING …

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“I like a balanced life,” he said. “Whether I have many or few things that I am dealing with, I want them balanced. I do not like chaos. I like order. I like balance.”

“So what do you do when life comes along and bumps your balance?” I asked him.

“No. I don’t let that happen,” he said

“You don’t let what happen? Life?”

“No. I don’t let the bumps in life upset my balance.”

“But how do you avoid that?”

“Proper planning,” he said, somewhat smugly.

“So, if your home caught fire and was burned to the ground, you have a plan for that?”

“Well, no. But nobody really plans for catastrophe.”

“So if one of life’s catastrophes bumped into your balance, what would you do?”

“I’d have to adjust, I guess,” he said, as if he had never really considered life outside of his plans. “But I don’t really expect anything like that to happen to me.”

“And why is that?” I asked.

“Because I have a good primary plan and a good backup plan. I’ve got great short and long-term goals and I’ve already started on my Bucket List. So even if something happens I can still maintain my balance, with some adjustment, of course.”

Our conversation drifted on toward less philosophical considerations, but I couldn’t help wondering if my young friend was on to something.

Do plans and goals make for a balanced life?

Well, of course they help. But I believe that a balanced life is more about awareness of life than it is about a blueprint for life.

So as you go through the next week, increase your awareness of how life is effecting you.

HOW MANY EARS DOES IT TAKE TO IGNORE WHAT YOU’RE SAYING …

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This might be the best euphemism I’ve ever heard for someone not listening to you.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying particular attention to your words.”

It’s what my wife said to me earlier today.