Epanodos (e-pan’-o-dos): 1. Repeating the main terms of an argument in the course of presenting it. 2. Returning to the main theme after a digression. 3. Returning to and providing additional detail for items mentioned previously (often using parallelism).

I’m sorry I strayed off course there. When you’re talking about the good life, it is easy to lose your way in the labyrinth of delights that help make it possible, but are easy to get lost in: surfing on reveries toward a shoreless horizon, hanging ten, hanging on the wax, hanging a picture in my head that I can sleep on and . . .

Oh Jeez. I did it again. They used to call me tangent man in college—even then I couldn’t stay on point. It was pathological. I would be talking about one thing and a word, any word, would trigger a jump off the track, resulting in a train wreck of a conversation—from my favorite scotch (Johnny Walker Blue) to scotch tape and it’s remarkable ability to hold things together, and the amazing role it plays in packing, especially the wide . . .

Please forgive me for going off point again. We’re here to listen to what I have to say about the good life. The good life: Love everywhere: in public and private. Like the Beatles sang: “All you need is love. All you need is love. Love, love love. Love is all you need.” So, where do you go to find and give love? Bowling Alleys. The people who’re bowling alone. Pick one out and ask them to bowl with you. If you ask in a non-whiny voice, you’ll make a strike. This will be the beginning of a life fulfilling connection in the alley’s of life. There will be nothing to spare—every day you’ll roll 300s together. Your glitter-laced balls will reside in velvet-lined bowling bags, waiting for Friday’s roll, and two perfect scores. This is just one example of how the good life can be obtained. The key is to have a partner who you have at least one thing deeply in common with that induces respect and nurturing affection, like me and my plant growing in the window. It speaks to me with waving leaves and flower. I speak to it with water and fertilizer once a week. I have the plant for fifty years—longer than any of my wives, who taught me what the good life is not. Wife number one made me beg for dinner. Wife number two cut holes in my socks. Wife number three was pretty nice, but she made me wear yellow onesies. The non-treaded deer made me slip and fall down over and over. Thank God, they all cheated on me, so divorce was easy.

Well, thank-you for attending my lecture. The good life awaits you.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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