Hysterologia (his-ter-o-lo’-gi-a): A form of hyperbaton or parenthesis in which one interposes a phrase between a preposition and its object. Also, a synonym for hysteron proteron.
“Under milk cartons.” I thought that was really funny—better than Dylan Thomas any day. I was writing a poem about the county landfill. I was going to title it “Under Friggin’ Garbage.” I wanted to celebrate the layers of despair that one may encounter when tossing off former prized possessions as they rot and rust, becoming inedible, or crossing into the useless zone only to be replaced by fresh fruits or vegetables or cars, or lawnmowers, or couches.
I cried as I thought of my baby carriage. Mommy strolled me around the block, to the park and the shopping mall, and church. It was a mobile island of delight. It made me trust my mother. It was a luxury stroller made by an affiliate of General Motors. I would suck on my ba-ba as I rolled along on warm summer days. When we went to the park I would throw my ba-ba at the swans and laugh diabolically.
I was only 3 years old. My mother would laugh diabolically with me. She would pick up my ba-ba and throw it back at me. It usually hit me in the head. It was made out of plastic so it didn’t hurt. Then my mother would say “It’s all over Teddy,” and push me toward the lake. We both laughed diabolically. She would stop when the wheels were submerged. I would clap my hands and yell “Poo-poo. Poo-poo.” We were a team.
When I was fifteen I took the wheels off my baby carriage—it had seen its day and it was time to repurpose it. I made the wheels into a Big Wheels skate board and was going to propel myself across the USA like Forest Gump. I had to develop a special technique to make it work. With four wheels it only went in a straight line, so I had to learn to step on the rear end so the front wheels would pop up and I could pivot and turn.
Then, one day my little sister jumped on the Big Wheels Skate Board and it and rolled down the driveway. She couldn’t stop and rolled in front of a garbage truck. She wasn’t killed, but she was seriously injured.
That’s when I learned to throw things away when their day had come. No more repurposing. No more sorrow. When I put something by the curb for the garbage truck, I feel unburdened, free of something that does not matter any more.
Now, I revel in the fresh and the new.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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