Thaumasmus

Thaumasmus (thau-mas’-mus): To marvel at something rather than to state it in a matter of fact way.

Consider the bumblebee. It makes a buzzing sound. It circles around. I eats from flowers. It is nice to look at. It is a marvel to behold. Not quite a butterfly, but more than a mosquito. They don’t flutter. They don’t suck your blood and make you itch.

Bumblebees remind me of my grandmother who lives with us. She’s not an exact match, but she’s close enough. When she sleeps at night, or takes a nap in her chair, she makes a buzzing sound. Sometimes she sniffles, but most of the time she buzzes. It is a wonder to behold—Grandma sounds like an snoring insect!

Grandma eats from flowers too! Well actually, she drinks from flowers. She has a silver tulip cup that she was given by “John” when she worked in a hotel room in New Orleans back in the 60s. “John” would fill it with Southern Comfort and she would drink it down before they “bounced up and down” New Orleans style. “John” disappeared the day after his probation officer visited them and asked what they were doing. “John” was honest. Grandma said he was stupid. She lost $5.00 cash each week. But, another “John” soon came along. He was wealthy so he “donated” $8.00 per week to Grandma. It was like a windfall after the other “John.”

Around that time, pole dancing was invented. It paid $2.00 per hour. Grandma jumped at the chance to “dance” naked with a shiny silver pole. She wore only a rubber band on her wrist to hold the cash that patrons slipped her. Between her tips and wages she was able to buy a car. She rented it to tourists. Surprisingly it wasn’t stolen. That’s when Grandma met Mel. He owned a car wash called “Kleen Weels.” They fell in love and got married. That’s when my mother was born. Soon after, Mel was gunned down in the “Car Wash Wars.” Grandma raised my mom as a single parent.

Between Mel’s life insurance, the car rental business, and pole dancing the two of them were well off. My mom was home-tutored and went Tulane University where, in addition to her B.S. in engineering, she got a law degree.

Now, Grandma is a bag of wrinkles who’s headed for the last roundup. Every once-in-awhile she yells “Get your fu*kin’ hands offa me!” She frequently walks around the house naked asking “Where’s the fu*kin’ stage?” Sometimes she asks where “John” is—“He owes me five fu*kin’ dollars.”

Anyway, we love grandma. We don’t give a fu*k about her past.

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

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