Last night while lying in bed, I began to think of my crusty old sailor friend, Butch. We visited the USS Alabama on the way home from the beach. The children are fixated on that ship so when the weather is perfectly cool with a breeze we explore it. Though nothing much has changed since I was a child, I am still amazed by the space efficiency of the ship. Actually, I'm humbled to think 2500 men could eat, sleep, work, and play in that space when I complain of lack of space in my much more commodious accommodations.
Anyway, my friend Butch was a stickler for organization and tidiness. I suppose 30 years at sea living out of a locker improves your spatial relations and cleanliness. He used to have a sea chest under the tomato table filled with toys for his grandchildren, then his great grandchildren, my children, and any other child who happened to visit. Before he opened the chest, he established the rules, "Play with whatever you want, but ______________." I can't remember. I can taste the seafaring words for return everything to the trunk and close and lock the lid. I can fill in that blank with fifteen to twenty alternatives, but I cannot remember the sentence he actually said. I woke my children to see if they remembered. I grilled my husband, whose nautical vocabulary is obviously no greater than mine.
Then I said, "I can taste the word."
My husband said, "Does it taste good?", while looking at me like I was insane.
Come to find out, he can't taste words and thinks it's weird.
Can you taste words?
Better yet, fill in the blank so I don't have to worry Butch.