Idiomatic Expansion

 I was listening to NPR today and Mara Liasson said that the Trump administration was "pushing the edge of the envelope." I was struck by this as I hadn't heard this particular mash up prior. This reminded me of two other examples of idioms that have expanded and I merely wanted to muse for a moment on the idea.

To be clear, the idiom in question is "pushing the envelope" and somehow "the edge" got added (pushing one over the edge? approaching the edge? razor's edge? cutting edge? leading edge?). Again, I'd never heard this particular mash up before, but it makes enough sense how it came about. I'm a little sensitive to idiomatic expansion because in high school I was called out for saying "on top of the ball" instead of "on the ball" or "on top of things." I don't know why I mashed it up, but I did, and now I think about it more than I should. So, yes, "pushing the edge of the envelope" set me on edge, if you will.

Sometime between these two events (high school and literally today) I came across David Mitchell's rant on "holding down the fort" which is the expanded idiom I hear the most. To summarize his piece - one should "hold things down" or "hold the fort", but to "hold down the fort" makes it sound like the fort is going to float away should you fail in your duty. It's stuck with me and I try to avoid the mash up, though I've heard someone else say it as recently as Saturday (I was left alone on a shift and asked to "hold down the fort").

Where am I going with this? Nowhere. I was thinking about it and wanted to type a few words in a row to get the thought out of my head. Hopefully I haven't got this idée fixe stuck in your head.

(I think that fails as an expanded idiom, but whatever.)

Spring Ahead

 [Author's Note: they can't all be winners]

Art by Will

Pen springs. Watch springs. Leaf springs. Twisty bits of metal that make the world run. Now I was running, delivering amusing automata to good boys and girls. Those springs, however, had me all twisted up.

You'd think making a spring would be easy. Shape some metal the way you'd like an presto! But no, there's heating and cooling and the selection of alloys and all that sort of stuff. You have to consider how many times the spring will need to expand or contract. You have to consider how far it should move. In short, it's complicated.

Chasing Waterfalls

 The inclined plane is a simple machine that has been in use since prehistoric times. Used as a machine it allows for motion from one plane to be transferred to another plane with mechanical advantage - that is, for example, to push a vehicle up a ramp (pushing horizontally makes the object move vertically), to split wood (chopping “down” makes the wood split “sideways”), or convert rotational motion to longitudinal motion (a screw twisting into wood or a propeller propelling a ship through water) with less effort than simply lifting, tearing, or pushing. This is all to say that the inclined plane is ubiquitous - I suspect there’s one within eyesight of wherever you’re reading this.

When we think of machines, we often think of humans doing work. Work, however, can be done by gravity. Think of a marble at the top of a ramp. Gravity pulls the marble “down” and the inclined plane transfers that motion “sideways” - instead of ending up directly beneath where it started, the marble will end up somewhere else horizontally (assuming the ramp is not also a helix).

This is all to say this is a simple concept. A ubiquitous concept. A prehistoric concept. Yet, it’s a concept that seems to escape people all around the world. Especially people who have to deal with water.

I am going to blow your mind: water generally flows downhill. Crazy, right? Obviously I’m being sarcastic, as you certainly already know this. You know who doesn’t know this? Bathroom contractors, the streets department, and my housemates.

Shark?

Art by Kaitlin

"Are you a shark or are you just labeled 'shark'?" I asked.

"What are we if not a collection of labels?" the shark rejoined.

"Surely there's a truth though - are you a shark?"

"No, I'm just a drawing."

"What?"

"I'm merely a few squiggles with, apparently, a pyramid on top and the word 'shark' written on my body."

What are you even talking about?" You're a fish of some sort.

"Big words for a stick figure!"

Are you Smarter than my Housemates?

Happy (almost) New Year! In the spirit of "out with the old and in with the new" here's a rant.

A palate-cleanser. Feel free to look at this when you're done.

I am not the best housemate. I have clutter. I sometimes leave dishes in the sink overnight. I'm sure there are a dozen other things that would drive another housemate insane - including my complaining about the shit that they do. But here's the thing: I am capable of change.

Let me introduce you to my housemates: CAN'T and WON'T. They're both stuck in some pre-pubescent developmental stage where one can not learn new things and one chooses not to learn new things. I'm not sure which is worse. I'm very tired of looking after them. So tired, in fact, I've stopped doing things in my house. We need a new faucet, but I know if I install one it'll be broken in a week. I've had broken lights in the kitchen, two bedrooms, and the basement for years because one of them doesn't know the difference between a pull-chain and a lawnmower pull-start. There's a gas clothes dryer in the basement waiting to be hooked up, but I know - I know- the second I hook it up one of the two is going to burn my house down.

What can I do? Well, rant about it for a bit. With apologies for pictures of my dirty house - I simply cannot clean up after three grown men (including myself).

Become The Snail

Art by Griff

 “Wherever you go, there you are,” said the nomad. I half raised my ale in salute, appreciating the words if not absorbing them.

“To being there.” I added after a moment of performed reflection.

The nomad nodded, but I felt he wanted more. We sat for a second.

“Who are you?” He asked.

Shoreline

Art by Jen

 Shoreline.

A fractal meeting place.

Infinite collisions on the coast.

Water meeting rocks making sand.

Algae floating and sinking and, maybe, in a million, transforming.

I watched a beached boat rock back and forth as the water massaged it. I felt like an interloper - someone in the sitting room of a hospice facility. This boat had been born, lived its life, and now Sat here rotting. I had never experienced it in its halcyon days. I had never even seen it float. I knew it only as the boat on the beach. The rotting boat on the beach. It would eventually rot completely or be taken away to whatever dump they put boats in.

There Wolf?

Art by Jered

 "Yes, I'm aware of the problem," I said into the phone. "And no, Mister Mayor, I don't have a solution."

I was met with a curse and a dead line - he'd hung up on me.

"So much for that," I muttered to myself. I don't know why I'm supposed to have the answers to the recent killing spree, but I kept getting the calls. It seemed to me this was more of a job for the sheriff or someone more senior in government. Why involve a lowly lumberjack like myself was beyond me, but I wasn't a lumberjack because of my brains.

The killings had shaken the village. They were gristly affairs - either the result of a wild animal or a wild man masquerading as such. The first death - the killing of a town drunk - had been excused as a man who'd stumbled into trouble. The second was an unfortunate coincidence - a farmer who'd probably been protecting his animals from an unknown assailant. It was the third killing, however, that had roused the community to action. Little Suzie had just turned ten the week before. Her body - or what was left of it - had been found by her seven year old brother.

Priesthood

Art by Peter

 I prostrated myself in front of the priest.

A heavy silence blanketed the catacomb.

The air was thick. The cold stones pressed into my forehead and elbows and knees. The crenulated piece of wood that separated the consecrator from the consecratee seemed like a two-story rampart. Then he spoke.

I dutifully listened to his words.

Father, Son, Holy Spirit.

Tripartite. Singular. Three leaves of a clover. Three points of a triangle. Three arms of a cross.

The cross. The sacrifice. The mystery.

How does the Almighty inhabit flesh? How does an immortal die?

Questions wrestled for my attention with the more pressing issues in my body. A pose, held, becomes its own torture. A mortification. A requirement for purification.

Hoarse Horse

Art by Wyatt

"Hoarse," he said raspily.

"I see," I said. Was this horse a Pokémon or something?

"No, hoarse," he said again with emphasis. "Water?"

"Sure?" I said, confused. "What about it?"

"Where?" Another single syllable spilled from his lips.

"Oh, just around the corner." I jerked my thumb in the direction of the self-service jug.

"Thanks," he said, trotting off in that direction.

After a moment or two, he was back in front of me.