I heard some mispronunciations while watching church services on the telly recently, and I would like to pass them on to you. Not only would I like to, I am going to whether you want me to or not.
I heard a preacher say "DeuterOMONY" instead of "DeuterONOMY". I thought, "What?"
I heard a different preacher say "VietMANese" instead of "VietNAMese". Ditto.
Such errors jar the ears of careful listeners, but I think the effect is worse when a preacher makes them, because it brings into question everything else of a spiritual nature that the preacher is trying to persuade his congregation to accept.
The mind, aided by the the seemingly ever-present enemy of the soul, immediately thinks, "Well, if he can't even get that right, can I trust him on the weightier matters, things of a spiritual nature?" At leas, that is where my mind goes. Confession is good for the soul, I've heard.
Maybe I'm being overly critical (ya think?). Maybe it's just another opportunity for EGR (where Extra Grace is Required).
Let us now pivot to another subject.
I used to think people who spoke in tongues were speaking gibberish. Then I learned of a musical group called Ladysmith Black Mombazo, who sang with Paul Simon on his Graceland album back in 1986. You may remember Paul Simon, the fellow who teamed up with Art Garfunkel -- Simon and Garfunkel -- on such hits as "The Sound Of Silence" and "Bridge Over Troubled Water". The founder of Ladysmith Black Mombazo was Joseph Shabalala, and as recently as May 2026 the members of Ladysmith Black Mombazo, which is still going strong, include Mfanafuthi Dlamini, Thamsanqa Shabalala, Sibongiseni Shabalala, Sabelo Mthembu, Thulani Shabalala, Gagamela Shabalala, and Msizi Shabalala, according to Wikipedia.
When you say their names you are speaking in tongues and the language is Zulu. The point I'm trying to make is that if you should ever find yourself in a Pentecostal worship service and hear someone speak in a tongue that is filled with repetetive syllables, it is not necessarily an indication that the tongue is gibberish. Perhaps it is not even a human language but an angelic one, as Saint Paul told the Corinthians that there are such things, beginning Chapter 13 of his letter to them with the words, "Though I speak with the tongues of me and of angels and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal" (except that he wrote it in Greek, of course).
Or maybe their tangs are all tongueled up. Or maybe their tongues get in the way of their eye teeth and they can't see what they are saying.
Okay, I'm reaching now.
It must be time to close this post.
If you don't understand this post at all, why should this post be any different from all the others?
T.T.F.N.
P.S. - For a fascinating look at the languages of this world in a post from 2010, even though the figures on the number of people who speak them are now 16 years out of date, click here .
Monday, June 22, 2026
Tuesday, June 16, 2026
All is not quiet on the Western front
While you have been waking and sleeping and going about your daily routine, things have been happening on the Western front, which is what I have decided to call that portion of Rhymeswithplague Land that lies outside the blog.
For instance, and you already knw this, our fourth great-grandchild was born earlier this month. His parents named him Shepherd. We were already aware, but I don't think I had said it on the blog, that a fifth and, yes, even a sixth great-grandchild are, how you say, in the oven, waiting to make their appearances later this year.
Well, lo and behold, we have now learned that a seventh great-grandchild is due in January.
Our family is growing by leaps and bounds. The last of our six grandchildren, and the only girl in the lot, is getting married this summer to a very nice young man named Ryan. At the beginning of 2026 our extended family, including spouses, consisted of 19 adults and three children, a total of 22 souls in all if my math skills haven't atrophied. By January 2027 our family will consist, God willing, of 20 adults and seven children, a total of 27 souls.
Our grandsons seem to have married girls who are, you should pardon the expression, fertile Myrtles, and the virility of the boys is not in doubt.
I know there are lots of families that are larger than ours. One couple we know are expecting their 18th grandchild any day now. Our numbers pale by comparison, but both Mrs. Rhymeswithplague (the lovely Ellie) and I continue to be amazed and thankful as we see our family expanding. What started with just the two of us now includes our three children and their spouses, our six grandchildren and their spouses (I'm including Ryan), and 'twill soon be seven great-grandchildren. The first four greats are all boys. I'm hoping to see some girls in there too.
No wonder we keep on smiling. We are blessed.
For instance, and you already knw this, our fourth great-grandchild was born earlier this month. His parents named him Shepherd. We were already aware, but I don't think I had said it on the blog, that a fifth and, yes, even a sixth great-grandchild are, how you say, in the oven, waiting to make their appearances later this year.
Well, lo and behold, we have now learned that a seventh great-grandchild is due in January.
Our family is growing by leaps and bounds. The last of our six grandchildren, and the only girl in the lot, is getting married this summer to a very nice young man named Ryan. At the beginning of 2026 our extended family, including spouses, consisted of 19 adults and three children, a total of 22 souls in all if my math skills haven't atrophied. By January 2027 our family will consist, God willing, of 20 adults and seven children, a total of 27 souls.
Our grandsons seem to have married girls who are, you should pardon the expression, fertile Myrtles, and the virility of the boys is not in doubt.
I know there are lots of families that are larger than ours. One couple we know are expecting their 18th grandchild any day now. Our numbers pale by comparison, but both Mrs. Rhymeswithplague (the lovely Ellie) and I continue to be amazed and thankful as we see our family expanding. What started with just the two of us now includes our three children and their spouses, our six grandchildren and their spouses (I'm including Ryan), and 'twill soon be seven great-grandchildren. The first four greats are all boys. I'm hoping to see some girls in there too.
No wonder we keep on smiling. We are blessed.
Wednesday, June 3, 2026
On Sundays at the Anguish Languish Church
...day lack two zing D alt him Inner Guardian firm dare Anguish Languish Him Null:
1. Eye gum Tudor guardian a loan
Wild adieu Estelle under hoses
Under boy sigh here fall anon my year
This sunup goddess glows is.
Re-frame:
Handy wok swim me, handy dock swim me
Handy tills me eye yam a zone
Under choice wee chairs weak adder dare
Nun udder as Severn own.
2. His peeks under sand office boys
His sew Swede a burrs usher zinging
Under malady daddy cave tomb E
Width Emma hard dish wringing.
(Reap eat re-frame: "Handy wok swim me" etc.)
Well, enough of that. I couldn't resist the urge.
Meanwhile, the world continues apace.
Perhaps you noticed.
Cease-fires come and cease-fires go, but Iran drones on forever.
I couldn't resist that either.
Perhaps it is best that I bring this post to a close and go lie down for a while.
Yes, that is a good idea, a very good idea indeed.
I am not crazy. I am just giddy today for two very good reasons. First, although our Magic Chef countertop microwave oven gave up the ghost yesterday causing no end of consternation, we have already replaced it with a brand new Cuisinart countertop microwave oven purchased at Tar-zhay, so eating can continue at our house. Second, and most importantly, last night around 11 p.m. our fourth great-grandson was born! He arrived 11 days before he was expected to make his initial appearance among us but he weighed in at a healthy 6 lbs, 10 oz.
That's enough to make anybody giddy.
Ta-Ta for now.
1. Eye gum Tudor guardian a loan
Wild adieu Estelle under hoses
Under boy sigh here fall anon my year
This sunup goddess glows is.
Re-frame:
Handy wok swim me, handy dock swim me
Handy tills me eye yam a zone
Under choice wee chairs weak adder dare
Nun udder as Severn own.
2. His peeks under sand office boys
His sew Swede a burrs usher zinging
Under malady daddy cave tomb E
Width Emma hard dish wringing.
(Reap eat re-frame: "Handy wok swim me" etc.)
Well, enough of that. I couldn't resist the urge.
Meanwhile, the world continues apace.
Perhaps you noticed.
Cease-fires come and cease-fires go, but Iran drones on forever.
I couldn't resist that either.
Perhaps it is best that I bring this post to a close and go lie down for a while.
Yes, that is a good idea, a very good idea indeed.
I am not crazy. I am just giddy today for two very good reasons. First, although our Magic Chef countertop microwave oven gave up the ghost yesterday causing no end of consternation, we have already replaced it with a brand new Cuisinart countertop microwave oven purchased at Tar-zhay, so eating can continue at our house. Second, and most importantly, last night around 11 p.m. our fourth great-grandson was born! He arrived 11 days before he was expected to make his initial appearance among us but he weighed in at a healthy 6 lbs, 10 oz.
That's enough to make anybody giddy.
Ta-Ta for now.
Monday, May 25, 2026
A dining faux pas and other minutiae
A. While working for a month at IBM Sweden in Lidingö (a suburb of Stockholm) in February 1969, my new friend Gunnar Göhl invited me to his house for a home-cooked meal. At the end of a delicious and very satisfying meal I sat back in my chair and said, in appreciation, "I'm so ful!". Gunnar's wife's eyes grew very wide and she looked confused. She turned to her husband for an explanation. Gunnar was laughing uproariously.
I was confused as much as Gunnar's wife, whose name I do not recall.
After regaining his composure, Gunnar explained to both of us that the Swedish phrase "jag är så mätt" (pronounced yah air so met) is what Swedes say after a meal, but Mrs. Gunnar interpreted what I had said as "jag är så full" (pronounced yah air so full), which means "I'm drunk" and not a single drop of alcohol had been served or consumed!
So much for after-dinner pleasantries.
Precision in word choices is important, and it becomes even more important when an ocean has been crossed. I hope the negotiators who are trying to end the U.S.-Iranian conflict will choose their words ver carefully.
B. In Albanian families (I married into one), when one has eaten a satisfying meal one does not say "I'm so full," one says "barku me cepa" (pronounced bar-koo meh sep-puh), literally "stomach with corners" or "my stomach has four corners", which is the equivalent, I suppose, of saying "I'm stuffed" in America. A word to the wise: Do not say "I'm stuffed" in the United Kingdom as it means something different over there. This is a G-rated (that is, family-friendly, all ages welcome) blog, so we will not delve into the possibilities.
C. I don't know if people in other countries do what I'm about to describe or even people up north in what used to be referred to in the American South as Damn-Yankee Land, but it is definitely a thing in the American South. I'm referring to family nicknames. For example, in Eudora Welty's well-known short story, "Why I Live At The P.O." she refers to her father as Papa-Daddy. Miss Welty grew up in Mississippi. I can attest to the fact that the same sort of thing happened in Texas, where our family lived from the time I was six years old. Before that, our family lived in Rhode Island, up in the northeast corner of Damn-Yankee Land, where anyone east of the Connecticut River is called a Yankee's Yankee. Let me just interject here that so many Northerners have moved to the South that nobody uses that terminology any more. By the way, the difference between a plain old Yankee and a Damn Yankee was simple: A Yankee was a person from Up North who visited the South. A Damn Yankee was a person from Up North who came to the South and stayed. Those days, thankfully, have gone with the wind. But I digress.
When I was growing up in Texas, my stepmother's older sister Cleo over in Carrollton was called "Auntie Mama" by the entire Williams clan, which consisted of five brothers and five sisters and all of their children. In my own town of Mansfield my mother's friend Sally Huffman was called "Aunt Sister" by her nieces and nephews (Helen, Jane, Joe, Charles Ray, Judy, and Jim) but they called their other aunts by their names: Aunt Jesse, Aunt Ruth, and Aunt Pete (Gertrude's nickname, I don't know when or how she acquired it) but I never heard any of them say "Aunt Sally".
One can only conclude that people are, how you say, funny.
Do you have any minutiae, interesting or otherwise, that you care to share? Please be my guest.
Until next time, I remain
rhymeswithplague
I was confused as much as Gunnar's wife, whose name I do not recall.
After regaining his composure, Gunnar explained to both of us that the Swedish phrase "jag är så mätt" (pronounced yah air so met) is what Swedes say after a meal, but Mrs. Gunnar interpreted what I had said as "jag är så full" (pronounced yah air so full), which means "I'm drunk" and not a single drop of alcohol had been served or consumed!
So much for after-dinner pleasantries.
Precision in word choices is important, and it becomes even more important when an ocean has been crossed. I hope the negotiators who are trying to end the U.S.-Iranian conflict will choose their words ver carefully.
B. In Albanian families (I married into one), when one has eaten a satisfying meal one does not say "I'm so full," one says "barku me cepa" (pronounced bar-koo meh sep-puh), literally "stomach with corners" or "my stomach has four corners", which is the equivalent, I suppose, of saying "I'm stuffed" in America. A word to the wise: Do not say "I'm stuffed" in the United Kingdom as it means something different over there. This is a G-rated (that is, family-friendly, all ages welcome) blog, so we will not delve into the possibilities.
C. I don't know if people in other countries do what I'm about to describe or even people up north in what used to be referred to in the American South as Damn-Yankee Land, but it is definitely a thing in the American South. I'm referring to family nicknames. For example, in Eudora Welty's well-known short story, "Why I Live At The P.O." she refers to her father as Papa-Daddy. Miss Welty grew up in Mississippi. I can attest to the fact that the same sort of thing happened in Texas, where our family lived from the time I was six years old. Before that, our family lived in Rhode Island, up in the northeast corner of Damn-Yankee Land, where anyone east of the Connecticut River is called a Yankee's Yankee. Let me just interject here that so many Northerners have moved to the South that nobody uses that terminology any more. By the way, the difference between a plain old Yankee and a Damn Yankee was simple: A Yankee was a person from Up North who visited the South. A Damn Yankee was a person from Up North who came to the South and stayed. Those days, thankfully, have gone with the wind. But I digress.
When I was growing up in Texas, my stepmother's older sister Cleo over in Carrollton was called "Auntie Mama" by the entire Williams clan, which consisted of five brothers and five sisters and all of their children. In my own town of Mansfield my mother's friend Sally Huffman was called "Aunt Sister" by her nieces and nephews (Helen, Jane, Joe, Charles Ray, Judy, and Jim) but they called their other aunts by their names: Aunt Jesse, Aunt Ruth, and Aunt Pete (Gertrude's nickname, I don't know when or how she acquired it) but I never heard any of them say "Aunt Sally".
One can only conclude that people are, how you say, funny.
Do you have any minutiae, interesting or otherwise, that you care to share? Please be my guest.
Until next time, I remain
rhymeswithplague
Tuesday, May 19, 2026
And they said it wouldn't last
On May 19, 1963 (that is, 63 years ago today) Eleanor Cudse and I exchanged vows at Orlando Bible Church in Orlando, Florida.
Six months...
47 years (2010)...
59 years, 10 months ( March 2023)...
...and we're still going strong 63 years after we said "I do"!
Six months...
47 years (2010)...
59 years, 10 months ( March 2023)...
...and we're still going strong 63 years after we said "I do"!
Thursday, May 7, 2026
Half-remembered hills
Over in the sidebar to the right, down past the Blog Archive list, is a poem by a Yorkshire lad named Neil Theasby (you might know him as blogger Yorkshire Pudding) that I included with his permission in 2013. I was 72 then and I loved the poem on first reading. I am 85 now and with every passing year I love it even more. I imagine that not many readers nowadays scroll down sidebars but head straight for the blogposts, so I am posting it here for your enjoyment:
Song for Lost Youth
Perhaps I should have cradled it
Like a dove
Kept it safe with tender love
But I squandered it -
Gushing-blundering-raging
Like a wild mountain stream
Desperate for an ocean
That was but a distant dream.
...I just never thought
That I could have loitered in the shallows
Reflecting the blueness of the sky
- Concealing silver fishes
- Quietly biding my time
- Stretching it out.
And so, and so it's gone now
- My ephemeral youth
- That precious once only gift
- That honeyed sweetness,
Leaving only the trembling resonance
Of distant echoes
From half-remembered hills.
--Neil Theasby, 2013. Used by permission.
I don't really think I squandered my youth but the fact remains that it is long gone and Neil's poem resonated with me. I hope readers of all ages will enjoy it.
Mrs. RWP (the lovely Ellie) and I celebrate our 63rd wedding anniversary this month. We have three children currently aged 58, 60, and almost 62. We have six adult grandchildren ranging in age from 25 to 30. We are happily anticipating the birth of our fourth great-grandson in early June. The song "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler On The Roof was sung at our daughter's wedding in 1993 as the parents of the bride and groom were escorted to their seats, and its words are even sweeter today:
Sunrise, Sunset
Is this the little girl I carried,
Is this the little boy at play?
I don't remember growing older,
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty,
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn't it yesterday
When they were small?
Sunrise, sunset,
Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly flow the days.
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers,
Blossoming even as we gaze.
What words of wisdom can I give them,
How can I help to ease their way?
Now they must learn from one another,
Day by day.
Sunrise, sunset,
Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another,
Laden with happiness and tears.
Sunrise, sunset,
Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another,
Laden with happiness,
And tears.
I may be a sentimental old man now but I have memories, sweet ones and some not so sweet.
And yes, distant echoes from half-remembered hills.
Song for Lost Youth
Perhaps I should have cradled it
Like a dove
Kept it safe with tender love
But I squandered it -
Gushing-blundering-raging
Like a wild mountain stream
Desperate for an ocean
That was but a distant dream.
...I just never thought
That I could have loitered in the shallows
Reflecting the blueness of the sky
- Concealing silver fishes
- Quietly biding my time
- Stretching it out.
And so, and so it's gone now
- My ephemeral youth
- That precious once only gift
- That honeyed sweetness,
Leaving only the trembling resonance
Of distant echoes
From half-remembered hills.
--Neil Theasby, 2013. Used by permission.
I don't really think I squandered my youth but the fact remains that it is long gone and Neil's poem resonated with me. I hope readers of all ages will enjoy it.
Mrs. RWP (the lovely Ellie) and I celebrate our 63rd wedding anniversary this month. We have three children currently aged 58, 60, and almost 62. We have six adult grandchildren ranging in age from 25 to 30. We are happily anticipating the birth of our fourth great-grandson in early June. The song "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler On The Roof was sung at our daughter's wedding in 1993 as the parents of the bride and groom were escorted to their seats, and its words are even sweeter today:
Sunrise, Sunset
Is this the little girl I carried,
Is this the little boy at play?
I don't remember growing older,
When did they?
When did she get to be a beauty,
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn't it yesterday
When they were small?
Sunrise, sunset,
Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly flow the days.
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers,
Blossoming even as we gaze.
What words of wisdom can I give them,
How can I help to ease their way?
Now they must learn from one another,
Day by day.
Sunrise, sunset,
Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another,
Laden with happiness and tears.
Sunrise, sunset,
Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another,
Laden with happiness,
And tears.
I may be a sentimental old man now but I have memories, sweet ones and some not so sweet.
And yes, distant echoes from half-remembered hills.
Saturday, April 18, 2026
Now it can be told
For the last 15 months I have been writing a book and it is now finished.
For Christmas 2024, our oldest son and his wife gave me a subscription to Storyworth. I would be sent a question every week for a year and my responses would be made into a book at the end of the year. I did receive 52 questions during 2025 but life got in the way at times and I responded to only 29 of them. I was given another three months to edit and get the book ready for publication, which I did [edit and get the book ready for publication] and on March 29 of this year it was, as I said, finished. It has 158 pages, it is called Stories Of My Life, and there are four hardback copies of it in existence besides the pdf file on my computer.
Perhaps my life will now return to more or less what used to pass for normal. Then again, perhaps it will not, which, of course, is an altogether different kettle of fish from it cannot.
I ended my book with words from The Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam:
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
not because I am pretentious (the jury is still out, I think) but just because I wanted to and I could because it is in the public domain.
Meanwhile, the world has been going on. Assassinations occur with regularity and for many reasons (Charlie Kirk, the Ayatollah Khomeini), leaders are replaced (goodbye Orban, hello Magyar), straits open and close (Hormuz) and some things never change (Vladimir Putin, Britney Spears, Nancy Pelosi).
Perhaps one result of my having finished my book will be that the number of my blogposts per month will return to former levels. I hope so, but I'm not promising anything. After all, as you may have learned recently, I am 85.
Somewhere someone is rolling his or her eyes and thinking, "There's no fool like an old fool".
Our three little babies are now 61, 60, and 58 and our next wedding anniversary will be our 63rd. Time flies when you're having fun, n'est-ce pas? (and sometimes even when you're not).
The correct answer is oui.
Anyhoo, I'm more or less back and I trust that my vast reading audience is more or less happy about it.
For Christmas 2024, our oldest son and his wife gave me a subscription to Storyworth. I would be sent a question every week for a year and my responses would be made into a book at the end of the year. I did receive 52 questions during 2025 but life got in the way at times and I responded to only 29 of them. I was given another three months to edit and get the book ready for publication, which I did [edit and get the book ready for publication] and on March 29 of this year it was, as I said, finished. It has 158 pages, it is called Stories Of My Life, and there are four hardback copies of it in existence besides the pdf file on my computer.
Perhaps my life will now return to more or less what used to pass for normal. Then again, perhaps it will not, which, of course, is an altogether different kettle of fish from it cannot.
I ended my book with words from The Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam:
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
not because I am pretentious (the jury is still out, I think) but just because I wanted to and I could because it is in the public domain.
Meanwhile, the world has been going on. Assassinations occur with regularity and for many reasons (Charlie Kirk, the Ayatollah Khomeini), leaders are replaced (goodbye Orban, hello Magyar), straits open and close (Hormuz) and some things never change (Vladimir Putin, Britney Spears, Nancy Pelosi).
Perhaps one result of my having finished my book will be that the number of my blogposts per month will return to former levels. I hope so, but I'm not promising anything. After all, as you may have learned recently, I am 85.
Somewhere someone is rolling his or her eyes and thinking, "There's no fool like an old fool".
Our three little babies are now 61, 60, and 58 and our next wedding anniversary will be our 63rd. Time flies when you're having fun, n'est-ce pas? (and sometimes even when you're not).
The correct answer is oui.
Anyhoo, I'm more or less back and I trust that my vast reading audience is more or less happy about it.
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