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PatchWork by Joyce Whitis |
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PatchWork by Joyce Whitis |
One of my most favorite writers is Leon Hale, columnist for the Houston Chronicle and author of several books. Leon was born right here in Stephenville, in a house that used to stand in the parking lot of the First Methodist Church. Well...maybe not in the parking lot but where that slab of cement lies today anyway.
At least that's what he told me once in an e-mail letter.
I became a fan of the writer through my brother who lived in Houston for more than 40 years until he died last January. Chan never missed reading Hale's column and would frequently call me up to read something over the phone that especially tickled him. After we hooked on to the internet, that was no longer necessary since I could read all of Hale's stuff for myself as well as send him electronic letters to which he never failed to respond.
Last November he was in Stephenville for a book signing at Buy the Book and I asked him to autograph a copy of his latest book, Home Spun, for my brother. Both were bomber pilots in WW11 and he mentioned that on the flyleaf, further endearing himself to me and causing me to volunteer to march at the head of his fan club parade when he next came to town.
Hale has a spot on the net called Wordplay where he takes a word or phrase and really works it over. I find this great entertainment and mind expanding at the same time. Recently he considered the word hell and its many uses such as in a hell of a pitcher (meaning outstanding), hell's half acre (an unpleasant place) and the car from hell (something you'd never want to drive). After reading his commentary, I thought of a few references myself.
When I was really pretty small, about three or four, I heard my dad shout to my mother, "Blanche, I'm going to Hell. I'll be back about six o'clock."
At my age I had already heard about the place where bad people burn forever and when I heard my daddy say that was where he was going, I started to cry. Then I remembered he also said he'd be back about six o'clock so I ran to ask my mother about that. She laughed so hard she had to take a seat when she heard my question, then she explained that Dad had named a certain piece of land infested with Johnson grass, Hell, with a capital H. He just meant that he was going to that spot to work but he'd be back for supper.
An expression that I've heard a lot in my life when talking about somebody whose lifestyle seemed to be leading him in the wrong direction in a hurry is, "he's goin' to hell in a handbasket". I suppose he's being carried along because of being in the handbasket.
As Hale says, "The word hell is so useful in self expression. I think it's unfortunate that so many feel it's a curse word." Since that is the case, we hear spoken efforts to soften the effect by using other words when we really mean hell. "Who in blazes do you think you are?" comes to mind along with "Where in Hades do you think you're going?"
Heck is often used as a subsitute for the real thing. You get tied up in traffic when you are really late for a meeting and you take your head in your hands and sigh out loud, "This is a heck of a mess."
When you are really ticked off at somebody you are sure to give them unmitigated heck and while cheering on a political speech you might yell out, "Give 'em heck!" Somehow the true meaning just doesn't get across when other words are used.
Once we lived neighbors to one of the most Christian souls you'd ever want to share the neighborhood with and one of her favorite expressions when she felt that things weren't really taking a good turn was, "I'd sooner be in hell with my back broke."
I think you'd have to agree that situation would be the absolute worst. Being in heck just somehow doesn't glow with the real feeling.