WYSIWYG

A new word or acronym is validated when it makes it to print. In 1982, Byte magazine printed the following definition to an acronym for a 20th century phrase commonly used in advertising and slapstick comedy: “ 'What you see is what you get' (or WYSIWYG) refers to the situation in which the display screen portrays an accurate rendition of the printed page.” 

 

I have never danced with any grace. What you see when I move is simply movement.

This is no surprise to anyone nor is it anything I have had to hide or lie to myself about. On this one point I can claim that I have been honest, and as small as that point is, it is the starting point for the string of self deceptions I try to keep at bay.

Being honest with myself.

I work at honesty and transparency, and I truly don’t want to offend anyone by the joy I feel just by dancing. I am simply an awkward, distracted lady who has graduated bifocals. They blur the world for me. Sometimes I miss signs or people who crouch in my peripheral vision. They are easy to miss  as I spin, pretending to be graceful.

I felt no deceit or conspiracy to deceive anyone when I tried rinsing my hair to hide the gray, but I kept failing to keep up with the process. It was not up most in my priorities, because I don’t look at myself. So I would postpone, or do things in the evening, fit the process in of pretend beautification.  Not a good way to establish longtime personal grooming. Time? There was always something else to do. The silver hair does not yet dominate my head (note it is truly bright, catch-the-light silver, not gray) but I am comfortable with it. Yes, that is honestly spoken.

Being honest about my shortcomings.

There are other things I must be honest about. There is the general aging process that has settled in. It truly must be acknowledged, for it has loosened my skin and surrounded my eyes with bags and sags, and my mouth has rays of fine lines that are not sunny. I make lists that I check before, during, and after a shopping trip, IF I remember to make the list. 

Recalling names is another problem. How easy it would be if I could relax into simply remembering Pip or Joe Gargery. I love the logical names of Mr. Pocket (whether empty or full) and am always afraid I will slur or mispronounce a name. Sometimes, I will float in an almost-gotcha mode for a time span of 30 seconds (an uncomfortable time when the person stands face-to-face) to 3 days if someone has asked the do-you-remember question. And then the whole scenario of the friend will surface as though someone unfolded a crumpled piece of paper. 

Recalling former student names is worse. Because my memory is so visual, I will see the student in her desk or answering in class. I will hear her voice and, sometimes, remember a paper she wrote. In spite of all the recall, her name will evade me or melt into a sister-friend-soundalike. Names and tag-lines and quick recall items have always been my nemesis. Various mnemonics help for a time, but the strategies do not unfold memory quickly when time has tucked them away. 

As much as I play with words and love to repeat and memorize lines. I invariable remember the picture that is written in my mind over exact words. (I could describe in detail the wall Frost mended with his neighbor.) I don’t bowdlerize my Shakespeare, nothing so prudish because I remember those lines, it is the subtle meaning, the nuances that are essential to maintaining Shakespeare’s conundrums that invariably I flip and corrupt. How I find this frustrating. Pictures and chopped logic. 

Refresh and relax.

Smoothing the brain comes when I wrap around a book and release judgment or control. Honest in the time and space, I read. Here I am unhampered by myself, my stiff fingers, or the fear of forgetting a name. I delve into the world created for me and, honestly, dance beautifully.