Word: Propinquity

propinquity

[proh-ping-kwi-tee]

noun

1. nearness in place; proximity.

2. nearness of relation; kinship.

3. affinity of nature; similarity.

4. nearness in time.

**************************************************             

              “So, what’ve we got?” Lt. Maywood asked.

                “A whole field full of needle mines.”  Cline said.  He fiddled with the controls on his scope, zooming in to get a better view of the floating metal balls.

                “Any way through?” Maywood asked.

                “Not likely.  From here it looks like they’re too close together.  Close enough that there’s no way through.  Well, at least the first few rows do.  No gaps.  No way thorough without setting one off.”

                The officer swore under his breath.  The other members of his unit shuffled nervously.  None of them had any idea what to do.  They had experience with the floating mines, and it never turned out well for anyone on the receiving end.  A large amount could effectively stop even a large infantry unit in its tracks, to say nothing of a small one like theirs.

                You sure about that?”  Asked Jones, the newest member of the squad.  “They look pretty far apart to me.  It should be easy to slip through those things.”

                “Sure does look like that, doesn’t it?” Cline replied.  “But that’s how they get you.  Those things have a five foot detonation range.  You get within that radius and we’ll be picking two inch spikes out of your fresh corpse.”

                Jones’ face went white.  The idea of death by spike wasn’t a pleasant one for him.  The others didn’t react.  They all knew it wasn’t the worst way to go on the battlefield.  At least with the needle mines the body was recognizable. 

                “How soon until the scheduled rendezvous?”  Maywood asked.

                “Twenty minutes.”  Rogers, the smallest member of the squad answered.  “Problem is it’ll take at least twenty five to cross the field, even without the mines.”

                Maywood swore again.  It was too soon.  The time limit was coming up too quickly, and there was nothing he could do about it.  At least all of his superior officers would find his excuse reasonably sound.  The mine field was, in that regard, a blessing.  It meant the most he would get was a stern talking to, since not even his superiors could argue with a mine field full of needle mines.  Nobody would fault him for being late once they confirmed it.

                “Can we go around?” Jones asked.

                “It’ll take too long.”  Cline answered.  He fiddled with the scope, trying to find the end of the field.  “The mines extend almost two miles all around, and aside from this hill it’s all open terrain.  We’ll be sitting ducks.”

                “Edwards, we got any armors left?”  Maywood asked the squad’s carrier.  The large man dug into his backpack.

                “No, sir.”  He said.

                “Any stealths?”

                “Nope.”

                “Shields?  Decoys?”

                “No and no.  Oh, we do have one speeder left.”  He said, taking out a small, glowing yellow ball.

                “Great.”  Maywood said.  He now regretted using so many boosters in an earlier firefight.

                “Can’t we use it?” Rogers asked.  “I mean, I can go down and use it just before entering their range, then run though and open a hole.  I’m pretty fast even unboosted, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

                “Won’t work.” Maywood said.  It was a good plan in most other situations, but not here.  “There’s too many mines, and they’ll come out at you faster than you can move, even with the boost.  Even if you do manage to avoid them, once it runs out you’ll be a goner.  Plus, those mines are so close together you might trigger two or three at once without meaning to.  It’s no good throwing your life away on something that won’t get us anywhere.”

                The squad rummaged around, each of them doing their best to think of some way through the obstacle in front of them.  None of them worked.  The arrangement of the mines and the short time they had left made it an effort in futility.

                “Hey, can’t we just shoot them?”  Jones asked, brandishing his weapon.  “You know, set ‘em all off from here.”

                “That would work.”  Cline said.  “The impact would trigger the mines just fine, and we’re far enough away that the needled won’t hit us.  Plus, we can probably pick up the spent ones and use them later for something.”

                “And we can also paint a big red sign that says ‘Come kill us’.”  Maywood said. 

                “So then we just shoot one.”  Rogers said.  “Since they’re so close together the needles from that one will probably hit a few more, right?  And then those will hit more.  It probably won’t take out the whole field, but it’ll be enough for us to get through just fine.  And one shot won’t give our position away, since the enemy probably isn’t looking too hard right now in any one place.  Multiple shots would, but one should be alright.  Then it’s just a standard open field run.”

                Maywood considered the plan.  He could see many flaws with it, even if it did work.  But it was also the best option they had with their current equipment.  It would certainly clear out a good portion of the mines if they were lucky, and even if they weren’t it would take a few of them out.  Enough that they could at least risk the run with only their standard energy shielding.  Plus, with the rendezvous so close at hand, they didn’t have much choice anymore.

                “All right.”  He said with a sigh.  “I’ll take care of the shot.  Once the needles start flying, we start running, got it?”

                Every member of the squad responded.  Maywood got his gun and lined up the shot, pausing just long enough for his men to ready themselves.  Once he was confident they would all be ready, he pulled the trigger.

***************************************

Sounds like a video game, doesn't it?  But it's not.  It's a sci-fi story.  Although, it probably would form the basis of a decent game, don't you think?    

Word: Gormandize

gormandize

[verb gawr-muh n-dahyz; noun gawr-muh n-deez]

verb (used with or without object), gormandized, gormandizing.

1. to eat greedily or ravenously.

noun

2. gourmandise¹.

 **************************************************************

              “So, I’ve got a quick question for you.”  Alice said.  Wayne’s eyes moved up to look in her general direction.  It was the only acknowledgment she could have hoped for at that moment.  “Do you actually taste any of that, or is it just disappearing too fast?”

                Wayne swallowed the mouthful of mashed potatoes, gravy and turkey.  Alice was glad he did so before he said anything.

                “Sure I taste it.”  He said.  If I didn’t I wouldn’t be easting any of this stuff.”

                “Uh huh.”  Alice wasn’t so sure.  Given his rate of consumption, she wouldn’t be surprised if none of the flavors were registering with him at all, no matter what he said.  “So, what, you’re eating so fast because it tastes bad or something?”

                “Pff, no.  It’s all great stuff.”

                “So shouldn’t you savor it a bit more?  You know, slow down a bit and enjoy it more?” 

                “But then I wouldn’t be able to eat as much of it.”  Wayne said.  He acted as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  It just made Alice disgusted that she swam in the same gene pool as him.  “Speaking of, I’m gonna get some more stuff.  You want anything?”

                “No.”  She said flatly. 

He still had food on his plate and yet, he felt the need to get more.  It was just confusing.  After watching him, she almost didn’t want to touch the food that was still on her plate.  And yet, she speared a few green beans onto her fork and ate them at a much slower rate than her cousin would have.  He was at least right about everything being delicious.  It was still unnerving how fast he ate it all though, to say nothing of how much he had already eaten.

When Wayne came back, he had an amount of food on his plate that spoke nothing of the fact that he had taken two such platefuls already.  Without a moment’s hesitation, he dug in to the heaping mounds of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and other assorted Thanksgiving offerings. 

“How in the world can you stomach all that?  I mean, you’ve eaten enough for, like, three or four people already.” Alice asked.  Wayne swallowed a large mouthful and answered.

“Easy.  I didn’t eat anything until now.  I mean, the whole point of Thanksgiving is to stuff your face, and I’ve been prepping my stomach for just that all day.”

Alice didn’t really want to mention that eating was not the point of the holiday, but Wayne had already buried himself in his plate already.  Somehow she didn’t think he would respond to such statements.  It wasn’t that he wouldn’t hear them, his earlier answers proved that.  It was more that he simply didn’t care about any other meanings for Thanksgiving other than the massive meal that it came with. 

“Look, are you at least going to leave some room for dessert?”  She asked.  The mention of dessert might at least get him to slow down a bit.

“Of course I am.”  He said.  “No need to worry about that.  I always have enough room for that.”  he said proudly. 

“Of course you do.”  Alice said through a sigh.  She was much more careful in how much she was eating, and did so at a slow, controlled rate.  Wayne looked up from his plate long enough to see how slowly she was eating.

“So, uh, Alice, you, uh, you gonna finish all that?”

**********************************

Happy Thanksgiving all!  Try not to stuff yourself too much, kay?

Word: Hortatory

               

hortatory

[hawr-tuh-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee]

adjective

1. urging to some course of conduct or action; exhorting; encouraging:

a hortatory speech.

 ****************************************************

               “Are you sure this is safe?”  Joel said loudly.

                “Sure, sure.  It’s perfectly safe.”  Henry replied.

                “Really?  Cause I read before that people get hurt really bad riding these.”

                “Where’d you here that, buddy?”

                “Internet.”

                Henry sighed.  He knew letting his son on the internet without supervision would lead to things like that.  His mother said he could use the independence, but Henry was well away of the dangers of the internet, especially for an eight year old boy.

                “I told you that you can’t believe everything you see on the internet.”  Henry said.  “Riding a bike is perfectly safe.  The most you’ll get is a scraped knee and hands.  Besides, you’ve got those neat training wheels.  You’d have to actually want to fall with those on.  The only way you’ll fall with those on is if you trip getting off.”

                Joel twisted around and looked at the small wheels in question.  Somehow he seemed to be unconvinced.

                “Are you really sure?”  He asked again.

                “Completely.  It’s easy too.  All you have to do is put your foot on the pedal and push.  Once you’re pedaling, it’s easy.”

                “I don’t know.  It doesn’t look very steady.  It won’t fall over while I’m riding, will it?”

                “Only if you stop pedaling before you’re ready to stop.  Trust me, it’s really easy.  I used to do this all the time when I was your age.”

                “Really?”  Joel looked at his father with an almost confused look on his face.  Henry could only imagine the boy was having more trouble imagining he was once eight years old more than anything. 

                “Yup.  I rode my bike all around town just about every day.  In all that time, I never got anything worse than a few scrapes.  And even then, I didn’t get them very often.”

                Joel still seemed unsure.  He looked at the front wheel of the small bicycle, still wondering how two thin wheels could keep it upright. 

                “Look, you see people riding bikes all the time right?”

                “Uh huh.”

                “So you know they work.  The only difference is the size of the bike.  All you have to do is pedal and you’ll be fine.  Besides, I’ll be right here just in case something does go wrong.”

                “Okay, I guess.”  Joel said hesitantly. 

                He took a deep breath and put both his feet up on the pedals at once.  The bike tipped, but the training wheels did their job and keep him from falling. Joel looked up at his father with an expression that combined panic with a smug, “I told you so” quality. 

                “See, dad?”  Joel said.  “I did what you said, and I fell.”

                “But the training wheels kept you from hitting the ground.  Look, you made a simple mistake.  I did the same thing when I first started out.  When you want to start, you have to keep one foot on the ground, and one foot on the pedal.  Then you push off and start pedaling with both feet, get it?”

                “I think so.”  Joel said with a furrowed brow.

                “Good.  Now, try again, and don’t be afraid.  You won’t get hurt, I promise.”

                Joel tried again, this time following Henry’s instructions.  Slowly but surely, he started to ride his bike.  It was at a slow, shaky pace, but he was moving forward.  Henry cheered and applauded his son’s accomplishment.  When Joel finally stopped, he looked up at Henry with wide, excited eyes.

                “Did you see, dad?  Did you see?  I did it!”

                “Good job, buddy. Now you just have to keep practicing, and soon you’ll be a real pro.”

                “You mean that?  Really?”  Joel asked, now very excited by the prospect.

                “Sure, no sweat.  I’m sure you’ll be able to do all kinds of things with a bike when you really know what you’re doing.”

                Joel was clearly already thinking of some of the things he could be doing.  Henry had no doubt it mainly consisted of stunt and BMX type things, rather than simply riding around town.  He couldn’t exactly say he was thrilled with either prospect, but he could deal with them when they came up.

                Instead of riding around more, Joel hoped off the bike in an effort to run to Henry.  As he did though, his foot caught on one of the metal supports.  He let out a yelp and hit the ground.  As Henry rushed to check on his son, he couldn’t help be find what just happened a bit funny.  He didn’t actually say anything about that though.

***********************************************

Ah, the first bike ride.  A right of passage for the parent as much as for the child.  I'm sure every father out there knows what this is like.  Maybe not exactly like this, but just the nature of teaching a child to ride a bicycle in general.

                                              

Word: Magnanimous

magnanimous

[mag-nan-uh-muh s]

adjective

1. generous in forgiving an insult or injury; free from petty resentfulness or vindictiveness:

to be magnanimous toward one's enemies.

2. high-minded; noble:

a just and magnanimous ruler.

3. proceeding from or revealing generosity or nobility of mind, character, etc.:

a magnanimous gesture of forgiveness.

******************************************************

Maxwell sat at his desk and looked at the man in front of him.  The man was sweating rivers and was clearly very scared.  he had every right to be, considering what he had done.  The man’s crime was not small, and he no doubt deserved any punishment Maxwell would lay upon him.  But, he had also given Maxwell nearly ten years of good, dependable service that was not to be overlooked.  Maxwell considered his options for a moment before coming to a decision.  He was in a magnanimous mood that day.

                “You have done me a great disservice.”  Maxwell said.

                “Y-yes, sir, I-I know that.”  The man said.  His eyes were wide with panic and fear.

                “Yet, you have also done many great things for me.  These are not to be overlooked.  I feel that in this case, your service has outweighed your disservice.  As such, I will let you go this time.”

                “R-really?  Thank you, sir.  Thank you.”  The man said, with a large smile on his sweat stained face.

                “However, this will be the only time such a thing is forgiven.  Next time you hurt me so, I will not be so generous.”

                “Y-yes.  Yes, of course.  It’ll never happen again, I swear.”

                “Very good.  Now, get out of here.”

                The man quickly headed for the large, wooden double doors.  He was clearly glad to be leaving that particular room, and equally glad to be doing so under his own power.

                “Why’d you let that guy off?”  Said a man at Maxwell’s left.  “You know what he did.”

                Maxwell turned to his left hand man.  This was one of the two people who Maxwell trusted above all others.  It was certainly enough to consider him for Maxwell’s position after his passing.  The other man who was up for the job stood at Maxwell’s right, saying nothing about what had just happened.

                “Because I felt it was time to show some mercy.”  Maxwell said.

                “Mercy?  Why show mercy?  It just makes you look weak.”

                “That all depends on how it is used.  Fear is a powerful motivator, but it does not inspire loyalty.  Showing mercy can do just that.  Of course, not all the time mind you.  The threat of punishment is a fine deterrent.  It can keep a man from committing an injustice.  But mercy makes it so they will not consider doing such an injustice.  One must know how to balance the two.  When to punish a transgression and when to forgive it.  Do you understand?”

                “Not right now, no.  But I’ll think it over.”

                “Very good, very good.  That is all I can ask of you both.  Now then, do send in the next one.”

                A signal was given, and the next man came in.  He was just as nervous as the first.  Even before he had entered the room, it was obvious that he had been soaked with his own sweat.

                “Now, what has this man done?”  Maxwell asked.

                “He skimmed money off the jobs he’s done.”  His right hand man said.  “In total, he’s stolen $150,000 from you.”

                “N-No, no, I swear, I didn’t do it!  It’s a lie!”  The man said.  Maxwell said nothing.  he just looked at the panicking man.  It was all he needed to do.  “O-okay, m-maybe I did skim a few bucks here and there  B-but I needed it.  I-I swear it was all necessary for me.”

                “And why was it necessary?”  Maxwell asked.

                “I…I…”

                “There’s evidence that he was trying to use it to start his own faction.”  Maxwell’s right hand man spoke up.  The terrified man stiffened and his eyes widened.

                “I see.  So you wish to set yourself up then?”  Maxwell said.  His magnanimous mood had passed.  “Well then, I do believe I shall help you with that.  Of course, you will still be working under me, but I think I can give you a bit of land to control.  Say, on the East Side?”

                The man’s eyes grew even wider with pure fear.

                “N-no, no.  Anything but that!  Please, I have a family.”

                “And I am sure they will love your new apartment.  You know the East Side is facing the sea.  It has such a lovely view.  And you will be in charge of the entire area.  It can be quite lucrative if handled correctly.  Now, away with you.  All arrangements will be made for your transfer.”

                The man was pulled out of the room kicking and screaming.  It was no wonder, really.  The East Side was notorious.  It had the single highest mortality rate of any other area under Maxwell’s control.

                “Huh.”  Maxwell’s left hand man said.  “A punishment and a reward all in one.  Mercy and discipline.”

                “Precisely.”  Maxwell said.  “It is always good to know when and where to use the carrot and when to use the stick.  Learn that and you will be a truly great leader.”

*******************************************

I'd say this is true for anything, really, not just in the world of organized crime.  Real shame most people in positions of power don't seem to understand.