The little blog that wasn't

I had a whole blog entry planned out the other evening. It was cool, it was fun, it was pithy. Unfortunately, it came to me as I was glumphing, and in the middle of it, I lost it.

Glumphing. You heard me. (Okay, you read me.) It's a word we've had in our family for about 25 years, and have shared along the way. When my older brother and I were in our teens, we were often asked by our mother to, "Go take the dry clothes out of the dryer, put the clothes that are in the washer into the dryer, and turn it on." Often, I tell you. It was the same litany, every time.

My older brother, Paul, in his ever-so-thoughtful way, realized that the amount of time our dear mother spent saying this could be used for more productive things, such as not giving us other stuff to do. So, one day, he said, "Hey, Mom, instead of saying, 'Go take the dry clothes out of the dryer, put the clothes that are in the washer into the dryer, and turn it on,' why don't you just say something simple, like.... 'glumph.'"

And so it stuck. (Not the part about not giving us other stuff to do, darn it.) We've used the word ever since, enduring the looks of tolerant concern from others, and loving the "us" feeling it gave us to use it.

We're not alone, apparently. A gent named Paul Dickson has collected over 700 of these so-called "family words" and written a book about them. I don't know if "glumph" is in it, but it ought to be. When you buy your copy, write it in the flyleaf.

As for that other, forgotten post... I'm going to go see if it fell into the laundry while I was glumphing.