Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “indescribable.” Use the actual word in your post or just base your post on something that defies description. My suggestion on this one; think about something that you’re passionate about and just start writing. Have fun!
Oh yeah, I got this one.
My first thought was about that candy bar that was Indescribably Delicious, you know, Mounds. I immediately started humming “sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes, you don’t. Almond Joy’s got nuts, Mounds don’t.” Sometimes, I feel like a nut.
Other times, though, I feel like something that I can’t describe. An indescribable feeling of satisfaction that cannot be explained. It can be shared, but not entirely. I mean, you can let someone else have the same experience, but you can’t ever know that they feel the way you do. There are so many things like this that I can’t possibly list them, but, of course I’m going to try:
Using a plane, a spokeshave or a really sharp chisel – If you have used one of these tools, you know the feeling. Well, maybe you know the feeling. You know a feeling. I’m not sure it’s the same feeling I know, but you know. The sound, the feel, the transformation happening in front of your eyes, guided by your own hand(s) and the certainty of the curling evidence being left behind.
The view from the top – This summer, my daughter reintroduced me to hiking. Granted, I only made one significant hike with her, but I was able to experience the view from the top. I can show you pictures of it. I can tell you what it was like, but I can’t describe how it felt. The satisfaction. The wind. The realization that we had to hike back down and that that was going to be harder in some ways than hiking up was.
Fair food – If you work hard and choose your words carefully, you can describe a good meal. Restaurant critics do this every day. There’s a whole vocabulary dedicated to conveying the presentation, texture, spices and flavor of a fine dish. There’s nothing that adequately describes a sausage grinder, cooked on a flat-top grill that makes you think: “it’s probably not clean, but how many germs could live on that?” served in a napkin and eaten while walking along the midway. It doesn’t get any better, and yet it’s indescribable. You have to have been there and ate that to understand.
Fresh tomatoes – Not fresh form the store. Not even fresh from the farmer’s market. No, I’m talking about fresh from the garden. Your garden, or in this case, my wife’s garden. Cherry tomatoes, picked off the vine and eaten while walking the dog around the yard. Fresh large tomatoes cut into a salad, stirred into a sauce or sliced onto a sandwich. Fresh bread, oooh add that to the list, ‘cuz there’s no way to describe the smell and warmth and sensory overload associated with homemade bread. Oh, I got off course. Fresh bread, real butter – we get ours from a farm, nothin’ but moo – and a few generous slices of right-off-the-vine tomato. Earlier this year, a fellow blogger mentioned butter, peanut butter and tomato sandwiches. Don’t knock them until you try one, because they’re, well, you know, indescribable.
That look – You know the look, the one you get from your wife, your mother, your child, the dog or the cat. Yeah you know. The look that sends shivers down your spine. The look that says you’re probably not going to die, but if it were an option, you might consider it. The look that tells you that everything in the world is about to change and you can’t stop it. You can’t describe it, but you know it’s going to happen.
Draft beer – Not just any draft beer. Not even your favorite draft beer. I’m talking about the indescribable feeling you get when there’s an unexpected beer on tap. I was in New York earlier this week. When the waiter asked what kind of wine I would like, I replied: “what kind of beer do you have on tap?” It was one of those places where, when you ask for beer, you get that look. Not that look, not the world changing look, but that other look. The one that says this waiter’s opinion of you just dropped. As he rambled through the list, I heard a mumbled “Brooklyn Lager.” Stop the presses. I’ll have that, Brooklyn, yeah, that’s the “wine” I want.
That sound – Fortunately, I don’t know what this feeling feels like but I was there when our daughter Faith, dropped her iPhone on the unforgiving hard floor of my garage. I can only imagine. In other words, indescribable.
Now I have to find some pictures.