I Used to Imagine . . . by Liz Burns

I used to imagine the meanings of words, rather than take the time to look them up in the dictionary. 

One of these words was peripatetic. It had a slightly anxious sound to it, as if something was teetering on the edge of a table or a cliff and could suddenly fall off.  Or maybe it described someone full of hysteria who could break out into unceasing cackling laughter at any minute.

Another word was redolent. I used to think it meant someone turning red. Then that image changed to someone turning red and holding on to something for dear life, as if they didn’t want to be dragged away from it. 

The word cutlery used to evoke a picture of hundreds of pairs of scissors of all different shapes and sizes, including barbering shears and hedge trimmers. 

When it came to more technical terms, my imagination ran amok. 

When I heard the word sluice, I pictured a long sliding board with grape juice flowing down it. 

Nuts and bolts were what was in the can of Planters mixed nuts on the counter.  

A railroad trestle was a bridge with decorations on i t— a lot of gauze and ribbons that cheered up the train as it went past.  

A manhole was where the street repair guys went to eat lunch, and asphalt and concrete were interchangeable because they both meant streets and sidewalks.