My mommy told me a hundred million times not to exaggerate. But I continue to do so. When something is outrageously expressed, we can always say, “Well, you ought to know I was exaggerating, deliberately.”

For example, when we say, “We’ve been waiting for hours for Amtrak to arrive …“ (Well, that would be accurate.) Let’s say instead, “We’ve been waiting for hours for the Rail Runner.” That’s an exaggeration.

I received an e-mail from a reader, who forwarded a column by the humorist, Dave Barry. It’s titled “Colonoscopy,” and the writer mentions that he’s due to become the host to “a tube 17,000 feet” long. According to Barry, his doctor showed him a color diagram of the colon, “a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis.”

Slightly exaggerated, and I use the term slightly lightly, having become acquainted and re-acquainted with the procedure he describes.

Unlike Barry’s column, mine isn’t about that procedure, but rather on exaggerations in general, and other items alert readers have pointed out. It’s time to clear out the mailbox.

Here goes:

Veronna (Ronni) Roberts e-mailed to tell us that for weeks we’ve been writing in our Que Pasa notices, “The Las Vegas National Wildlife Refuge will be open to mourning dove hunting.”
Then she adds, “I didn’t know dove hunting was dead.”

Good point. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a mourning dove, nor an evening dove nor even a reason to mourn the fact. We need to be more precise, and I’ll recommend to Mercy Lopez, our La Gente editor, that she rephrase it this way: “… will be open to the hunting of mourning doves,” or better yet, “… will be open to the hunting of doves that mourn.”

Also writing was Bob Wessely, who cited a comment I’d made earlier about dams and damns. I had written, “(Dam) … represents a structure that’s going to solve all of Las Vegas’ water problems.”
Wessely correctly noted in his e-mail that, “The Peterson Dam project that’s being proposed will certainly be a big help in the direction of solving Las Vegas’ water problems. But it will not, even nearly, solve all of Las Vegas’ water problems.”

Right again. How can I convince readers that what I wrote was deliberate, contrived hyperbole? Obviously, City Dads and Moms have been trying for years to solve our water problems, but too often, after declaring our community in Stage 37 (another exaggeration), officials discover that Mother Nature, albeit late, has bailed us out, and “we don’t have to worry — ever again.”

In a follow-up e-mail, Wessely pointed out that my “problems solved” reference was far enough down in the column so as not to merit a correction. And he acknowledged that my irony was evident. But just for the record, I agree that proposed dam/damn projects may help but won’t solve all our water problems.

Remember years back when the drought was so severe that it modified churches’ baptismal regimens? Instead of immersing, the Mormons sprinkled; instead of sprinkling, the Catholics used a damp towel; and the Presbyterians issued rain checks.

• • •

Klare Schmidt earlier sent an e-mail in which she discussed a Texas couple, the man of slight build and woman quite a bit larger. According to Schmidt, “He startled me one time when he announced that he couldn’t attend one of our little gatherings because he had to ‘carry’ his wife to the doctor that afternoon.”

I heard that term in the mountains of Virginia years back, but the only other reference that comes to mind, coincidentally, is in the lyrics of an old song, “Carry me back to old Virginny.” Somehow, to carry, as in “get me there however you can,” has changed in meaning.

• • •

Decades back, there were fewer given names. My female classmates at Immaculate Conception school had names like Eileen, Cecilia, Virginia, Mary Lou, Mary Elaine, Fabiola, Isabel, Julia and Consuelo. Just to show how names and styles have changed, here are the given names exactly as they appeared in a recent caption to a photo of Las Vegas Xplosion’s softball team: Samantha, Kendra, Shanaya, Savannah, Rhiannon, Ashlea, Mikayla, Makayla and Cailyn.

There wasn’t a Loretta, Delia, Dolores or Margaret in the bunch.

• • •

Also from the mail bag: Chad Boliek forwarded a headline that had appeared in the Journal North: “Deputy Shot Man With Sword.” Adds Boliek, “Modern technology, no doubt.”

And the Columbia Journalism Review, which publishes unintentionally humorous newspaper headlines in each issue, once ran, “Police Kill Man With TV Remote.” Now that must have been the precursor to the Taser.

• • •

“When do we eat?”

“Ahorita!”

That was often our question and Mom’s answer. Dinner usually followed a half hour after her ‘ahorita, a routine that made us young Trujillos interpret “ahorita” as “pretty soon,” “when I’m ready” or “it’s ready when I say it’s ready.”

A college friend, raised in Mexico, once invited me on a trip to Santa Fe. “Vamos ahorita,” he said and immediately appeared at my office, in the same building.
“But wait a minute, Lee: ‘Ahorita’ means ‘pretty soon’ or ‘later on,’ doesn’t it?”

“No, it means ‘right now.’ Are you ready?”

I’ve discovered that in places like Mexico and Spain, “ahorita” comes closer to meaning “pronto” than “later.” I wonder whether New Mexico’s Land-of-Mañana attitude tempers the meanings of some words. Of course, in these parts, we usually elide the first vowel and make the word “horita,” with a silent “h.”
So, with that mini-language lesson, this column will end horita.