Human beings are the only creatures on earth that allow their children to come back home.

~ Bill Cosby ~

Love In Buckets

November 28th, 2013 ~ Est. reading time: 1 min, 58 secs

Love immeasurable.

Love immeasurable.

You need a lot of love. But how we measure it seems pretty odd.

Buckets of love are a rather strange measure, don’t you think? Except to say that it seems like a lot. Mind you, I cannot get the picture out of my mind of all that love sloshing about and spilling all over the carpet. As a container, pails aren’t exactly made for love.

Nor are spades for that matter. Fancy having love in spades? Nobody says love in shovels, but surely in spades is equally strange. “Darling, look at what is in those spades. That’s how I feel about you”. I don’t know about you, but to me that’s not a pretty image.

Or how about spoons? That kind of makes sense. Putting another ever loving’ spoonful down the red lane could well apply to those times when your little ones could sense your warmest intentions as you patiently tended to their feeding (That is, when they were little – our little ones are now big enough to throw us over their heads and then lay waste to a city. Kind of like Godzilla when he was cross).

So how do we handle spoons of love? Very gingerly, so as not to spill a drop? And when you do let one flip onto the floor, is it best thrown into the sink or stacked into the dishwasher?

No wonder some people have reverted to oodles. What’s an oodle? Well, according to the Merriam Webster Dick & Harry (okay, dictionary) it means quite a lot. Well, not as in meaning much of anything. Just that from 1867 onwards, the word “oodles” began being used to describe something in large amount. Like love.

This though is surely an act of desperation. Oodles of love? Rhyming poets hate these expressions. You’ve only got poodles, noodles, doodles, boodles and caboodles to go with it, which – let’s face it – is hardly going to end well.

“I love you oodles when covered in noodles that you forked out on with boodles. So much so that I like doing doodles of you, your poodle, and your whole kit and caboodle” (told you).

So if you and I retreat to known knowns or known unknowns, etc. and so forth, you know love in generous supply is impossible to quantify. You could love someone in spades (though strangely not in hearts or clubs) and, somehow, thanks to the magic of what we cannot describe, we would know what you mean.

You might profess to swoon over a spoonful of the stuff and blend thoughts of love with delicious dessert. But buckets of love? That’s a funny way of saying a whole lot of love. But we know what we mean, and I think we like it.

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