"It took me a long time to figure out that gossip, otherwise known as the spitting of words that may or may not be true but seem to carry with them information that no one else in the world may have, is currency to a bored brain."
Long Road to the Circus by Betsy Bird.
I find this little tidbit in a middle grade novel~~middle grade's intended audience is for 8-12 year olds, and it is a valuable piece of information for a young, developing human being--as well as an older mind.
It used to be that when I would slip and divulge private information to one of my daughters, they assumed I was an unsafe keeper of knowledge, but I reminded them that I did indeed keep private things private-- "Just imagine how many things I haven't told you." It was true' I was the keeper of many privacies whispered to me in secret and sworn never to divulge. But their suspicions caused me to be more careful and not to slip or get trapped by people who can whittle the truth right out of your wood.
You know that kind of person. After years of exposure and regret, I've figured out their wily ways. First they divulge something highly confidential to take you under their wing. Ahhh, they trust me you think, and therefore I can trust them. And you slip. And you're mad at yourself because you flew right smack into the middle of their spider web.
And speaking of spiders, I have a very good spider story. My mother is a devoted grave-wife. Each change of season and holiday, she is at my father's grave with a new floral arrangement. Christmas, Easter, Valentine's Day, each have their own colorful display of devotion. She has been told on many occasions, that her arrangements bring cheer to an uncheerful place. The only problem in her decorating is that periodically flowers have to be removed to keep the cemetery fresh looking. The last time decorations and flowers had to be removed, they were too nice of silk flowers to throw away, so she threw the flowers in her trunk--and left them for too long. Or just long enough for the spiders to emerge and migrate to the back seat of her brand new luxury car, to lay their eggs and multiply.
Mom of course, never sits in the backseat, and rarely has passengers. It wasn't until she had the car cleaned that the cleaning man discovered her ghoulish back seat (weeks before Halloween).
I throw this spider story in because it has a lot to do with the "spitting of words that carry information that is currency to a bored brain."
For gossip is like spiders and spider webs. It's a trap and an undesirable addition to the back seat of a car and the cells of a brain.
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