As third winter silently adds to the already burdened snowscape, I look at my calendar and notice Spring is almost ten days away. It will take a bit of doing to get my front yard free of snow. In good faith I have bought a Costco 100 count bag of bulbs. The instructions indicate I can plant in April. The countdown begins…
Vernal: of or relating to spring. Oh, yes, bring on the vernal.
Raillery: good-humored; banter. I will definitely be in good humor once the snow melts.
Indite: to compose or write, as a poem. Wordsworth knew all about composing poems about spring.
Guerdon: a reward, recompense, or requital. Spring is undoubtedly a reward for toughing out winter.
Baksheesh: a tip, present, or gratuity. See “guerdon.”
Tisane: herb-flavored tea. Hercule Poiret sure liked his daily tisane.
Osculatory: the act of kissing. Spring does bring out the osculatory.
De novo: anew; afresh; from the beginning. Spring is a reset of the seasons.
Pensee: a reflection or thought. I have definitely been in a pensee state of mind about how long winter has been lasting this year.
Brume: mist; fog. There will be some brume as the warm weather (it’s hoped) starts to melt that dratted snow.
Sitzmark: the sunken area from when a skier falls backward in the snow. Not to be confused with making a snow angel (and farewell to sitzmarks as the snow melts).
Trachle: an exhausting effort, especially walking or working. Yeah, like my walking trail after five inches of snow have covered it up–giving my Sorels a good workout this year mucking through the snow.
Jouissance: pleasure; enjoyment. And when the grass once again appears, and the robins return, I will express jouissance that winter has passed.
As I remind my students, a noun is a person, place, thing, or idea. Here is a list of distinctive nouns.
haphephobia: an extreme fear or dislike of touching or being touched.
skerrick: a small piece or quantity; a bit.
tohubohu: chaos; disorder; confusion.
hugger-mugger: secrecy; reticence.
chiaroscuro: the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting.
manavelins: miscellaneous scraps or small items, especially of food or gear.
exonumia: items, as tokens or medals, that resemble money but are not intended to circulate as money.
sumpsimus: adherence to or persistence in using a strictly correct term, holding to a precise practice, etc., as a rejection of an erroneous but more common form.
hydra: a persistent or many-sided problem that presents new obstacles as soon as one aspect is solved.
propinquity: nearness in place; proximity.
vibrissa: one of the stiff, bristly hairs growing about the mouth of certain animals, as a whisker of a cat.
concatenation: a series of interconnected or interdependent things or events.
foible: a minor weakness or failing of character; slight flaw or defect.
darg: a day’s work. Interesting that darg and darg share the same letters.
lustrum: a period of five years.
I need to find a way to wendle my appreciation for these fantabulous nouns in my sentences. It might become a foible in my darg to do so, give or take a lustrum.
Ah, September. The slow farewell to summer as school begins and the beaches close. This batch of words focuses on learning as the transition from beach bags to school bags takes place.
willyard: obstinate; willful (not all children, or adults, are joyful about attending classes)
obsteperous: noisy, clamorous, or boisterous (have you ever entered a kindergarten class on the first day?)
crankle: to bend; turn; crinkle (lots of paper, paperclips, pens and such to crankle in fall)
pother: a heated discussion, debate, or argument; fuss; to do (let’s hope these are avoided)
hebetude: the state of being dull; lethargy (this might be the case after a couple of months of vacation)
antediluvian: very old, old-fashioned or out of date; antiquated (some students might feel this way about their teachers)
tirrivee: a tantrum (students and teachers might throw one or two of these depending on how classes go)
swivet: a state of nervous excitement, hast, or anxiety; flutter (applies to both students and teachers on the first day of school)
faineant: idle; indolent (these moments do happen-to teachers as well)
amity: friendship; peaceful harmony (getting along is a key goal)
If not attending school, do any of the above work for you in your situation?
I do so enjoy picking up new words from a book I’m reading. Usually I garner a couple, now and then a handful. Sometimes though, a book will offer a plethora of new diction and I am in linguaphile bliss. Virgil Wander provides an amazing array of words. It’s not so much the actual word Leif Enger interjects, it’s how he applies it that makes the usage so noticeable and appealing.
Let’s begin…
Did you know there is a word for the sound of the wind flowing through trees or through the sea? I didn’t either. It’s known assoughing.
If something is rotten and falling apart, rightly call it out by saying its manky.
Why call it a bat when pipistrelle is more fitting.
As for contributing to the possible delinquent tendencies of minors, especially males, save them from future recidivism by taking away temptations.
Pick up a twin-coil guitar pick if you desire, although utilizing a humbucker sounds much more fun.
Once I realized I was on to a vein of golden lexicon, I began saving sentences and contemplating and translating into my own bag of definitions and choices.
“They had some devious sentience.”My choice would be sense of being or awareness.
“...wrote exegetical papers. Explaining something sometimes is not enough.
I then thought, “sentences and page number”:
“I won’t deny my vocal elan took a hit (p. 122). I would have said enthusiasm.
“..left out the rumors of his expiry (p.130) Death is simply too bland.
“The sheriff is not laconic or severe” (p.136) Here I would have said the sheriff was a touch recalcitrant, but sheriffs of few words are bordering on cliche.
“she had passerine eyes” (p.168 ) Is that a compliment or an astute observation if a girl has bird-like eyes? Is she a hawk, a sparrow, a chickadee? I need to take a look for myself.
“…he attenuated his budget” (p. 172) Why lessen the budget when attenuating it sounds more dire?
This word: repatriate*, threw me. This is where a prisoner of war, a refugee, or in some cases, artwork (such as 170 films ranging from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to Rock Hudson’s Pretty Maids All in a Row) are returned to the point of origin. Here’s the really interesting part–this is a bona fide job. What would it be like to roll up to someone’s house and say, “Hi, I’m here to repatriate that Van Gogh that you thought you purchased from a legitimate source, only to find out it was stolen from a museum? *One of they key elements of the plot was how Virgil inherited a stash of films when he purchased the movie theater. Their legal status created some angst on Virgil’s behalf. As a result, it might require an act of conscience to repatriate the films.
Instead of saying a building was similar in style, Enger says it’s an iteration (p.191)
Why saying the items were falling apart when putrescent is so much more exact? (p.191)
As for the bad guy in Enger’s story, he isn’t merely a villian, he’s “inveterate predator” (p. 219)
When throwing a wild studio fim party, drunken revel comes to mind, but that seems rather base, even banal–Enger describes these parties as bacchanalia (p. 222)
I favor the word brio, since it is a deeper, more expressive descriptive of enthusiasm. Enger interjects it to describe a particular film (p.223)
Remember that villian? He is also described as being avaricious (p.239).Being a bad guy is one thing, being a greedy bad guy is quite a different category of bad.
No one wants to be defined as a lout, especially not a raffish lout (p.423).
Obfuscation is always a better choice than plain old confusion (p.249).
I’ve not looked into the eyes of a sturgeon lately, or ever, for that matter. It would be of great consternation if the eyes of said sturgeon were insouciant (p.189). How can a fish have carefree eyes? Actually, if you read the book and make some decisive connections between the villain and the sturgeon, Enger knew that insouciant was appropriate.
Reading Virgil Wander kept me scampering between looking up the words, translating connotative and denotative meaning, and outright marveling over the usage. The only other book in which I do the dictionary shuffle is Bronte’s Jane Eyre.
What is most admirable about Virgil Wander and his first person vernacular narrative is that he complains how he can’t always find the right word since his accident, when he drove his car into the lake and sustained a few injuries including head trauma. I wonder what his lexicon abilities were prior to his concussion? As much as I love words I am fine staying on this side of the guard rail and the lake and will not be seeking water immersion to improve my vocabulary.
If you haven’t discovered Virgil Wander by Leif Enger, I hope my review and Word Nerds post have convinced you how it is a need to read selection.
Having just enjoyed a lovely Valentine’s Day weekend (actually it was a gotta-get-outta-the-snow escape) I am relaxed and ready with a new outlook that should see me through the rest of winter. Longer days and bluer skies make a difference in maintaining a cheerful outlook.
As a celebrant of fresher weather ahead, I’ve pulled some words out of storage that produced a bit a happy when first discovered.
1. kvell: to be extraordinarily pleased; especially to be bursting with pride, as over one’s family.
2. persiflage: light bantering talk or writing.
3. rax: to stretch oneself, as after napping [nite: it took four times for auto-check that “rax” is the word I actually wanted, not “fax” or even “dad”]
4. prevenance: special care in anticipating or catering to the needs and pleasures of others.
5. gallimaufry: a hodgepodge; humble;confused medley.
6. snarf: to eat quickly and voraciously [I didn’t realize this is a legitimate word–it’s been a part of my lexicon ever so long].
7. deipnosophist: a person who is an adept conversationalist at a meal.
8. oneiric: of or relating to dreams.
9. trangam: an odd gadget; trinket.
10. flaneur: idler; dawdler; loafer [thus definition doesn’t describe the full concept–go here to discover what a flaneur is all about].
I might have mentioned it before that my heritage harkens back to the Isle of Skye in Scotland. Since that discovery I have grown more aware of all that is Scottish. This month I favor words that have Scottish roots. I might have to dedicate a post to famous Scots. I do enjoy listening to David Tennant and his broguish wit.
Who has the knack for Scottish wit and bravado? The Doctor, of course.
grumphie: a pig
hooly: gently
sennachie: a storyteller
blellum: an indiscreet talker
atweel: surely
shavie: a trick or a prank
I’ve come across other Scottish words in my readings of authors such as D.E. Stevenson and Allan MacKinnon that leave me puzzled to the point of setting my book down and searching out its meaning.
One of the words that stumped me was “ken.” Sentences like, “I ken your meaning,” really threw me. Context sleuthing pointed me towards understanding, but I finally looked it up and got this from dictionary. com:
verb (used with object),kenned or kent,ken·ning.
Chiefly Scot.
to know, have knowledge of or about, or be acquainted with (a person or thing).
to understand or perceive (an idea or situation).
Scots Law. to acknowledge as heir; recognize by a judicial act.Archaic. to see; descry; recognize.
To “ken” something means to have a deeper understanding that just a mere acknowledgement. It’s one of those words that doesn’t translate well out of its cultural context–I ken that some words do better in their home language.
What Scottish words have you come across? Better yet, which of the above is one you are adopting? I’m leaning towards grumphie, as I do enjoy Guinea pigs. Then again, tossing out hooly at the right instance could be satisfying.
Pam Webb 