Since my morning began (all posts seem to begin with my mornings) with my old vocabulary workbook and coffee, I was pleased enough by my finds that I decided some words and derivations might be worth sharing with my blogging friends. Vocabulary isn't very fun if mentally hoarded away, as many logophiles might be inclined to do (always looking for the opportune occasion to bash someone over the head with an impressive word), but rather we might all have more interesting and fun conversations by using a choice, tasty word. This is likely quite elementary for any of you who have done the most basic latin or greek, BUT nevertheless (how nice that that's one word) it never hurts to do a little review.
Uxorious (adj)- dominated by one's wife. UXOR= latin for "wife" (Why isn't this word used more? I've heard so many guys say that they essentially don't want an uxorious wife.)
Avuncular (adj)- pertaining to uncle-like affection. AVUNCULUS= latin for "uncle" Easy to remember because its so close to "uncle".
Matrix (noun)- the surroundings within which something begins or develops. MATER/MATRIS= latin for" mother". I thought this worthy of inclusion just because there may be increased confusion of how to use this word since the film The Matrix was produced and our other affiliation with its use is in calculus boxes of numbers (or was that algebra? I haven't done (I'm pleased to say) much beyond simple math in quite some time...) Anyway, NOT just a framework of an idea, but the environment of its inception.
Pedant (noun)- A person who pays excessive attention to learning rules rather than to understanding. Paidos= greek for "child" or "boy". I think we're all familiar with "pedantic" but I think we should also starting calling our legalistic friends "pedants" to see how they react. (note: this is not very nice.) BUT the irony of using it like this is that pedant can also mean "a scholarly show-off." Thus, in calling our friends pedants, we ourselves might equally be the pedant. haha! it bit us in the bum.
And to differentiate between two similar sounding (I CAN'T think of the word for this!) words:
Misogamy (noun)- hatred of marriage GAMOS= greek for "marriage" So a misogamist is someone who hates marriage, not to be confused with
Misogyny (noun)- which is a hatred or distrust for women. GYNE= greek for "woman" I think we're all use to hearing a man being referred to as a "misogynist." We could infer that a misogynist will inevitably also be a misogamist, but a misogamist could still love women of any sort.
I feel like my little list is mostly of a nasty sort and we now know more words of an insulting, if not helpful nature. Thus lets conclude on a word to which we can direct all our various gender aspirations (I jest).
Virile (adj)- Having certain characteristics popularly associated with men, especially physical strength, procreative power, vitality and assertiveness (man oh man, what a list!). VIR= latin for "man". I must include the sentence example that reads, "The heroes of Ernest Hemingway's novels are often virile men who risk danger in war or sport" I am reading Hemingway right now for the first time and it was nice to come across him.
Nice is a word that I was repeatedly told not to use during primary school. It was written in large letters on a poster of forbidden words, tacked above the chalk board to remind us of what we shouldn't include in our monosyllabic writings (how cruel, when it's so easy to spell). Since it was so unceremoniously plucked from my vocabulary, today I have reinstated its use by using it twice in the post above. It is a very nice* word.
*NB (nota bene): Nice IS one of those words that has undergone utter transformation in its idiomatic meaning. It USE to mean "stupid or trivial" as derived from the latin word "nescius" so a "nice fact" was something unimportant or trivial. (I think this dates back to the 12th century). The only definitions that I could find that remotely connote this outdated meaning were: "having fastidious, finicky, or fussy tastes" and then a step up from that: "showing or indicating very small differences; minutely accurate." My best guess as to the etymology of the word would be that as precise and fussy habits became more aligned with culture values of refinement, it began to connote more positive meanings until we arrived at the present day's trivial meaning of being "inconsequentially pleasant" (my own definition.) I'm sure there's enough historical complexity to this word that one could write their thesis on it. So I'll stop here.
Feel free to make corrections or suggestions.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Daylight
"Hover over our darkness and depths. Create us once again.
Create us anew O God. Create us not novel, but new."
I saw my parent's room with new eyes as sunlight flooded the space and the golden walls hung with large-brimmed hats glowed with the light of morning. I wondered if a room of sheltered light would hinder adaptation to the outside world. Through many years I'd preferably stay inside where ugliness couldn't touch me. I admittedly still long for empyreal escape but I know not by which measure it's mine to demand. As a child at my friend's backyard lake where we held bare feet over still water, we dared each other to walk on the surface as Jesus once did. "If we but had faith the size of a mustard seed" we echoed "we could walk on water." We stood poised for motion on the wooden dock and looked down in to the muddy depths where we knew slimy black seaweed and silt awaited us if we sunk. Neither counting off or reckless abandon drove us to hurl ourselves off the dock. We'd eventually draw back our dirty feet and climb up to the house where the demands on faith and trust weren't so portentously held in our hands.
I've climbed two rock faces alone, without ropes in the wild where no one was there to see my ascent or my jubilant arrival at the top. Any fear of falling was kept in check by the anonymity of my endeavour and the knowledge that any pain or triumph was mine alone. Far from self-satisfied as I surveyed the landscape below, all I could say was, "It's just me, its just me." It felt incomplete to not share the sunlight or quiet woods, or the morning sky from a greyhound bus or smile together at the German family that fed their kids crackers and poked their curious faces above their seats. How many thoughts and memories do we keep contained within ourselves alone? This summer Tonya found an onion that had rolled beneath our mammoth kitchen stove, and we set it in the windowsill to let it recover under the long day's light. In its final hour we let the sunlight seep in before we buried it back in the ground. I was glad to be with someone who found this not hockie but sane. If we shed light on the small and the trivial, how much more exigent it seems to bare ourselves.
Create us anew O God. Create us not novel, but new."
I saw my parent's room with new eyes as sunlight flooded the space and the golden walls hung with large-brimmed hats glowed with the light of morning. I wondered if a room of sheltered light would hinder adaptation to the outside world. Through many years I'd preferably stay inside where ugliness couldn't touch me. I admittedly still long for empyreal escape but I know not by which measure it's mine to demand. As a child at my friend's backyard lake where we held bare feet over still water, we dared each other to walk on the surface as Jesus once did. "If we but had faith the size of a mustard seed" we echoed "we could walk on water." We stood poised for motion on the wooden dock and looked down in to the muddy depths where we knew slimy black seaweed and silt awaited us if we sunk. Neither counting off or reckless abandon drove us to hurl ourselves off the dock. We'd eventually draw back our dirty feet and climb up to the house where the demands on faith and trust weren't so portentously held in our hands.
I've climbed two rock faces alone, without ropes in the wild where no one was there to see my ascent or my jubilant arrival at the top. Any fear of falling was kept in check by the anonymity of my endeavour and the knowledge that any pain or triumph was mine alone. Far from self-satisfied as I surveyed the landscape below, all I could say was, "It's just me, its just me." It felt incomplete to not share the sunlight or quiet woods, or the morning sky from a greyhound bus or smile together at the German family that fed their kids crackers and poked their curious faces above their seats. How many thoughts and memories do we keep contained within ourselves alone? This summer Tonya found an onion that had rolled beneath our mammoth kitchen stove, and we set it in the windowsill to let it recover under the long day's light. In its final hour we let the sunlight seep in before we buried it back in the ground. I was glad to be with someone who found this not hockie but sane. If we shed light on the small and the trivial, how much more exigent it seems to bare ourselves.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Iowa
I woke up this morning in Iowa to a white sky and fast falling snow. I was grateful for the utter change in landscape that gave little reminder of the busy, full life of Vancouver distinguished by very un-winterish rain and grey. After a morning of reading I left the house for walk in the wind and muted blowing of snow. The silence of the house makes the words in my head sound louder and I'm once again bothered by my solo voice. I all too seriously entertained the idea of going downstairs and smashing the remaining cheerful teacup from an unbidden collection just for the satisfying smash and subsequent tidy-up. I'd forgotten how strangely self-centric my life here is. How I can go days without a sound until I'm abruptly shaken by my ability to speak in response to a mundane passing question. Part of me expects my tongue to have forgotten how to form audible words. I had spoken laughingly of my "monkish" existence, while forgetting the real quiet repose in which my days rest and roll by. My cat has followed and taken seat in my lap whenever I sit and he curls here now sandwiched between my arms on the table as I type at the keyboard. Cat of constant companionship.
Ben Steins (my celebrity of the hour) asked me yesterday whether I had a boyfriend, a question which only men over sixty seem to ask with consistent expectation. Responding "no" bothers me little in its statement or reality. More difficult is trying to explain how far-fetched this idea seems when I go home to St. Augustine's confessions and the voices of NPR that speak more relevantly in to my life than the culture around me. Boyfriends are starkly discordant with a life of plant watering and squash baking. As I survey my bedroom in anticipation of next year's move to Vancouver all I can envision is filling a suitcase with pillows, paintings and candle-sticks - an ultimately impractical collection which compromise the entirety of my few household possessions. I'm reminded of why my every thought and action must be deliberately reigned so to give my life direction and keep me sane. Structure is king. I can't complain because I have so much for which I am grateful and time here has taught me a lot about contentment even in the slow and mundane. A solidity in oneself might only be gained through silence. But I'm tired of a life so inwardly focused and I long to share conversation and laughter with others. Self struggle can eventually become masked self-indulgence and I want a life lived outwardly and in to the lives of other people.
On a different note, I would like to add my voice to those who'd outlaw leaf blowers and motorized snow scoopers. Besides all the important, warm, associate sentiments with raking and shovelling that provide a rich dimension of work and play in any season, the heinous noise of these machines shatters the delicate tranquility of our homes, replaces a family or community past-time, and adds to the trend in general societal laziness. If you use one of these devices I encourage you to rethink what was likely a rash decision and go back to manual labour. :)
Ben Steins (my celebrity of the hour) asked me yesterday whether I had a boyfriend, a question which only men over sixty seem to ask with consistent expectation. Responding "no" bothers me little in its statement or reality. More difficult is trying to explain how far-fetched this idea seems when I go home to St. Augustine's confessions and the voices of NPR that speak more relevantly in to my life than the culture around me. Boyfriends are starkly discordant with a life of plant watering and squash baking. As I survey my bedroom in anticipation of next year's move to Vancouver all I can envision is filling a suitcase with pillows, paintings and candle-sticks - an ultimately impractical collection which compromise the entirety of my few household possessions. I'm reminded of why my every thought and action must be deliberately reigned so to give my life direction and keep me sane. Structure is king. I can't complain because I have so much for which I am grateful and time here has taught me a lot about contentment even in the slow and mundane. A solidity in oneself might only be gained through silence. But I'm tired of a life so inwardly focused and I long to share conversation and laughter with others. Self struggle can eventually become masked self-indulgence and I want a life lived outwardly and in to the lives of other people.
On a different note, I would like to add my voice to those who'd outlaw leaf blowers and motorized snow scoopers. Besides all the important, warm, associate sentiments with raking and shovelling that provide a rich dimension of work and play in any season, the heinous noise of these machines shatters the delicate tranquility of our homes, replaces a family or community past-time, and adds to the trend in general societal laziness. If you use one of these devices I encourage you to rethink what was likely a rash decision and go back to manual labour. :)
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