Lost and Found

 

I lost a word recently. Well, misplaced it. We were talking about my 2-week-old granddaughter, Hazel,. One of us commented on the indentation between her nose and her lip. What’s that called? I knew there was a word for it but I couldn’t think of it. The next day it came to me: Philtrum.

But what if it had been lost? If I hadn’t recalled the word, I would have consulted my collection of unfamiliar words. For several years I’ve kept a Word document (that’s appropriate) listing such words. I may have included it there. (I had.) The words range from aburidashi – a Japanese form of writing in invisible ink, to zarf, an Arabic word to use next time you’re ordering your venti non-fat triple-shot decaf persimmon-flavored coffee. The word means “sleeve.” It’s that thin cardboard insulation they put over the cup.

I also keep a list of foreign expressions, like the French saying that translates as “the good old days when we were so unhappy.”

Then there are the truly lost words, which aren’t in my list because I foolishly didn’t make a note of them when I first heard them. One describes languages like Italian, most of whose words end with a vowel. Despite a Google search, I’ve not been able to find the term. Another lost word is from the legal field. It’s the offence of avoiding a delay at a red traffic light by cutting through a gas station or other business premises.

Think of the “lost and found” collection at your local supermarket. (Disregard for the moment the paradox of something being simultaneously both lost and found.) Wouldn’t it be helpful to have a comparable service for lost words? “Ah, yes, I think I found it: philtrum; is that what you were looking for, sir?”

[300 words]