Who Is Harm?

 

Who is Harm?

A friend of mine told his young son that they needed to move something “out of harm’s way.” With the wonderful curiosity of childhood, the boy asked: “Who is Harm?” He quite understandably defined harm as a person.

We’d say the word means something like “physical injury, hurt, damage,” to use Wiktionary’s definition.

Some words are more difficult to define, especially abstract concepts. Try telling your 4-year-old what love or art or poetry means.

If you asked me to define torque, I’d steer you to a dictionary. Or how about the word itch?

Also difficult to define are the definite and indefinite articles: the, an and a.

Same with fillers we use in speech, like um, like and you know. These words provide what linguists call structural cues.

Think for example of people you know who pepper their speech with like. That brings us to a related issue: the difference between a word’s definition (its “semantic meaning,” to be technical), versus its function in a sentence. We know that like means having similar qualities. (“He’s behaving like a thug.”) But how about its use in these sentences: “So I’m like, ‘No way’” and “It was like ten miles.”  A website offering writing tips for students says that like in contexts like these “Cushions an assertion, introduces direct speech or thoughts, or marks an approximation.” But defining like in these contexts isn’t easy.

In each case, a good communicator omits like and rewords the sentence if necessary.

Other tricky words to define are prepositions. Native English speakers can easily tell how to use to, on and by, but not when they should or why. Much of English depends on idiomatic usage. There’s no special reason for saying “Dinner’s on the table,” not “Dinner’s by the table.”

Dinner’s ready? Time for eat.

[300 words]

Thank You for Reading this Blog

 

Thank You for Reading this Blog

Thank you too for not smoking.

Sounds different from “Read this Blog” and “Don’t Smoke,” right? Why this shift from a command to what we could call “anticipatory” gratitude or compliance?

The act of thanking you for something you haven’t done yet relies on shrewd psychology. The psychologists have a term for it: presuppositional compliance. A Google search told me that this constitutes “thanking someone in advance for an action to make it socially awkward for them to refuse.”

A polite approach is less bossy than a direct command; we prefer to be thanked rather than being ordered around. Then there’s positive reinforcement, which heightens the chances of us obeying the rule. The rule is still there; despite our hotel room sign thanking us oh-so-politely in advance, we’ll still be liable for a $400 cleaning fee if we do smoke.

Consider anti-littering signs: “Thank you for not littering” is a step beyond “Don’t litter.” These two approaches reflect a shift in tone from what has been termed “authoritarian” to “nudging.”

The nudging messages are subtle in the way they elicit our response. Google again: “Human social contracts dictate that when someone treats us with respect (by saying ‘please’ or ‘thank you’), we feel a subconscious obligation to return the favor by cooperating.”

I encountered similarly manipulative wording on a recent Delta flight, delayed for two hours. We were told, “Thank you for your patience.” The gratitude was accompanied by repeated apologies. But this announcement could be termed “retroactive presuppositional compliance.” The unspoken message was, “If you weren’t patient, you should have been; that’s how polite people behave in these situations.” Unlike choosing not to litter or smoke, we had no option but to wait.

We’re done. But in parting let me thank you for celebrating National Chewing Gum Day today.

[300 Words]

I'm at a Loss for Words

 

I’m at a Loss for Words

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[0 words]

That's Nice

 

That’s Nice

Effective communication between us assumes we agree on the meaning of the words we’re using. At least two issues arise. One concerns the confusing use of slang that inverts a word’s meaning, a practice typical of teens and those in their twenties. The other is words whose meaning changes over time.

Take the word bad. We agree that it means “not good” or “harmful.” Yet its slang usage is the opposite and means “good,” “appealing,” etc., as in “That party was bad.”

Then there’s sick. That’s the reason you didn’t show up to work. In slang the meaning becomes “awesome,” “impressive,” etc. Example: “Your presentation was sick.”

Words with opposite meanings are called contronyms. But the slang meanings are likely to be short-lived; slang tends to have a short half-life.

English has a surprising number of what we could call established contronyms, words whose double meanings have endured. One example is cleave, meaning to “split” and to “hold together.” Another is: overlook, meaning to look over and to neglect to look at.

Then what of words that change their meaning over time? Girl, for example, used to refer to a child of either sex. Egregious once meant “remarkably good” or “eminent.” Today, it means “shockingly bad,” as ThoughtCo puts it.

The poster-child for a word whose meaning kept changing is nice. Michael Quinion, a lexicographer, says it has gone through more shifts in meaning than almost any other English word.

It entered English around 1300, meaning “foolish” or “ignorant.” Calling someone “nice” was an insult. Its meaning shifted in the 1600s to mean “dainty” or “fussy,” then “precise” or “careful.” It then slowly morphed into meaning “agreeable” or “delightful,” and eventually to “kind” or “pleasant,” the sense in which we use it today. Now you know.

Have a nice day.

[300 words]

 

Words of the Year, and then Some

 

Words of the Year, and then Some

I read this week that a good contender for the word of the year for 2026 is affordability, given how prices in the US and elsewhere continue to rise.

But what about past years?

Here are the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) selections, from 2016 until last year. As you read the list, you might want to ask yourself the two questions I did: “Do I know what each of these words mean?” And “Have I used any of them in a sentence this past week?”

• 2025: Rage-bait
• 2024: Brain rot
• 2023: Rizz
• 2022: Goblin mode
• 2021: Vax
• 2020: No single word chosen (acknowledged as an unprecedented year)
• 2019: Climate emergency
• 2018: Toxic
• 2017: Youthquake
• 2016: Post-truth””

How fleeting is fame. The forces propelling Goblin mode into prominence in 2022 apparently vanished. Same with Youthquake.

Toxic is still around, as is the idea of Climate emergency. But I’ve never heard anyone speak of Brain rot.

I looked up rizz, which is short for charisma. Ít’s “internet slang for charm, style, or romantic appeal.” (I might need that if I’m asked to describe myself in a job interview.)

Most of these words or phrases, which received the linguistic equivalent of an Oscar, were one-year wonders: waving to adoring fans one year but fading into oblivion the next.

If you want to go back farther, other has-beens await your attention. The OED started announcing their words of the year in 2004.

If you want to go back farther still, say 15,000 years, Inc.com reports that scientists have identified the 23 oldest words in English that have survived all these millennia. Among them are thou, I, mother, bark and black.

Here’s the study, reported in 2017: https://www.inc.com/melanie-curtin/science-says-these-23-words-are-oldest-in-world.html. That was the year of youthquake, a word that I’m confident won’t be around in 15,000 years.

[300 words]

The 2026 Word Cup: All You Need to Know in 300 Words

 

The 2026 Word Cup: All You Need to Know in 300 Words

This year’s Word Cup, featuring participation of a record 48 entries, is now at the half-way mark and has reached the Knockout Stage.

The 16 words remaining in the competition are:

1.     Aardvark

2.     Amok

3.     Baguette

4.     Flammable

5.     Haiku

6.     Hum

7.     Introspective

8.     Nasal

9.     Otorhinolaryngologist

10.  Pebble

11.  Plop

12.  Rhythm

13.  Stewardesses

14.  The

15.  Titanium

16.  Wobble

The Group Stage saw several surprises, including the elimination of Flummox, last year’s champion, by 28^th ranked Pebble – a first-time entry that nobody expected to advance to the Knockout Stage.

Another surprise was Otorhinolaryngologist (an ear, nose and throat doctor, or ENT, as its fans abbreviate the word), which beat Thinker in extra time. ENT proved to be surprisingly nimble and completely outplayed its opponent despite its length disadvantage.

Another favored word that didn’t make it past the Group Stage was Bookkeeper. Admired by its supporters for its unique OO-KK-EE spelling, this word was eliminated for using the F-word. It incurred a red card and was ousted from the tournament.

Sacrilegious couldn’t participate because of a spelling error; its visa spelled the word “sacriligious,” and US immigration officials denied it entry into the country because of the discrepancy. Fragile was forced to withdraw because of injury in its first-round match against Plop.

A highly anticipated upcoming match is between Rhythm and Stewardesses. Rhythm is one of the longest English words without a regular vowel and Stewardesses is the longest word that can be typed on a regular keyboard with only the left hand.

The remains the odds-on favorite, however, having won the Cup four times. It’s the most used word in English and that makes it a perennial favorite with the fans.

The final is scheduled for July 19, the same day as another, lesser-known, cup event.

 [300 words]

Picky, Picky, Picky

 

Picky, Picky, Picky

We’ll divide today’s blog into two kinds of problem: the imprecise use of words and advice that is plainly wrong.

Category 1: “In our hiring, we don’t discriminate against anyone.” Nonsense. The act of hiring by definition excludes people who aren’t qualified. If you’re hiring a butcher you discriminate against bakers and candlestick makers. What candidates should expect is unjustifiable or unwarranted discrimination.

Another overstatement: Maybe your church or some other organization proclaims that “everyone is welcome.” Everyone? How about a dozen neo-Nazis in full fascist regalia? Barely tolerated, perhaps, but certainly not welcome.

Then there are the idealistic young souls who may say: “I want a career where I can make a difference.” Good and well. But remember: Adolf Hitler made a difference. We presume the young person means a positive difference.

Category 2: Now consider the inherent inaccuracy in many English proverbs or words of advice. Example: “A watched pot never boils.” Really? Just wait.

How about “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger”? Try telling that to someone who’s been diagnosed with Ebola and is at death’s door.

Then there’s this nonsense we hear at graduation ceremonies: “If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.” Anything? So if I just tried hard enough, I could become a champion sumo wrestler? Or a gold medal gymnast?

Yes, I’m being unfair, using these examples of speech whose intent people understand perfectly well. We know what’s intended when someone aspires to “make a difference.” We recognize too the wisdom embedded in proverbs or advice that isn’t intended to be understood literally.

The point is to think more carefully about our words. If I’m to err in my choice of words, I’d rather do so in the direction of more, not less, precision. Pickiness has its place.

[300 words]

 

In the Doctor's Waiting Room

 

In the Doctor’s Waiting Room

Our focus today isn’t on individual words. Rather, it’s the combination of words I imagined overhearing while in a doctor’s waiting room….

“Listen up please. The doctor is way behind on his appointments and we’re looking for three volunteers who are willing to give up their appointments today. We guarantee that we’ll get you in first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll also give you a food voucher, a hotel room for tonight, and a free hysterectomy or any elective surgery for you or an immediate family member.”

***

“Yes, we have your latest test results but privacy regulations won’t let us share them with you.”

***

“Good. You’re all checked in. How do you want to pay your front-desk fee? It’s $27.50. Yes, this is a new fee. What’s it for? Well, it’s to cover our overheads—our computers, our front-desk phones, appointment reminder cards: everything needed to help you check in smoothly today and next time. It’s like the shop fee they charge when you have your car’s oil changed, or the resort fee at those fancy places. And there’s my salary… No, we receptionists don’t have to pay for malpractice insurance…”

***

“No, I’m sorry; it’s been a long, long time since we accepted green stamps to pay one’s bill.”

***

“Yes, we can refer you to a specialist. But off the top of my head I can’t think of anyone in town who’s a pediatric gerontologist.”

***

“We charge $1,300 for each cataract surgery. Yes, we’re aware that Dr. Reesley across town charges only $799. But you’re right, he doesn’t have any openings for six months. We also charge only $799 when we have no openings.”

***

“What do you mean, you want to change your date of birth?”

***

“I’m afraid you must have misunderstood, Mrs. Swallop: we don’t give out free urine samples.”

[300 words]

 

A Week of Words

 

A Week of Words

Well, 10 days to be precise. I’ve just returned from helping to look after our twin three-and-a-half year-old granddaughters in Pennsylvania. Always alert to new, unexpected or otherwise interesting words or expressions, I identified about a dozen that surfaced during our trip.

1.     Tiara. Why was the woman on the flight to Chicago, two rows in front of us, wearing one?

2.     From the Agatha Christie novel I read on that Chicago flight: Cheese-paring, meaning stingy or niggardly, and hole and corner, meaning an attempt to avoid notice or something secret.

3.     Also from Agatha: Chasseur, a soldier trained for rapid movement, especially in the French army.

4.     Somehow the question arose, “What’s a collective noun for dinosaurs?” Google says: “There is no single scientific term for a group of dinosaurs, as they are usually referred to by standard collective nouns based on their behavior, such as a herd of herbivores (e.g., sauropods) or a pack of hunters (e.g., raptors).”

5.     Personal belongings. On several flights, this recurring irritant: What other belongings do I have?

6.     “Too often we have strayed…” Another recurring irritant, from the prayer of confession in church. As with “there are too many accidental gun deaths…,” how many times of straying or gun deaths are acceptable?

7.     Chugga-chugga choo-choo, a refrain as our human train made its way endlessly around the back yard.

8.     Arepas: What we had for lunch at a Peruvian restaurant, defined as a grilled cornmeal cake, often filled with meat.

9.     In the Mary Oliver book, Upstream, read on the way home: scute, an external bony or horny plate, like those on tortoises.

10.  And one I can be sure you haven’t heard, Permoop: a word invented by either Hazel or Sophie, that she said means someone who falls in the toilet.

[300 words]

Squawk 4234

 

Squawk 4234

We focus today on our words for numbers.

The computer or phone on which you’re reading this owes its existence to air conditioning. The first huge computers, from which our current devices are descended, were easily the size of your living room. They got so hot that they would have fried if it weren’t for the availability of effective air conditioners.

Imagine if we hadn’t moved beyond those huge machines. Or imagine how our lives would be different if we still used Roman numerals.

Take air traffic control. An air traffic controller could give this instruction to a pilot ready to taxi:

Cherokee 8121K, Greensboro Ground, cleared to Raleigh, maintain VFR at or below 3,000, departure frequency 118.5, squawk* 4234, advise when ready to taxi.

Using Roman numerals, this would read:

Cherokee MMMMMMMMCXXIK, Greensboro Ground, cleared to Raleigh, maintain VFR at or below MMM, departure frequency CXVIII.V, squawk MMMMCCXXXIV, advise when ready to taxi.

We find numbers at every turn, every day in English, like a visit to that convenience store, VII-XI, which boasts that it’s open round the clock, XXIV/VII.

Perhaps you’re blessed with XX/XX vision as you watch one of your top-X movies—not to be confused with X-rated movies.

Some music lyrics would need adjusting, ranging from hymns like “We III Kings” to popular tunes such as “VIII Days a Week” or “When I’m LXIV” by the Beatles.

Back to air traffic control: What to do with this vector for departure: “After takeoff, fly heading 030.” In Roman numerals…

Uh oh: the Romans didn’t have zero. So the air traffic controller may say, “Um, after takeoff, fly heading a bit to the left. Or the right. Whatever.”

I’m sure you can think of other examples. Phone with suggestions, no later than X-XV p.m. My number is DIX-CDLXVI-MMMMMCMXVI.

[CCC words]

*  Google says that “in aviation, ‘squawk’ refers to setting a specific four-digit code on an aircraft’s transponder, which communicates its identity and status to Air Traffic Control (ATC) radar, allowing for tracking and specific alerts like emergencies.”

The Short End of the Stick

 The Short End of the Stick

A few days ago I gave a talk at the Barton Language School, which helps refugees and immigrants improve their English. The School is affiliated with First Presbyterian Church in downtown Spokane.

My comments were about English as a strange (and hence difficult to learn) language, one of my emphases being that we English-speakers rely heavily on idioms.

Among the examples I shared with the audience were “It’s raining cats and dogs,” “Throw someone under the bus,” and “The short end of the stick.”

What is a non-native speaker to make of these and other expressions that enliven our speech? They’re mostly explained easily enough but pity that poor soul whose starting point is to take the expressions literally.

Now about that stick: how can you tell from the picture above which is the short end? More importantly, what does the expression mean?

Google says: “‘To get the short end of the stick’ means to receive the less favorable or unfair part of a situation, deal, or arrangement, ending up in a worse position than others through no fault of your own.” It’s similar to another idiom, “Drawing the short straw.”

Where does this idea about the stick come from?

Google says: “Possible theories include a reference to carrying loads mounted on rods. Leverage works against the bearer holding the short end, so they must carry more of the load. Another refers to a staff, or straight pole used as a weapon in the 1500s.”

Other possible explanations are available here: https://www.worldwidewords.org/qa-wro3.html

Then there are the cats and dogs….

The fact-checking site, Snopes, provides equivalents from other languages:

• “Like a pissing cow,” in French.
• “Chair legs,” in Greek
• “Female trolls,” in Norwegian
• “Tractors,” in Slovak.

Then, significantly, there’s Welsh: “Old ladies and sticks.”

(Yes, but which end of the sticks?)

[300 Words]

The Words We Don't Have

 

The Words We Don’t Have

One of my minor regrets is that I didn’t acquire a Scottish accent when growing up. I think it’s far more appealing that my South African one. Still, I’m infinitely grateful that I at least grew up speaking English.

When it comes to languages spoken around the world, English is the 800-pound gorilla. About 400 million people speak it as their first language. But another billion are estimated to speak it as their second language. One measure of its universality is its use by air traffic controllers and pilots around the world. (Exception: China.)

So what is the appeal of my mother tongue to so many people? One reason is that its grammar is relatively easy to learn. Another is English’s extensive and versatile vocabulary.

Yet even English, with our hundreds of thousands of words, can’t cover everything. So what words don’t we have? The Meaning of Tingo begins to tell us. It’s an anthology by Adam Jacot de Boinod of non-English words that he’s gleaned from around the world. Some examples:

Koshatnik = A Russian word meaning a dealer in stolen cats.

Curglaff = Scottish dialect for the shock felt when plunging into cold water

Jeruhuk = A Malay word meaning the act of stumbling into a hole concealed by long grass.

Verbunkos = Hungarian, a dance performed to persuade people to enlist in the army.

Menetah = An Indonesian word meaning to help a little child walk by holding its hands.

Ngarong = A word from the Dyak language, in Borneo, meaning an adviser who appears in a dream and clarifies a problem.

Finally, remember zirad. You never know when you might need it. It’s from the Maasai people of East Africa, meaning a rope tied around a camel’s neck to prevent it from vomiting on its rider.

[300 words]

Just One Word: "Hi"

 

Just One Word: “Hi”

People who count this sort of thing estimate that on average we speak about 16,000 words each day. Not Chris Knight, however. Over the course of 27 years he spoke just one word: “Hi.”

Here’s the story. Knight is the subject of Michael Finkel’s fascinating book, The Stranger in the Woods. It tells how Knight became a hermit, living in a campsite in a forested area of Maine, and for nearly three decades lived undetected within shouting distance of hikers and kayakers on nearby ponds.

He survived that state’s brutal winters in his campsite, which went undetected until he was finally caught breaking into the kitchen of a nearby camp for special needs children. Knight repeatedly broke into the camp and into scores of cabins in the area for food and other items useful for his survival: everything from propane tanks to flashlights and batteries. It’s estimated that he committed about a thousand burglaries before being caught.

So what about the word “Hi”? Knight made a point of avoiding people. Only twice during those years did he encounter anyone. Shortly before his arrest, he came across a father-son-grandfather trio who’d been fishing—but no conversation took place. The only other time he inadvertently made contact with anyone was when he and a hiker saw each other. Each said “Hi” before going their way. The hiker was oblivious to the fact that he’d run into the elusive hermit who by then had attained legendary status in the area.

Knight ‘s story is masterfully told and includes thoughtful explorations of aloneness and loneliness; Knight’s motivation for withdrawing entirely from society, not even telling his family where he was; and how the legal system creatively dealt with this iconoclastic man who just wanted to be alone. And wordless.

He almost succeeded.

[300 words]

 

The Andrew Formerly Known as Prince

 

The Andrew Formerly Known as Prince

I was shocked and appalled, then appalled and shocked, to learn that Britain’s Prince Andrew (brother of King Charles) was stripped of his title as Prince and forced to vacate his gargantuan lodge.

But whatever the ramifications of Andrew’s decline and fall, it got me thinking about his title of prince, and similar words. We ex-colonials in the US and South Africa neither embrace nor understand these royal titles.

For example, I don’t’ know what a marquis is, or what he or she does.

[Voice from off-stage: You mean a marquess and it’s a “he.” The she version is a marchioness.]

Here's the Marquis I was thinking about.

This is a 1971 Mercury Grand Marquis.  What does it do? 0-60 in about 12 seconds (yes, I checked)

I digress. What other titles do these royals obsess over? There’s a baron, for example. Maybe you recall that time when King John signed the magna carta (1215) under pressure from the barons. (We’re not told if 1215 was a.m. or p.m.) There was a heavy French influence in England at that time (day or night) at Runnymede. Maybe that’s why Chrysler followed the practice of turning to faux nobility titles and named their car with a French touch, LeBaron.

A 1985 Chrysler LeBaron

The Brits also have a baronet. (Is that a baby baron?). But while they have dukes and duchesses, they don’t have archdukes.

Dukes, by the way, rank just below king or queen in the British hierarchy, above the aforementioned marquess and marchioness, who in turn are above an earl or countess, and a viscount and viscountess. Then there are the lowly knights and dames at the bottom of the hierarchy.

But to bring things back home, someone needs to tell Donald Trump that his son’s name, Barron, is misspelled.

300 words

Ample Teeth

 

Ample Teeth

 I turned 76 this past Sunday. Throughout the day I kept thinking of the song, “Seventy-six Trombones” from the 1950s musical, “The Music Man.”

 Then I thought how many words trigger other words. We have simple pairs, for example: bacon and eggs, first and last, and knife and fork. Others may trigger several options: I mention rock and you may immediately think and roll or and a hard place.

 Checking the Web for word associations, I discovered a verbal fluency test: the “Controlled Oral Word Association” test, known as COWA. Prompted by cowa, I immediately thought of bunga, although I wasn’t sure what cowabunga meant. I learned that it’s “an expression of exhilaration, delight, or joy, often used in the context of surfing or skateboarding,” according to Google. Then I realized that cowabunga is a single word so it doesn't fit today’s word association theme. (So, disregard this paragraph.)

 Instead, let me tell you about the time a friend and I were testing each other on collective nouns of animals. (I think one can fit that kind of game into the word association category, don’t you?) You know, I say puppies and you say litter, right? I say starlings, you immediately say flock. Wrong; it’s murmuration. Anyway, it was my turn to test him and the word was pigs. Unhesitatingly, he responded Bay of, referring to the location where the 1961 failed US attempted invasion of Cuba began.

 Then there are the psychiatrists who use word-association exercises to delve into your subconscious to discover what’s really behind your garlic press obsession.

 Some triggers may be idiosyncratic, perhaps arising out of family history. If anyone in our family says ample… someone will jump in instantly and say teeth. (It’s too complicated to explain.)

 Any less puzzling examples? Just wait and …

 [300 words]

 

And now, word of a freebie: If you’d like an electronic advance review copy of my latest book, to be released in mid-December, please let me know. The new book is another in the devotional vein, published by Mt. Zion Ridge Press, which has now done four of my books. It’s titled Always Ready: A Christian Mandate. It focuses on Jesus’ parable of the ten bridesmaids, five of whom are ready when the bridegroom arrives—and five are not. The book explores the expectation that Jesus has of us that we always be at the ready to follow Him.

 If you’d like this advance copy, my hope is that (if you like the book), you’ll consider buying a hard copy for yourself, buying it for someone else, or telling the world how absolutely, incredibly splendid it is and who in turn will tell others to buy it for themselves, or buy it for someone else, or tell….

What The H*ll...

 

What the H*ll…

Today we’ll look at the pseudo-sanitizing role of the asterisk when you need to use taboo words that you cannot use. So we play a curious game, as I did with the title of my book about words, Meet The Dog That Didn’t Sh*t. Paradoxically, we use the taboo word without using the word. Everyone who’s an English speaker, and older than maybe 9 or 10, knows exactly what’s meant when you write f*ck, n*gger, or d*mn.

You’re not supposed to use these words in polite company. So you engage in this peculiar exercise of using them without actually stating them. The asterisk serves as a kind of neutralizing agent, or an insurance policy, protecting you from any charge that you’re using a bad word while you’re doing precisely that. Doing so is like driving with diplomatic plates; you have absolute immunity. You haven’t violated current norms. Admittedly, these norms are in constant flux; some previously taboo words now drop their asterisks, while others now require them.

Let’s turn to my favorite joke about taboo words. (Taken from Meet The Dog.)

Once there were two young brothers. The five-year-old announced it was time for them to start using bad words. Of course, his four-year-old brother agreed. The next morning Mom asked the boys what they wanted for breakfast. Seizing the moment, the older boy said, “Oh, what the h*ll, I’ll have Wheaties.” Horrified, the Mom spanked the boy, gave him a lecture on acceptable words in their family, and sent him to his room hungry.

She then turned to the younger boy, terrified as he watched what had happened. “And you?” she demanded. He replied, “Well, I’m not sure, but you can bet your *ss it won’t be Wheaties.”

If only the boys could have incorporated asterisks into their responses.

[300 words]

Famous Last Words

 

Famous Last Words

Supposedly, Lord Palmerston’s last words were, “Die, my dear doctor? That’s the last thing I’ll do.” A witty comment from a former UK prime minister.

But note supposedly. Or, as one of my dictionaries of quotations specifies, “Attrib.” That is, attributed.

Other supposed or attributed last words were from Oscar Wilde, who on his deathbed said of his new bedroom curtains, “Either they go, or I do.” (Some sources say he was commenting on the wallpaper.)

That’s the trouble with these imaginative last words. Who knows for sure that these were indeed their last spoken contributions. For one thing, people in their last hours and minutes may be incoherent, hallucinating or otherwise unclear.

But even if these various sayings were recorded accurately, can we be sure that they were actually the last thing the person said?

Take Voltaire for example, a strident critic of Christianity and the Catholic Church in particular. He supposedly responded to the priest who was urging him to denounce Satan by saying, “Now is not the time to make new enemies.” But did he say it? An alternative claim, citing the doctor tending him, says that he cried out in despair, “I am abandoned by God and man! I shall go to hell!”

He is usually credited with the first one; it’s more entertaining and certainly less unsettling.

I can’t predict if I’ll be hallucinating on my deathbed and saying things like, “Bring me the penguin, Chucky,” or “Who’s eating my slippers?” If I’m coherent, will I dispense desperate final instructions: “Remember that the Honda needs an oil change”? Or pointless words of advice “Don’t sleep in the subway, darling.”

Alternatively, maybe I’ll write my last words and silently point repeatedly to what I’ve written. It might begin: “I’d like to tell you in 300 words…”

[300 words]

A Pointless Competition

 

A Pointless Competition

I was recently in a doctor’s waiting room where there was a sign on a door that read, “Do not block door.” Yet there was a clear and ample pathway leading to and from the door; I would have had to go out of my way to move furniture or seek other objects to block the entry. It would have been different if this were a fire exit and near clutter that would have been a hazard in an emergency.

By contrast, a reasonable sign would be “Do not smoke/No smoking.” That’s a behavior that one might realistically need to address.

The likelihood of someone blocking the door was remote. “Do not block door” was a waste of words. They might as well have had signs that read:

·         Do not set fire to the furniture

·         Do not stab yourself in the foot

·         Do not bite other patients

·         Do-it-yourself surgery not permitted

The likelihood of needing to forestall any such actions is close to zero, one would hope.

Which brings us to this blog’s first competition. I’m offering a prize: one of my recent books (see below*). It will go to the reader who emails me what I think is the funniest or most absurdly pointless sign (or signs) that you can imagine appearing in a doctor’s waiting room. Deadline: July 25.

The books are:

·         I’ll be Your Server: The Heart of Christian Discipleship

·         Meet the Dog that Didn’t Sh*t:101 Reflections on Words and Their Magic

·         Sit, Stand, Walk, Run: A Vocabulary for the Christian’s Journey

·         The God Who Blesses

·         Your Photo on God’s Fridge Door: 101 Parables and Analogies for Today

See Amazon for more information about these titles.

* I can send the prize only to someone in the USA or Canada; sorry.

May the most imaginative reader win.

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Vocabularies and Fingerprints

 

Vocabularies and Fingerprints

Each Friday I volunteer at the Barton School, at Spokane’s First Presbyterian Church. The School’s mission is to help non-English speakers improve their fluency. I’m constantly struck by the students’ courage and tenacity in trying to figure out the complexities and inconsistencies characterizing English.

Then there’s their vocabularies. I’m often surprised by the basic words (in my opinion) that they don’t know and even more surprised by some that they do. Our vocabularies are like our fingerprints: Unique. I’m convinced that none of our vocabularies perfectly overlaps with anyone else’s.

Which brings me to my list of words or phrases. When I’m reading I look up words I don’t know. Well, usually. Then I enter them in a Word document (that’s appropriate). Occasionally I update my list, as I’ve done this month, culling a few that I’ve remembered.

You see, that’s my problem. Merely looking up an unknown word usually isn’t enough to recall its meaning when I encounter it again. As I tell my students, repetition is needed for a word to become a permanent resident in one’s vocabulary.

Here are five of these entries, giving you a small sample of the English words I’ve encountered.

Ambisintrous: Clumsy with both hands. (Remember “ambidextrous”? Then there’s that delightful line, “I’d give my right hand to be ambidextrous”?)

Capgras syndrome: A mental health condition that leads you to think people have all been replaced by exact doubles.

Iatronudia: The tendency of some women to pretend to be sick so they can be seen unclothed in front of their doctors.

Retronym: A term referring to a noun and a modifier that specifies the original meaning of the noun, usually required by technological advances, to clarify meaning. Examples: rotary phone, snail mail, analog watch.

Siffleur: A professional whistler.

Maybe I’ll remember these now.

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Friends Old and New

 

Friends Old and New

This month I’ve been re-reading some of my favorite books, relishing other writers’ mastery of words. One of my most-loved books is an anthology of short stories by H. H. Munro, who wrote under the pen name of “Saki.” Sadly, he was killed in World War I at the age of 45. Here are two examples of his inventive mind at work. Who knows how much more he might have brought us had he lived.

·         “The people of Crete make more history than they can consume locally.”

·         “‘Waldo is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death,’ said Clovis.”

Then there’s Never Rub Bottoms With A Porcupine, an anthology published by the English magazine, the New Statesman. It’s a compilation of responses to the publication’s literary-style competitions, to which readers respond with sometimes brilliant imagination. One competition (repeated occasionally) requests imagined proverbs of “a self-evident nature.” Three examples:

·         “Gloves make a poor present for a man with no hands.”

·         “A bald man does not fear gray hair.”

·         “A knowledge of Sanskrit is of little use to a man trapped in a sewer.”

But I’ve read new material too, including a book by Roy Peter Clark: The Glamour of Grammar. He provided a colorful reminder to keep a sentence’s subject and verb as close together as possible: “The creation of meaning… requires a subject and a verb, the king and queen of comprehensibility. And the king and queen are most powerful when they sit on adjacent thrones rather than in separate castles far away.”

Especially memorable for me, however, was his example of a Twitter message he encountered: “There’s a dead squirrel in the driveway. Mrs Liebowitz is worried that the death might be gang related. She’s checking FOX News to be sure.”

Ah, the joys of reading.

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