When I first heard the expression “vim and vigor”, I asked, “What is vim?” I had never heard that word used anywhere, and it sounded like a nonsense word to me. Vigor, on the other hand, was a word I knew. I could point to examples of vigor.

Vigor came to English from Latin and implies a certain energy, enthusiasm, or force. It came to mean healthy, as well, which makes sense. You have to be healthy to exhibit a lot of energy or enthusiasm. There is a sense of strength, as well, but primarily of the mind with physical power just sort of trailing in the wake of the effect of mental influence.

Vim may have also come from a Latin root meaning strength (also energy) or it may simply be a made up word which first appeared in English in the 1800s. In any case, vim’s definition is almost exactly that of vigor, so why pair them? Are they meant to be hyperbolic, an overstatement for emphasis? Yes, that it is exactly the reason for linking them with their subtle differences filling out the impact for the overall impression desired.

There are some confused people, however, who have complicated the life of “vim”. They pair it with vinegar, as in “he is full of vim and vinegar.” This is just a mistake, a malapropism, most likely cause by a confusion of “piss and vinegar” or “pep and vinegar”.  Vinegar seems to have become synonymous with vitality in the college slang of the 1920s. This may have contributed to the odd pairing as vitality and vigor would seem to be equals.

By the way, if you are full of “piss and vinegar” you have likely had too much alcohol of a quality more like vinegar than a valued vintage. In other words, you are drunk and behaving outrageously. The other half of the expression does not need to be explained beyond a nod to the usual reaction to the intake of large quantities of liquid.

When I decided to write about vim and vigor, I thought this expression was a holdover from much earlier times. There are, I am told, other pairings in English (unlike these), that come from a time when the occupants of the British Isles did not all speak the same language. Back then, there were language enclaves where a whole settlement of Danish speakers, for instance lived within trading distance from a village of Saxon speakers and both might be encompassed in the jurisdiction of the Latin speaking church.

There were class separations, like the Norman French spoken by the ruling class (outside Scotland) versus the Saxon spoken by their servants.  This made it not uncommon for the servants or vassals to take a word from their liege lord’s French, for example, and pair it with one similar in the local Saxon, German/Dutch, Celtic, Norse or Danish of the working classes, or even potentially to mix in Latin terms learned from the clergy.

This was an effort toward successful communication which I applaud. If I find any of these are still in use, I will share them in a later blog.

 

 

#EnglishLanguage #EnglishandEtymology #EnglishIdioms

 

 

 

 

Kith and kin, is an expression probably not used much these days, but it stuck in my mind because “kith” seemed like a funny word. It sounded like someone speaking with a lisp, and it only seemed to be spoken when it was palling around with kin.

Kin, on the other hand, popped up all over the place. It is a handy three letter word for crossword makers. It is part of the words kindred, kinship and akin. Now, “akin” also is another odd-looking word, at least to me.

So, what do these words mean? They are all related (which explains why kith and kin are linked together). Kin, as in kinship, refers to your relatives. Akin is used to refer to things or people who share similar traits or characteristics, in the same family, as it were.

Kindred is both noun and adjective. As noun it is essentially the same as “kin”, almost as if “kin” is an abbreviation of kindred. As an adjective it is like “akin” as it indicates a similarity of tastes, attitudes.

Kinship is the same as “relationship”. Get it? Relative…relation…kin, one and the same. Kinship originally indicated a direct blood tie, however, not just similarity in lifestyle or thought.

Kith broadened relationship to acquaintances, friends. At one time, it may have included all your countrymen. But “kith” has an interesting history. It once meant knowledge coming from a root shared with “uncouth”. The root is an Old English word, “cuth” which meant knowledge. That makes sense. Your kith are known to you, part of your knowledge.

Then the use of “cuth” died out leaving only its opposite, “uncuth” which became “uncouth” and means unsophisticated, crude. Again, there is logic here. If you are sophisticated, you have knowledge (the Greek root for wisdom is “soph”) which implies the connotation that you can move among well educated people and not stand out as not belonging.

(Side note: “couth” made a comeback as an antonym of “uncouth” when someone, years after couth had died its natural death, decided to deconstruct uncouth to create its opposite.)

Yet, the word “kith” does not carry the connotation of education. It is rather like a word lasso used to gather up what is in the general vicinity of you and your kin. Why not use “ken” (remind you of to reckon?) instead of kith?

Ken and kin make a nice neat pair, don’t you think? Ken means a range of perception or understanding, in other words, knowledge. Uh huh.

But “ken” originated as a nautical word to refer to distance perception, what your eye could see. I suggest your friends and acquaintances fit this definition.  I think “ken” could almost replace “kith” except for pesky connotations. Kith is associated with people and ken is less picky referring to just anything in sight.

One final note since I brought up the word “ken”. It is not linguistically linked to reckon which determines a judgment through mental calculation. But isn’t that what “ken” is doing? Oh, well, with this last bit of obfuscation I will close this discussion.

 

#EnglishLanguage #EnglishIdioms

Having chucked out and packed up in January, is everything in your home now spic and span? This expression is not a coupling of two English words. They are both, as a pair, a remnant from the 16th century. When I looked at the origin of this expression, I thought at once it was odd for a cleansing product to choose this expression for its brand name.

The “span” portion works well enough, since it meant “new”. Something new is usually also clean. So far so good. However, the English word span is also a term for distance or something which covers a distance.

Even this sort of works. If you are talking about something that is fresh and clean, that something will have some surface. You can span a surface (go across) or measure the span of (distance across) a surface. So, the expanse of the something is clear of dirt, clean. However, that leaves “spic” unaccounted for.

But this “spic” is a variant of “spike” and is a reference to wood splinters, as in fresh wood shavings. It is not the slang prejudicial epithet used to insult people assumed to be of a certain nationality. That meaning would truly make a mess of this three-word expression.

Most people are familiar with places that cover their floors with sawdust—in circus tents, some restaurants, and bars, perhaps some agricultural buildings, too. But shavings? Are these not more likely to end up as tinder for a fire or mulch in the garden?

Perhaps homes with dirt floors used shavings as a floor covering. I know they used rushes, other herbs, and grasses for both their fragrance and as insulation. The used ones could be easily swept from the dirt floor and replaced. Thus, making the floor “fresh and clean” again, sort of. It is just as likely, that one layer was simply covered over with a newer, fresher layer.

Perhaps centuries ago, they might have used shavings as stuffing for mattresses. You could undo your soiled mattress, dump the shavings wherever, wash the cover and restuff with new shavings. Voila, fresh and clean mattress. But I doubt this is the association that led us to the interpretation of “fresh and clean”.

Perhaps, after all, it simply referred to the freshness of the cut wood and how cleanly the cut was that made the shaving. It might have been an industry-specific term that drifted into the homes of those workers and into the rest of our lives.

By the way, the language source is Norse with a flavoring of Dutch.

 

#EnglishLanguage #EnglishIdioms

In December, you may have “decked the halls” (as in a season carol) for one or another celebration, including New Year’s Eve. Now that it is January, we begin to put all that away as our minds begin to focus on the needs of the new year. A big seller in January is storage supply. We take the past year and sort it to save and store, give to others, chuck it out.

Chuck is the word for today.  Yes, it means to throw out, to discard. My childhood friends used to talk about “up chucking” meaning to vomit or throw up. Another word for throwing up or out is a synonym, spewing. With this, we are still on track. Chuck it up can also mean to “spit it out” implying blurts of information rather than a flow. That seems to fit my childhood friends’ idea.

But there is also the expression to chuck under someone’s chin which is a gentle touch meant to show friendliness. Where does that fit in with tossing out?

Then, too, we must not forget that a nickname for Charles is Chuck. So, if someone says, “chuck it up (or out)”, are you picturing some person with that name?  And how is Charles but called Chuck somehow involved in this? If you have a cartoon mind, you might see a man flying through the air and holding your trash. Or maybe you see a garbage team wearing tee shirts reading “Chuck”. A true cartoonist has probably better images than these.

Wandering into other languages, for English is notorious for borrowing words, we discover woodchuck. A woodchuck is a groundhog and does not chuck wood. North American natives, for example the Algonquin tribe, had a word that sounded like “woodchuck” and the early foreign settlers adopted it for their own though its spelling created an English word which made no sense to the reality of the animal.

The long relationship of the British with India brought the game of polo to England with its terminology, including “chukker”. Sounds like it should be related, right?  Watching the game and seeing the players hit the ball down the field, you might be tempted believe it is a movement like kicking out or getting rid of (chucking), but you would be wrong. Chukker is the name given to a time segment in the game, and of course, it comes from Sanskrit.

Finally, for this piece, we have the chukka, a form of boot. Again, we need to thank the British for this as these boots originally resembled those worn by polo players. WWII British soldiers were outfitted with these in the desert campaigns, and it is their name for this style of boot.

Do hope this put you in the mood to start in on your new year sorting, so that you are ready to start chucking items and your thoughts to clear space, including this blog.

 

#EnglishLanguage

 

 

At every New Year we begin to measure our lives. We consider the condition in which we have existed and the one we wish to be ours. It is appropriate therefore that today’s subject is the English word series used when we talk about our existence, the verb “be”.

I suspect that the English are not alone in making a hash of talking about existence. I know the verb forms in French and Spanish are labeled “irregular”. Well, the English, not to be outdone, have made theirs both simpler and very much more complicated.

We start with “be”, but the first use we make of this verb is to talk about ourselves, “I am.” Where did this A come from and what happened to the B? It continues in a sort of pattern to “You are.” Good, we are sticking with A, forget about that original B. Another human shows up and we continue with “We are”.  Even when more humans arrive, we continue with “They are.” English is looking not so irregular after all.

But, oh no, something not human arrives and “It is.” How did we get to I? Maybe we plan to use all the vowels (a, e, i, o, u)?*

Not true. Start talking about conditions yesterday and suddenly you get “I/it was” and “We/you/they were.”  W? How did W turn up? But, once again, English isn’t fussy. It settles for just two versions.

That’s what it looks like, until we start speculating about things, planning for or examining possible “what ifs” and the simple “Be” cannot cope on its own. It has to borrow other verbs: has/had/have, can/could, will/would, shall/should. These we call “helping” verbs.

English is not alone in this. Other languages need helping verbs, too, when speculating. Apparently, the originators of language struggled when thinking about anything more creative than the immediately apparent and the remembered events of yesterday.

In any event, once launched into the imagination, we return to the original “B” with just a little flourish. This gives us “been”. And that’s as complicated as we get. Aren’t you relieved?

Oh, yes, you also will need to learn the conjugations of all those helping verbs, and to this point we have only discussed the state or condition of a single moment or event and not circumstances that persist over time. But that would introduce “being” (which can also be a noun which takes us down a different road).

Here’s a little help for now and the New Year. You will only need to say “I/it/you/we will be” and you have all you need to plan. Just don’t complicate things with those pesky “what ifs”, and you will be fine.

*For those who want to know the reasons behind is/am/are and was/were, see comments in Shadows section of this site.

 

#EnglishLanguage #EnglishConjugations

 

 

We are deep into the gift-giving season and the celebrations. Are you preparing the happy face you will display as you open your gift? English has lots of words to guide you in your quest to behave as suits the season with a fulsome attitude. Or not.

Fulsome, like so many words in English, wavers with connotation. As you utter thanks for that gift you wish you had never seen, you will likely be insincerely earnest or overly flattering (fulsome). The excessiveness associated with this word led people to think of fulsome as “disgusting” or “offensive”. So, you might want to avoid this word after all.

For better words to use as your guide, you could consider the rich list of “-ful” words: cheerful, gleeful, joyful, blissful. All these attitudes will please your gift giver, assuming the emotions are real and not faked. Duh, rather obvious, huh?

Other “-ful” words might not be your friends. Mirthful, for example, is a good word for a party spirit. Yet, it might be resented if you react to your gift with mirth. Of course, there are exceptions – joke gifts should elicit mirth.

Sprightful and playful also work well at a party, but they can also be annoying if overdone. Blithesome is probably a safer pattern to follow if you want to play it safe. Other “-some” words which might be useful to you are gladsome, lightsome, and winsome.

Ah, winsome. You might think the word is a compound of “win” and “some.”  Makes sense, doesn’t it? You win triumphantly and you are joyous. But the root for the “win” in winsome comes from a different Germanic source than the victorious “win”.  This happy “win” comes from a root meaning joy, childlike joy. So, by all means, do be winsome and you will win the approval of your gift giver.

Finally, my wish is that your hopefulness is fulfilled and that you greet the New Year with a smile.

 

#EnglishLanguage #Humor

 

Many years ago, the film “The Glass Slipper”, a retelling of the Cinderella story, had an odd fairy godmother who liked to recite her favorite words. One of these was “windowsill” just because she liked the way it sounded. She also had some words she did not like at all. After seeing this film, my mother and I played around with this idea.

As a goofy word, I nominated ‘ilk’. It sounds like you meant to say something else, but choked before you could get it out. It also looks like it is missing a letter or more. If you don’t recognize this word, you probably do not work many crossword puzzles. It is related to the word “like” and means the same thing as type, sort or kind, as in a group of something. At least, that’s its meaning in English. Just for fun, check out the meaning in Azerbaijani.

The word irk is a close second since its sound does not suggest a word, only a noise like a bark. Meaning to irritate, the word maybe self-fulfilling. But I don’t care. I still enjoy it for its individuality.

In the category of ugly words, both my mom and I agreed the winner had to be bladder. There is very little redeeming about this word, not its meaning or its sound, though its appearance on the page might get a pass. But only if you are kind.

Maybe it’s not pretty to anyone else, but whippoorwill is at least fun to say. The fact that the sound this bird makes gave it its name just makes this word more endearing to me like a song refrain, or the haunting melody of a distant bird calling in the night.

Now that I’ve opened this subject, I challenge you to select words that are special for you. Make it a game, maybe, the way my mom and I did. We got a lot of laughs as we argued in favor of the words we selected. Hope you do, too.

 

#TheGlassSlipperMovie #FavoriteWords #EnglishLanguage

 

 

 

English speakers historically have made a practice of turning nouns, and sometimes verbs, into adjectives by adding either the suffix “-less” or its opposite “-ful” (the suffix version of the word full) to their word of choice.  This has left us with some rather odd remnant words.

For instance, ruthless is commonly understood to imply savagery or a disregard for consequences. No one questions this. But what is the root word? Ruth is no longer used, except as a person’s name. I wonder how many people can even define it. The opposite version, ruthful, has not been in use since the 17th century.

In a contrary instance, rueful’s root word rue is frequently found as a convenient three-letter word in crossword puzzles if not often in everyday speech. But rueless does not exist, may not ever have existed. Also interesting to note, rueful might be used as an antonym for ruthless.

Continuing on with R words, consider reckless with a meaning not unlike that of ruthless above. At first glance, you might think the root of reckless is “reck” (a verb) which is no longer an English word. Is it related to the word reckon? Could be. To reckon is to count up or render an accounting while reckless could not care less about making an accounting of its behavior.

But do be careful. Do not confuse the “reck” in reckless with the spelling of a separate and unrelated word, wreck. I know it is tempting, but it is not correct. By the way, to be thorough, reckful did exist but is now archaic.

A near-rhyme for reckless is feckless, meaning ineffectual or weak. There is a feckful, but it also is archaic. The work feckless is related to effect and the ancient Scots are the ones you can blame for the “feck” spelling.

Here’s a great one to ponder, gormless. It’s a rather goofy looking, goofy sounded word, right? How appropriate as it means wanting sense or stupid. This is a particularly British word with its origin vaguely from a Norse word meaning alert and heedful. And need you ask? There is no gormful, nor evidence that it ever existed. The opposite of gormless, though rarely used, is gaumy!

For those who might care, words like these are referred to as “unpaired” or called nonce words.

 

#EnglishLanguage #ESL

 

 

As a child the word pumpkin seemed weird to me, especially after I learned to read. Pumpkin looked like a mashup of two words, like basketball or sunflower. But that was exactly the problem. The two words pump and kin, though perfectly ordinary words, together they made no sense.

I knew a pump was something I used to put air in the tires of my bicycle and that the action of forcing the air in was called pumping. But I could not see how this information matched up with the gourd fruit. I reasoned that maybe if you pumped it somehow and did it too hard, maybe you could squash it. It was, after all, also called a squash which was another goofy word.

I looked at all the forms of squash in the grocery store. They all looked pretty sturdy to me and I could only imagine smashing a pumpkin with a hammer. But maybe it was a squash because of the goop inside, that stuff you had to scrape out to make a Jack 0’lantern? You could call that mess squishy, I reasoned. And if something is smashed or squash-ed it could become squishy. But this was absolutely not a satisfying answer at all.

And the other word was no better. Kin meant being related in a family, like your uncle. Of course, there was another expression “akin to” which just meant like or similar to something else. What did this tell me? Did it mean the pumpkin was somehow related to pumps? And what kind of pumps? The gadget that pushed air into tires, or a type of shoe? No, no, there wasn’t any solution. Pumpkin was just a weird word.

When I decided to write about this word, I looked into its etymology. It seems the word wandered from Greek to French to land in England. The English over time changed the sound and spelling of the word to suit themselves. This is typical of English speakers.  Historically, they adopt a word from another language or culture and then shape it to appeal to their sense of hearing and ease of speech.

This habit of borrowing words makes English a wonderfully flexible language, but also can lead to confusion like my childhood struggle with pumpkin. However, in this case English speakers in early North America actually adopted the American Indian word for the squash which was and is, lo and behold, pumpkin. This version won out over the inherited strangled version of the French for the same fruit. Yet on first glance, it still looks like you are talking about a fruit which is somehow related to a pump!

 

#EnglishLanguage #Pumpkin

 

The kaleidoscope I received as a child ranks high in the list of my childhood toys because it was magical. Watching the many colors sliding into one design after another, as though there would be no end, reminded me of stained-glass windows and an image I created for myself. This mental image formed in early childhood days when language was not easy or understood.

My internal kaleidoscope resembled a grotto pool, dark, but reflecting light. This mental picture, which I later called “my core” was marbled with swirls of color like rainbows in pools of water suspended above the spots of oil in our driveway after rain. The colors at my core formed shapes which were the visible manifestations of ideas for which I had no words. My understanding developed through these patterns which somehow explained to me the outer world. It was a language of color.

Green was the color of my imagination, a green world to explore like fields of grass or the crowns of trees, a sheltered realm where thoughts could blossom wildly in a carnival of exotic forms as I tried to find the shapes which would settle out like shore sand from receding tide water, leaving solid understanding.

Blue slithered its coolness across nerve endings scraped raw by my struggles to cope when anger erupted around me, or when violet seeped into my being like sludge.

Violet was the icy cold of frozen anger—mine.

In contrast, orange was fiery anger, the kind that bursts quickly into flame and then just as quickly burns out. Orange flamed into my head when I was treated unfairly, for example when a playmate would not share my own toys with me. When my orange anger was stifled, it descended into the depths moldering into violet.

Red was the color of strength, of home, of growth. It could be violent. Earthquakes were red.

But favorite of all was yellow, the color of joy.

The Kaleidoscope feature, like the multi-colored images seen within the optical instrument of the same name, will present shifting topics from week to week. Here I will explore of the oddities of the English language, such as words which seem to contradict themselves. Blog subjects may also be related to material in the website features Glass Rain and Refractions and Through the Looking Glass. This week’s blog is related to the poem in the last listed feature and to the topic of synesthesia (see Splintered Glass section).

 

#ColorandEmotion