  Snoot came to English in 1861 from the Scottish version of snout, which came to the language five centuries earlier, meaning projecting nose of an animal. It came from the German word schnauz (the root of the dog breed schnauzer), also meaning nose of an animal.
Snort, snarl, snore, sneeze, snooze, schnorrer, snuff, snoop, & snot also appear to have come from schnauz or other onomatopoeic nose-related Germanic words. Also related is the word snorkel, which showed up in English in 1944, meaning the airshaft for a submarine, named that due to its apparent resemblance to a nose. It wasn’t until 1951 that snorkel began to mean curved breathing tube used by a swimmer. There’s something incredibly satisfying about onomatopoeic words. Simply saying a string of them brings a smile. Try it with this list: snort, snarl, snore, sneeze, snooze, schnorrer, snuff, snoop, snorkel, snoot & snot. Thank you. Thanks to this week’s sources: Collins Dictionary, the OED, Etymonline, Yonderoo, & Merriam Webster.
2 Comments
 In modern parlance, the word oaf gives us a very different image than the word elf. Interestingly, they come from the same source. The word oaf (initially spelled auf or oph) showed up in English in the 1620s from a Scandinavian source & meant a changeling — a foolish or otherwise defective child left by the fairies. The word elf came from that same Scandinavian root, but in its Germanic phase it got stuck in a detour & showed up in English meaning one of a race of powerful, supernatural beings. In modern English we pluralize elf as elves, & back when modern English first became a thing, we pluralized oaf as oaves. Sadly, we lost that spelling & pronunciation along the way. It doesn’t appear that oaf gave us any proper names, but we did get some names from the word elf: Aelfric, Aelfwine, Eldridge, & Alfred. Synonyms for the modern word oaf include: lout, clod, lubber, & doofus, while synonyms for elf include: fairy, sprite, pixie, & brownie. May all those who feel like louts, clods & lubbers find themselves transforming into powerful, supernatural beings. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Megan Gwynn, & Drawing Tutorials.  Over fifty years ago, Arlo Guthrie said, “If you wanna see the light, you have to have a dark to stick it in.”
I know a lot of people right now trying to see a little light, & if we think like Arlo, perhaps that light will become easier to see. Light came to Old English through Germanic languages, from Proto-Indo-European, meaning brightness, radiant energy, that which makes things visible, daylight, spiritual illumination. Since the 1300s it’s been possible to stand in someone’s light, Since 1590 one could be the light in someone’s eyes. The meanings in play in the phrases, I see the light, & can you give me a light? came about in the 1680s. We’ve been able to be out like a light since 1934, & light applied itself to traffic lights in 1938. Some light-based idioms include: sweetness & light, light my fire, light on your feet, give the green light, fast as the speed of light, hide one’s light under a bushel, to gaslight, blue-light special, & many more. Dark showed up in Old English meaning without light, lacking brightness, obscure, sad, gloomy, cheerless, sinister, wicked. It appears to have come from some unspecified Proto-Germanic language. The term Dark Ages, which has been recently replaced with the less fraught moniker, Middle Ages, was born in 1739 (centuries after the “Dark” Ages), when the term was defined to mean period of ignorance. Some dark-based idioms include: dark horse, a shot in the dark, being kept in the dark, dark comedy, dark side, dark underbelly, to be left in the dark, darkest hour, to whistle in the dark, & tall, dark & handsome. As time passes by, may you all find the light easier to see. Thanks to this week’s sources: The Free Dictionary, Collins Dictionary, Etymonline, Jan Op DeBeeck, & Merriam Webster.  So, the 2024 election is over. I’m thinking these words are salient, They come from the inimitable Mr. Rogers as he was discussing his mom’s advice about dealing with difficult times:
“'Always look for the helpers’," she'd tell me. ‘There's always someone who is trying to help.’ I did, and I came to see that the world is full of doctors and nurses, police and firemen, volunteers, neighbors and friends who are ready to jump in to help when things go wrong.” Given the election results, a lot will go wrong for a lot of people in the next four years. Perhaps it’s time that those of us with even the tiniest bit of privilege exercise that privilege, not to look for the helpers, but to become the helpers. And in doing so, let’s take a look at the verb help, which came to English before the 1100s, back when we spoke Old English. It meant to help, support, succor, benefit, do good to, cure, & amend. By the 1200s it also meant to offer aid or assistance. By the 1400s, help! became an interjection & a cry of distress. Though help showed up as a noun about the same time it showed up as a verb, the usage the help, referring to servants, didn’t occur until the 1640s in the USA. There are vulnerable folks in every community — people who need help. Where are they? Who are they? What do they need that we can provide? How can we become the helpers? Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam-Webster, Snopes, The Oxford English Dictionary, Collins Dictionary, & Greg Joens.  In this week preceding the 2024 presidential election, most the people I know are — as the say — wigging out.
So try this: Breathe, chill, embrace, calm. The word breathe came to English in the 1200s, meaning to draw air into & expel it from the lungs. It came from the noun, breath, which has meant over the years, odor, scent, exhalation, vapor, & steam. If you’re finding yourself worked up about the election, breathe. Then breathe again. Maybe a few more times would be wise. Chill entered Middle English meaning cold, coolness, frost, a sensation of suffering from cold or illness, but in recent times has come to mean, to be easy-going, to go with the flow, So take this opportunity to chill. Go with the flow. Relax. Embrace arrived in English in the 1300s, meaning to clasp in the arms. Embrace a friend, a loved one, a soulmate. Hold on. Breathe together. Chill together. The verb calm showed up in English in the late 1300s, meaning to make still or quiet. It came from the noun calm, meaning absence of storm or wind, & may have roots in a French word meaning stillness, quiet, tranquility. Try it. Calm yourself. Is there reason for concern & worry, even agitation? Absolutely, but at this point most of us have voted, those of us willing to write editorials, canvass, & help get out the vote have done what we can, & we owe ourselves a little calm. Calm before the storm? Very likely. So when the storm hits, just think how you’ll appreciate this moment you’ve just taken to breathe, chill, embrace, & calm. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Urban Dictionary, Etymonline, Merriam Webster, clker.com, & Collins Dictionary.  Last week’s post covered some unlikely vocabulary from my fabulous mom. And the conversations around it unearthed some more of her unlikely words and turns of phrase, so here we go --
Eggs were guggenheims. No kidding. I can find no egg=guggenheim association on the web. But there you go. When one put gas in the car, one filled the car with ramble-sap. Again, I can find no evidence that anyone else ever used this term, but at least we can make some sense out of it. Obviously, rambling requires a little sap, right? When someone was drawing near, she’d say, “I hear footprints approaching in a rowboat.” She attributed this saying to her grandmother, Sally King. I’ve always loved the concept of hearing footprints. I admit, my sister doesn’t remember this saying, but that’s fair because she remembers one I never heard Muz say. If while driving, someone cut her off she’d say, “Well, the same to you with knobs.” This appears to be British slang. When heading out to dinner, it was important to Muz to get there a bit before other people might arrive, so we could beat the vultures. I find evidence that others have used this idiom, but no commentary on its source. And when most folks might say something was wonky or cattywampus, Muz used the word oscispudle (ah-skee-spew-dull). I like this invention so well I think we need to advocate for its usage. Next is a phrase she learned from her father, CH Palmer, “If I don’t see you again, hello.” It appears a variation of this was used in 1998 movie, The Truman Show, though I can’t find reference to any earlier usage. And last, but not least, a phrase I cite all the time, Things take longer than they do. Always true. And the need for a second Muzly post proved it. Any memories of quirky familial language? Please post it in the comments. Big thanks to my sources: Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Etymonline, my sister Danette Rogers, & my niece, Delaney Romero.  My mom, Patricia Lee Perry, would be 92 this month. She was a user of intriguing words, many with questionable origins, so this post is dedicated to her. We mostly called her Muz (the origins of this moniker are under family dispute).
A number of Muzly words occurred in the kitchen. While knives were always knives and spoons were always spoons, forks, for some reason, were called pokes. Muz referred to salt & pepper as slat & peeper. Though I never asked about it, I’ve aways assumed that someone at some point misspelled things on the shopping list, & she embraced the new pronunciations. In Muz’s kitchen, sugar was referred to as tea-gawk. Again, I wish I’d asked about it. One can put sugar in one’s tea, but what’s the deal with gawk? To gawk is to stare stupidly. It came from a word that much earlier meant to honor & revere, so perhaps adding sugar to one’s tea is somehow honorable? It will remain a mystery. When a person walked with swaying hips, Muz referred to it as calipigating (or possibly calipigaiting). The second spelling includes the word gait, which makes some sense, & a caliper is used to measure things, so perhaps..? I can find no written use of this word, however, my father-in-law also used it. He grew up in Ithaca, New York, & was of German descent, while Muz grew up in Denver, Colorado & was of Irish/Scottish/English/Nordic stock. Another mystery. When a stomach was complaining, Muz called the condition the mulligrubs, a word that has actually been recorded! The mulligrubs can either be intestinal pain, or a fit of the blues. The word appears to have been born in the 1590s, & made an appearance as a character in a 1605 production of Dutch Courtesan. A child who couldn’t keep still (hmm, who might that have been?), was known as a fiddlebritches. Though I can find evidence of others using the term fiddlebritches, or fiddle britches, I can find no etymological consideration of the term. And as an experienced fiddlebritches, I am compelled to comment here that britches need not be involved in the fiddling. I’m hoping this post might inspire some of you to remember quirky language from your upbringing. If so, please cite some examples in the comments. Big thanks to my origin-checking sources: Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, the OED, & my sister, Danette Rogers.  In the 1400s, the verb tattle referred to the babblings of an infant, then in time it took on the meaning to speak foolishly. By the 1520s it picked up meaning as a noun, idle talk or chat, & it appears from that noun was born the meaning to spill secrets. About that same time the noun tattle-tale (or tattletale) was born.
The verb rat, to inform or tattle, was born of the misunderstanding that rats leave a ship before it sinks — obviously, saving one’s own skin was considered as dishonorable as telling lies. Though squeal has been around since the 1300s, meaning a sharp, shrill cry, it wasn’t until 1865 that it picked up the meaning to tattle. The German word fink’s literal meaning was finch, but it was the figurative sense of this German word that made its way into English as fink, an informer or tattler. Nark is both a verb and noun, and has no relationship to narcotics. Nark most likely comes from a Romany word meaning nose. So nark might be a racist slur alluding to nose size & the apparent superpowers that come from nose size or it might refer to the ability of an informer to sniff things out. Another etymological mystery. And at last we get to snitch. A comment last week from Maria D’Marco asking about snitch inspired this week’s column. Snitch appeared in the late 1700s, most likely from a slang term that meant nose (perhaps along the lines of nark?). Snitch means both to steal & to tattle. If you’ve got any thoughts about all this tattling, please voice those thoughts in the comments. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Collins Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Urban Dictionary, Dreamstime, & of course, Maria D’Marco.  Ah, when siblings fight. Or maybe that would be when generations fight…
Back when Old English was the ONLY English, further meant onward, beyond, more distant, & farther away. It also meant to a greater degree, in addition, & moreover. This one word managed to cover both a literal distance & a figurative distance, so it worked in sentences like these: Trudy walked further down the trail before spotting the illusive, crested elk. Alfonzo loved studying algebra, geometry, calculus, & he dreamed of going further. Astrid’s spaceship took her further and further away from her dear mother. Further data suggested that Heathcliff’s tumor was benign. Then in Middle English, the word farther was born, and for centuries they were used interchangeably. But at some undisclosed time in the 1600s, further & farther began duking it out over territory. Apparently there wasn’t enough room in one definition for both of them. Their brawl seems to have quieted down for now, with farther taking all the literal meanings and further assuming the figurative ones, which would change two of our example sentences to: Trudy walked farther down the trail before spotting the illusive, crested elk. & Astrid’s spaceship took her farther and farther away from her dear mother. With words skirmishing over territory, who knows what will happen in the next few centuries? Big thanks to my sources: MerriamWebster.com, CollinsDictionary.com, etymonline.com, & thehelpfulartteacher.blogspot.com.  In celebration of a book that didn’t get the accolades it deserved, this post focuses on the word goat while appreciating Kate DiCamillo’s middle grade novel, The Beatryce Prophecies (Candlewick Press, 2021). The story features a remarkably rendered goat who lives at a monastery. “Answelica was a goat with teeth that were the mirror of her soul—large, sharp, and uncompromising… She…formed peculiar and inexplicable antipathies, taking an intense dislike to certain individuals. She would stalk a particular brother, waiting for him in the purple shadow of a building, and then she would leap out and make an unholy noise that sounded like the scream of a demon. The monk—terrified, undone—would scream, too. The monk and the goat would then engage in a duet of screaming until the goat was satisfied and trotted away looking beatific, leaving behind her a trembling, weeping monk.” Goat showed up in Old English, coming from the same root that gave us the word kid. Originally, goat meant she-goat (male goats were referred to as bucks). The term nanny-goat appeared in the 1700s, followed by billy-goat in the 1800s. It was about 1670 that goat also began to mean licentious man. And by 1908 it was possible to get someone’s goat. There’s nothing quite like a goat, & in this reader’s mind, DiCamillo’s book The Beatryce Prophecies is, to use a somewhat more modern term, the GOAT. Any goatly thoughts? Please leave them in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: CollinsDictionary.com, etymonline.com, MerriamWebster.com, & vecteezy.com. |
I write for teens & tweens, bake bread, play music, and ponder the wonder of words in a foggy little town on California's central coast.
To receive weekly reminders of new Wordmonger posts, click on "Contact" & send me your email address. Archives
November 2023
|
RSS Feed
