 The word mondegreen was coined by Sylvia Wright in 1954, meaning a series of words that result in the mis-hearing or misinterpretation of song lyrics, popular phrases or poetry. Wright coined the word mondegreen after the imagined Lady Mondegreen, born of a line in Scottish ballad “The Bonny Earl o’ Moray” which actually reads Laid him on the green, but can easily be misinterpreted as Lady Mondegreen..
Another example might be mis-hearing Jimi Hendrix’s line from "Purple Haze", Excuse me while I kiss the sky, to be, Accuse me while I kiss the guy. Below are some mondegreens. Read each one with the intent of discovering the original phrase or lyrics that led to this misunderstanding. A. I led the pigeons to the flag B. The ants are my friends, blowing in the wind C. America, America, God is Chef Boyardee D. There’s a bathroom on the right E. The bright blessed day & the dog said goodnight F. The girl with colitis goes by G. She’s got a chicken to ride OR she’s got a tic in her eye H. Rocket Man, burning all the trees off every lawn Now check the comments section to see how you did & to make any comments you might be inspired to make. Big thanks to friend Aaron Keating, for suggesting this week’s topic, & thanks to this week’s sources: Wordnik, About Education, University of Houston, & Merriam-Webster.
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 Though we spell it meat, in Old English it was spelled mete & meant simply, food. It came from a Proto-Indo-European mad-, meaning moist or wet. This same root turned into an Irish word meaning pig, a German word meaning sausage, two Sanskrit words (a noun meaning fat, & a verb meaning bubbling), plus a Latin adjective meaning drunk.
It wasn’t until 1300 that meat (or mete as it was spelled at the time) moved from meaning food to the more specialized meaning, edible flesh. In the next century or so, vegetables could be referred to in English as grene-mete. It appears those prudish Victorians coined the euphemisms white meat and dark meat, so that while discussing their meal, diners wouldn’t have to use racy terms like breast, leg or thigh. Some of meat’s etymological moments include: meatloaf – (main course of ground meat, breadcrumbs & seasonings) 1876 meat market – (a place one looks for sex partners) 1896 meat – (the essential part) 1910 meat-hooks – (fingers, hands or arms) 1919 meat wagon – (ambulance) 1920 like a blind dog in a meat market – (out of control) 1928 dead meat – (someone with no hope of surviving) 1948 meat grinder – (mill for grinding meat) 1951 Please leave any meaty thoughts in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Merriam-Webster, & the OED.  A photo by friend & fellow blogger, Kevin Keelan inspired this post. Kevin’s essays, poems, photographs & the occasional rant can be found at KPKWorld – The Last Creative Iconoclast.
The photo inspires a lot of thoughts. The thought tree up which I’ll bark for this post, though is the word garbage. Garbage entered English in the 1580s meaning waste parts of an animal used for human consumption – a definition that admittedly argues with itself. Somehow over time we’ve lost the related Middle English verb garbelage, meaning to remove waste. When the trash must be taken out, I know many parents of teens who would take great joy in looking their teens in the eye and saying simply, “Garbelage.” Though the roots of garbage are officially unknown. Some etymologists argue it may have come from an Old French word (garbe or jarbe) meaning a bundle of wheat. Other etymologists suggest garbage may have come from Anglo-French and may somehow have been influenced by the word garble. The word waste is related to the word vast. Waste came to English through Anglo-French from Latin about 1200, meaning desolate regions. About 1400, waste picked up the meaning excess material. Waste paper was born in the 1580s and waste basket in the 1850s. Litter showed up in the 1300s from Anglo-French, meaning a bed-like vehicle carried on the shoulders. By the early 1400s the word was being applied to mattresses & the straw used to fill them. By the late 1400s the noun litter was applied to the straw in which an animal might give birth, & soon after came to refer to the new offspring of such an animal. By the 1800s, litter also referred to the straw & the waste in it after it had served as animal bedding, & by the 1700s litter grew to mean disorderly debris. The noun refuse came from Old French meaning a rejected thing. It was born of the verb refuse, as one might reject, disregard or avoid a rejected thing as though it were refuse. Rubbish also came from Anglo-French, meaning worthless material. It showed up in English in 1400 & is most likely related to the word rubble. The noun trash came to English in the 1400s, meaning thing(s) of little use. It appears to have come from a Scandinavian source. By 1604 trash’s figurative life was born & folks started using the word to disparage groups of people. The term trashcan showed up in 1914, the verb trash, to destroy or vandalize, appeared in 1970, & the term trash-talk was born in 1989. If you’d like to see more of Kevin’s work, please spend some time at KPKWorld or read his thoughts about Ireland (& litter). If you’ve got something to say about all this etymological rubbish I’ve just thrown at you, please leave a note in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: KPKWorld, Etymonline, Wordnik, Merriam-Webster,& the OED.  Somehow I ended up with an intriguing multi-volume dictionary, each slim volume detailing words associated with one of the seven deadly sins. This 2011 series is called The Deadly Dictionaries. This week’s post features words that appear in the volume titled Pride – a Dictionary for the Vain. May you enjoy the words, but avoid manifesting the meanings.
Foofaraw is an excessive amount of decoration one heaps on oneself. The noun foofaraw was born in America in the 1930s. Etymologists haven’t nailed down its source, but some suggest it may have come from the Spanish word fanfaron, which means braggart. A person who is contumelious is scornfully arrogant or insolently abusive. The adjective contumelious came to English in the late 1400s through Old French from Latin. Vain boasting can be called rotomontade, a noun that arrived in English about 1600. The word is based on the character Rodomonte in Arioso’s parody, Orlando Furioso. Kvel (or kvell) came to English through Yiddish from a Middle High German word meaning to gush or swell. Those who kvel these days boast in an overly proud manner. One who is fastuous is haughty, arrogant, or ostentatious. Fastuous appeared in English in the 1600s from Latin. In the 1580s the noun saucebox was born, meaning one who is addicted to making saucy remarks. And we’ll finish up with some idioms meaning to boast: -to swing the lamp -to be puffed up -to shoot a line -to crow -to draw the long bow -to toot one’s own horn -to think no small beer of oneself -to fly the bunk -to have cornstarchy airs I’m hoping you have something to say about all this foofaraw. If so, please leave a note in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Merriam-Webster, Pride – A Dictionary for the Vain (Adams 2011), & the OED.  This week I discovered something about words that refer to immeasurable amounts. Most are of questionable origin.
The noun heap came to Old English from the West Germanic word haupaz, meaning a great multitude or pile. Its earlier source is not clear. One school of etymologists argues that heap may have come from a Latin word meaning lie down, while another argues it may be related to another Old English word meaning high. The noun lump came to English in the 1300s as a surname (a shame Mr. Dickens never made use of it). Though etymologists quibble over lump’s origins, no definitive source has been found. The noun jumble, meaning a confused mixture, showed up in the 1660s. Its source was the verb jumble, which appeared forty years earlier, meaning to move confusedly. Though its origin is uncertain, it seems jumble may have been modeled on the sounds of the words stumble & tumble. The noun wad originally meant a fibrous mass. Wad appeared in the 1400s. Though nobody’s sure about wad’s origin, it may have come from Medieval Latin (wadda), Dutch (watten), French (ouate), Italian, (ovate) or Medieval English (wadmal). In the early 1300s bunch came to English, meaning a protuberance on the body. Though some etymologists posit that bunch may have been born through combining the word bump with the word punch, nobody’s really sure about the source of bunch. Meaning a thick block, chunk came to English in the 1690s. Again, we’re not sure of its source, though it may be a nasalized version of the cut of meat called a chuck. And finally we reach the noun slew. It showed up in 1839 meaning large number. Unlike its brethren, slew has an identified source. It came through Irish (sluagh) from a Celtic & Balto-Slavic word spelled sloug, meaning help or service. I’m hoping you have some reaction to this heap, bunch, wad, jumble, chunk, lump, or slew of words. If so, please enter your thoughts in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Merriam-Webster, & the OED.  Consider the tiny the word pill.
Meaning a small ball or round mass of medicine, the word pill showed up in English about 1400 after a tour through Middle Dutch, Middle Low German & Middle French from its humble beginnings in Latin, where its literal translation was little ball, yet even back then it was primarily used to refer to a small ball of medicine. Looking further back on the language tree, many etymologists believe pilula, that Latin word meaning little ball, came from the word pilus, which meant hair. These same etymologists are pretty sure words for hair and ball were so closely intertwined because of the inglorious hairball, which is apparently not just a modern problem. Though we’re not entirely sure, it’s believed Latin hairballs may have also been the source of the word pearl, appearing in English in the 1200s after making its way through Vulgar Latin, Medieval Latin & Old French. In the 1300s, the word pellet appeared after a bit of time in Vulgar Latin & Old French, also likely born of the hairball. Some possible, yet faux siblings include pillar, pillory, & pile. These all come from another Latin root pila, meaning stone barrier or heap. The name Pilar came from these, as Pilar is a reference to a pillar carved with the image of the Virgin Mary. Another faux sibling of pill is the word pilaf, which comes through Turkish from Persian & refers to a delicious rice dish completely devoid of hairballs. And for our last grandchild of the inglorious hairball, we come to the verb pillage, which appeared in English in the 1300s, meaning the act of plundering. Pillage came through Old French from Latin & most likely came from the idea of stripping someone of his/her skin or hair, an unseemly act providing another inglorious image. Please accept my apologies. Anything to say about hairballs? If so, just click on the word “comments” below & enter your comment. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Think Baby Names, Merriam-Webster, & the OED.  Last week’s post covered a steaming heap of unlikely words that shared a common root meaning to speak. In an attempt for balance, I took a look at the etymologies of silence & quiet for this week’s post, but came away uninspired. The word mute is another matter.
Mute made its way into English in the 1300s through Old French & Latin from Greek. Initially, mute meant pretty much what it mostly means today – silent. By the 1570s mute picked up the meaning stage actor engaging in pantomime. By 1811 a mute could be applied to a stringed instrument & by 1841 a mute could be used on horns. The Greek source for mute was myein, to be shut, & myein has some intriguing progeny. One branch of the myein tree grew like this: It started way back in Greek as myein, to be shut. Next, it became mystes, one who has been initiated (possibly referring to having been previously shut out). From there it became mysteria, a secret rite or doctrine. Next, it grew to be mysterium, secret worship or secret thing. And from there it became mistere, secret or hidden meaning. Then (in the early 1300s) it became mystery, meaning religious truth via divine revelation. These days most dictionaries offer about a dozen meanings for mystery, generally starting off with something like an event that baffles or eludes the understanding. Another mysterious branch of the myein tree grew in this fashion: Of course, we start with myein, to be shut. Next comes myops, which literally meant close the eyes, but came to mean near-sighted. By 1727, we have the word myopia. Mute is often confused with a word that started out as a Proto-Germanic word meaning assembly or council (ga-motan) It next moved into Old English as gemot, meaning meeting. One must assume Old English meetings were contentious, as the next Old English word on this tree was moot, to debate. By the 1530s, moot picked up the adjectival meaning debatable or discussion of a hypothetical law case. So from that old Greek word myein we ended up with mute, myopia & mystery, but not moot. I’m hoping you’ve got something to say about all this. If so, just click on the word “comments” below & enter your comment. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, & the OED.  Take a look at the following words and ask yourself how they might possibly share a common root:
fairy prophet fame ban infant confess fable beckon affable nefarious I must admit, given this list, I wouldn’t have a clue. The common root here is the Proto-Indo-European word bha-, to speak. The word ban showed up in Old English about the same time Old English showed up. Ban came to us through Old High German from a Proto-Germanic word meaning banish, expel or curse (all actions which must be spoken). Like the rest of the words on this list, it seems to have started with bha-, to speak. Beckon showed up in Old English about the same time through a West Saxon & possibly Old High German word meaning to make a mute sign or to speak without words. Prophet appeared in English in the late 1100s through Latin from a Greek word meaning one who speaks for the gods. Fairy showed up in English in 1300, through a Latin word meaning that which is fated, & of course, for anyone to know something is fated, it must first be spoken of. Fame showed up in the early 1200s through Old French from a Latin word meaning talk, rumor, report, good reputation. Affable – came from Old French through a Latin word meaning one who can be easily spoken to. It appeared in English in the 1400s. Infant appeared in English in the 1300s from a Latin word meaning unable to speak (the in- meaning not & the fant meaning speak). Confess came from Old French from a Vulgar Latin word meaning speak together or admit. Like infant, it arrived in the 1300s. Fable also showed up in the 1300s through Old French from a Latin word meaning spoken narrative. Nefarious appeared in English in the 1600s from a Latin word meaning wicked crime. In this case, the ne- negates the root fari-, which meant divinely spoken, which suggests that a crime is an activity a higher power has forbidden. All from a little old word (actually, a little VERY old word) meaning speak. I’m hoping you might click on the word “comments” below & let me know where your brain went when asked the initial question in this post. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, & the OED.  This week I found myself thinking over Mary Penney’s fabulous middle grade novel, Eleven and Holding. For more than one reason, it got me thinking about benevolence. It wouldn’t be fair to say the book is about benevolence, but it features some secondary characters whose benevolence truly shines.
As does the author’s. Mary is one of those quiet people out in the world doing good things. She doesn’t need people to know she’s doing good, she just does it. Mary would like to grow up to be a philanthropist (insert laughter from anyone with intimate knowledge of a children’s author’s earnings here). She makes the point that if one has goals, one needs to practice. And how does an up-and-coming philanthropist with a small income practice? By giving in small bits. So Mary gives. In everyday little ways, in offering conference scholarships to authors, in helping veterans, in sprinkling kindness here & there, & in writing books that offer hope & bring smiles to kids’ faces. Mary is a poster-child for benevolence, a word which appeared in English in 1400, through Old French from the Latin word benevolentia. The bene- part of the word means good or well, while the –volentia means to wish. A person who is benevolent is spending his/her time & thoughts wishing others well. If you’ve been watching or reading a lot of news these days, you could probably use a reminder that benevolence happens. You’d probably benefit from spending time with good people wishing others well, perhaps giving in small bits. If so, you might want to read Mary Penney’s middle grade novel, Eleven and Holding (HarperCollins, 2016). And if you’ve got a bit of time, how about clicking on comments below & recounting a benevolent act you recently encountered? Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, & the OED.  It's pretty darn toasty in many places this summer, so I'm hoping this post can counteract the heat with a bit of chilling .
The word chill came from the Old English word ciele, which meant cold, coolness, frost, or to freeze. Ciele’s source was the Proto-Indo-European word gel-, which gave birth to heaps of modern English words. Given what liquids do when they cool down, it’s not much of a stretch to see how a word meaning to freeze could be the parent of gel, gelatin & Jello. Gelatin, meaning a clear, jelly-like substance, appeared in 1713 after spending a couple of centuries in France as gélatine. Gel, an abbreviated form of gelatin showed up in English in 1899, meaning a semi-solid substance. Jelly’s parent-word also spent some time in France (as gelee) before moving across the channel to, well, jell into the word we know. And in 1900 the Genesee Pure Food Company started selling a product called Jello. A Latin step-child of gel- also made its way into France, then to England in 1650 as glacial. And by 1744 the noun glacier was born. And what happened to gel- on its way through German and Old English? It became both cool & cold. Because water expands upon freezing, gel- is the parent-word for the Old German word gelb-, to swell, & because a cow swells prior to giving birth, gelb- is the parent-word of calf. So calving of a glacier = Cold of a cold? Frost of a frost? Gel of the Jello? Inquiring minds... As much of the nation is swept up in a heat wave, I’m hoping most of you are getting the occasional chance to chill. I also hope you’ll find a minute to comment on all this chilling in the comments section. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Etymonline, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, & the OED. |
I write for teens, narrate audio books, bake bread, play music, and ponder the wonder of words in a foggy little town on California's central coast.
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