 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.
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 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.  Every year I volunteer at my local Society for Children's Book Writers & Illustrators' Writers" Day (that's a mouthful, eh?). This year's Writers' Day happens this weekend. The theme is "Connecting the Creative Dots," so it occurred to me to look into the word dot.
Over the years, the noun dot has meant a speck, a small, round spot, a decimal point, a short click in Morse Code, an abbreviation for the name Dorothy or the Department of Transportation, a multiplication sign, & a precise point in time. The verb dot has meant to mark with a dot, & to mark with scattered dots, Originally, dot meant the head of a boil. Thankfully, we won't be dealing with boils at Writers' Day, but it's very likely at least one participant will be festooned with polkadots, decimal points will play a role (as books will be bought & sold), a Dorothy or Dot may be in attendance, some of us will arrive on the dot, and since writers & illustrators are involved, a goodly percentage of us might be referred to as dotty. And because writers & illustrators come in a variety of ages, there may be a few who could be considered dottering. Ah, the dot. Big thanks to this week's sourced: etymon line.com merriamwebster.com, CollinsDictionary.com,  Sometimes a Wordmonger just wants to have fun. Enter, anagrams. In case you don’t know, an anagram is made by shuffling the letters in a word or collection of words to come up with new words or phrases.
Below are anagrams of the words Political, Democrat, & Republican,. Each list includes an item that looks like an anagram, but is not – a wolf in Gram’s clothing, an anasham. Search for the bad examples, then check the first comment for the answers. Political Cilia plot Coital lip Local tipi clap to it I clip a lot I all topic Democrat Tom raced Tamer doc Toad cram Metro cad Mr ate Doc Mr Ed Taco Republican Curable nip Nice burlap Nubile carp Car pub line Burp in lace Plain curb If you like playing with anagrams & you’d rather not do so in an old school fashion, check out https://www.wordsmith.org/anagram/, where you can generate dozens upon dozens more anagrams for each of these examples. Any thoughts about anagrams & anashams?  For years I've been trying to break a habit learned from my dad -- the habit of swearing colorfully at inanimate objects like stepstools, hammers, pliers, and such. In honor of my dad's propensity for turning the air blue, we’ll take a look at the word blue.
Scott C. Perry Jr. (known in the family as Puz) happened to have blue eyes, though I doubt anyone who would’ve called him a blue-eyed boy. He headed to work at MGM Studios straight out of high school as a blue-collar worker. Though he wasn't inclined to get the blues, he could certainly appreciate someone playing the blues. He would not have been fond of blue laws, & did not frequent restaurants featuring cordon bleu chefs. But he could curse a blue streak like nobody's business. Etymologists are somewhat uncertain regarding the association of the word blue with profanity. The first instances of phrases like turn the air blue or cuss/curse a blue streak occurred in the 1840s. This may be associated with the Scottish phrase thread o’ blue, which referred to music or literature that included a “smutty touch,” however some linguists see this as a shaky connection. Blue collar is a reference to the traditionally blue work clothes of those engaged in manual labor. Cordon bleu translates to blue ribbon & refers to the highest level of chefs, those who might win a blue first place ribbon. The term blue-eyed-boy refers to the employee preferred by the boss; synonymous with the term fair-haired-boy; both appear to reflect long-lived European prejudices.Once in a blue moon is a term first documented in 1821 that reflects that rare occasion when we see two full moons in one month. Since 1741, we've used the term the blues to refer to depression or low spirits. From that usage was born the musical term, the blues, defined by musicologists as a minor interval where a major would be expected. Though Puz was a musical dude, he would've asserted, that the blues don't require a definition -- we can feel the blues in the music. Into the wild blue yonder is a term referring to the excitement or isolation of traveling to the unknown. It’s not quite synonymous with Jackie Gleason’s classic line, “To the moon, Alice, to the moon,” but I’m forced to mention this line due to Puz’s affinity for Jackie Gleason's show The Honeymooners & Puz’s own unplanned travel to the unknown some sixteen years ago. Blogophiles, please leave a comment suggesting a person in your life & what one word you might propose as a tribute to him/her. My thanks go out to this week’s sources The OED, The Free Dictionary & Etymonline.  Most all our word meaning confused come from verbs, but not all those original verbs mean to confuse.
The words confound & confuse both come from Latin — to pour together. confound made its way to English in the 1300s, meaning to condemn, curse, disconcert or perplex. Confused appeared in English in Middle English, but it wasn’t until the 1500s that we dropped the final -d to create the verb confuse. Addled , addle-pated, & addle-headed made their way into English in the 1600s from an Old English verb which meant become putrid. The word was often applied to bad eggs, which are sometimes stinky, & sometimes empty, & it’s the empty meaning that moved addled toward its modern meaning of idle, confused, muddled or unsound. Bewildered came from the verb bewilder, which came from Old English and appeared in the 1600s. Its literal meaning was to be led into the wilderness, though the figurative meaning confounded or confused almost immediately eclipsed the literal meaning. We didn’t have the words flummox & flummoxed until 1837, & nobody’s sure where they came from. In the 1720s the word muzzy appeared, mostly likely a form of the word mossy. The year 1759 brought us the word muddle-headed, from an old Germanic verb that meant to destroy the clarity of. That same root also gave us mud. Baffle appears to have come from a French verb which meant to abuse or hoodwink. This word traveled through Scottish, where it meant to disgrace. By the 1540s, English speakers appear to have associated confusion with disgrace, and the words baffle, baffled, & bafflement were born. An Old French word & an Old English word were slapped together in 1735 to come up with the verb bemuse, to stupefy, & so we have bemused. In the early 1800s, some Americans amused themselves by making fun of Latin by creating ridiculous, Latin-sounding words. Discombobulate & confusticate came about because of this practice. And in 1703 bamboozle showed up in English, most likely from a Scottish verb meaning to confound or perplex. Bamboozled or inspired by any of this? Please say so in the comments. Big thanks to ANNE LORENZEN for inspiring this post, & to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Paintingvalley.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & Etymonline.  The word sweet has been with us since we were speaking Old English. It came through Germanic languages from Proto-Indo-European. Though for a time it meant to advise, for years it has mostly meant pleasant to the senses.
Idioms involving the word sweet are rife: 1290 — sweetheart 1300s -- life is sweet 1590s — a rose by any other name would smell as sweet 1700s — sweet dreams 1723 -- sweet and sour foods 1767 — sweet sixteen 1823 — home sweet home 1900 — sweet nothings 1914 — toot sweet (from the French tout de suite) 1935 -- sweet talk 1957 — sweet smell of success 1976 — sweet spot 1971 — sweet as tupelo honey And here are some I can’t find origin dates for: short & sweet sweet young thing sweet as pie in one’s own sweet time sweetie-pie Nothing like a little sweetness. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster,Word Histories, Phrases.org, Stack Exchange. New Republic, & Etymonline.  The word deep comes from an old word meaning deep & hollow. Though the people who used this ancient root never wrote it down, etymologists write it *dheub-. Like our modern word, deep, the original root also carried the figurative meanings profound, inspiring, solemn, mysterious, awful.
Of course, *dheub- was far too deep a word to give us only the word deep. About the year 1200, it gave us dive, to descend or plunge headfirst into water. I’m compelled to note that the idiom dive bar was born in the 1800s. It appears to have come from the fact that many low-end drinking establishments could only be accessed by walking downstairs from street level, thus diving into the bar. Quarrelsome as they are, etymologists are still duking it out over the etymology of typhus & typhoon. They may have come from Arabic, Mandarin, Cantonese, or Greek. They may also have come from *dheu-, a form of *dheub that meant smoke. Or they may have come directly from *dheub-. I suppose both typhoon & typhus can be seen to embrace the concept of depth. Python also inspires fistfights among the more pugnacious etymologists. One camp hangs its hat on the story of Apollo slaying the serpent near Delphi, which was originally called Pythein, a word meaning to rot. The alternative camp finds our ancient root *dheub- responsible for python, as monsters such as serpents were often believed to inhabit the depths. Interestingly, the name Donald also comes from this same root that gave us dive, deep, typhus, typhoon, & python. Donald showed up in English in the 1200s from Scottish (though the name in Scottish was either Dofnald or Dufenald). It entered Scottish from Proto-Celtic, where it was something more like Dubno-valos, & meant ruler of the world, valos meaning to be strong & dubno (from the root *dheub-) meaning world. Hmmm. One must wonder. So this one root has something to do with hollow, deep, storm, plunging headfirst, disease, foundation, world, even monster habitat. Yikes. Some etymologies offer those combative etymologists more grist than others, eh? Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Phrases.org, Lexico, PaintingValley.com, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, & Etymonline.  It seems I can’t read the news these days without being flummoxed by how many toadies there are out in the world. So here’s a post on toady & its synonyms.
In the 1600s, the assistants of performing charlatans were sometimes forced to eat a “poisonous” toad so the charlatan could amaze the crowd by expelling the “poison”. Not surprisingly, these assistants were known as toad-eaters. In time, the term got shortened to toady & the meaning morphed to a servile parasite or fawning flatterer. Our modern meaning of flunky came about in 1855 (flatterer or toady). Flunky came from a Scottish word meaning footman or servant. It’s believed the pejorative shift was influenced by the requirement that footmen run through the mud & mire alongside a noble’s carriage. In 1846 the term bootlicker (or boot-licker) was born. It came from the 1600s term footlicker, & means a servile follower. An adulator is one who engages in excessive or slavish admiration. This word comes through Old French from Latin, & initially meant to fawn, as a dog after its owner. The etymological jury is still out, but it is likely adulator came from words meaning to wag the tail. An Old Norse word meaning prone gave us the word grovel, which gave us the word groveler some time in the 1500s. The meanings of groveler include one who creeps with the face on the ground, & one who abases him/herself. Flatterer came form the word flatter which appeared in the 1200s, meaning, to praise insincerely. It came from Proto-Germanic through Old French, & initially meant one who throws or flings him/herself to the ground. Though we might expect the word sycophant to be the more academic & classy of these words, its roots are crude & sexist. Sycophant came through Latin and Middle French from a Greek word that translates literally to one who shows the fig. This refers to a crass, misogynist gesture ancient Greek men used to taunt one another. From the Things Never Change Department, Etymonline.org notes that, “…politicians in ancient Greece held aloof from such inflammatory gestures, but privately urged their followers to taunt their opponents.” Initially, sycophant meant informer or slanderer, but by the 1570s, the meaning shifted to mean, servile flatterer. Toadies abound! Anything to comment on in all this toadiness? Comment away. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Lexico, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, & Etymonline.  It makes sense that an ancient word meaning to cover would give us words like kerchief, garment, & garnish, but it takes a bit of imagination to connect an ancient verb meaning to cover to some of its other progeny.
These days, the word garret conjures images of Paris, painters, & poets, but garret originally meant a turret or small watchtower — a place that might offer a spying soldier some cover. We also see this military sense of cover in the word garrison. And because we can’t have cover without having uncover, we have the word apperture, meaning an uncovering or opening. And apperture gave birth to something that might uncover one’s appetite, the aperitif, & to the opening to a musical event, the overture. And because we used to turn off the gas lights to signal the end of the night’s revelries, & doing so involved covering those flames, the word curfew was born of this same root meaning to cover. Want to be sure you’re covered when buying something? You can rely on your warranty, (also warrantee), or guarantee (also guaranty). Need a cover under which you might park your car? Try a garage. And they all come from one little Proto-Indo-European root. Linguists write it today as *wer-. This little root also managed to populate languages other than English. Sanskrit, Latin, German, Old Irish, Gothic, Old Persian, Old Church Slavonic, & Lithuanian all have words having to do with covering, all from this one little root, *wer-. Who woulda thunk? I'd love to hear which of these words offered the biggest surprise. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Lexico, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, & Etymonline. |
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.
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