 Every idiom has a story. Here are a few I find entertaining.
In the 1800s, English speakers in America borrowed a Cree word for marmota monax (also known as the groundhog). They squeezed it into sounds that made some sort of sense in English, & ended up with woodchuck. These rodents were powerfully effective diggers, and regularly dug up the dirt roads, yielding chuckholes. Today, though rodents aren’t responsible, we still call the cavities in asphalt & cement roads, chuckholes. Some early puritans held the belief that a human was made of two halves: the body, & the spirit. Given puritanical thinking regarding the body, it should be no surprise that the spirit was considered the better half. When Sir Phillip Sydney wrote The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia, he applied this concept to marriage. Ever since, any married individual has a better half. The word bootlicker was born in the US of A’s youth. When hunters returned from a successful hunt (which often involved dressing and skinning), they weren’t very good at cleaning up their footwear, and stray dogs would follow them to lick their boots. The story goes that the trained hunting dogs would never stoop so low (hmmm), so bootlicker refers to the fawning behavior of curs. The most plausible of the many possible origins for getting one’s ducks in a row has to do with bowling. When bowling first made its way to America, a narrower-then-usual pin was used, which resembled a duck looking upward, & was called a duckpin. In those early years, machinery didn’t set up the pins for the next bowler, so someone had to run down the lane to put the ducks in rows. Voila. In China, a task that requires synchronized multiple hands can be accompanied by the phrase (said in unison), gung ho, which translates to work together. And it’s no surprise that when a bunch of people work together, amazing things can be accomplished. English-speaking observers impressed by such feats as the Great Wall, figured it took a bunch of enthusiasm to manage such a project. Ever since, gung ho! has meant very enthusiastic (in English, anyway). There are a couple possible origins for put up your dukes, & duke it out. Some etymologists link this to the British cockney tradition of labeling one thing by the name of something else that rhymes. Apparently, before 1700, fingers were referred to as forks. Cockney speakers combined this information with the royal title the Duke of York. Since fingers were already called forks, obviously, hands must be dukes! Makes perfect sense, right? Story #2 involves a specific Duke of York — Frederick Augustus, who was “widely admired” as a bare-knuckle fighter. So, fo course, why not call fists dukes? I’d love to know which of these origin stories you find most intriguing, unlikely, or most satisfying. My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Webb Garrison’s Why You Say It, Etymonline.com, , Phrases.org, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.
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 Long ago, there was a root that mostly meant vital force, or life. We modern English speakers no longer have that word, but we have its grandchildren.
One of them made its way through Greek & Latin to become eon, an indefinitely long period of time. Another came through Old English to become the word each, meaning any, all, every. So did ever, meaning at any time, & every, meaning each individual without exception. This root also gave us the word never, meaning not ever, & never’s Old English synonym, no. Making its way through Latin & Old French, this root grew into eternal, meaning enduring, everlasting, endless, as did the word eternity, meaning forever. It also came through Greek & French to become hygiene, the healthful art. Its Latin progeny include longevity, meaning great age or long life, & primeval, or first age. Another came to English through Sanskrit to become Ayurvedic, pertaining to the traditional Hindu science of medicine. Through a Scandinavian source, this word became nay, meaning not ever. Who knew? Vital forces, indeed. My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  We hear a lot about avatars these days, mostly related to avatar’s most modern meaning, a digital representation or handle of a person. Truth is, this word & its forebears have been around quite some time. The first English application of avatar came about in 1784, & meant descent of a Hindu god in an incarnate form, which came from a Sanskrit word meaning the same thing. Linguists cite the source of the Sanskrit word as the Proto-Indo-European (PIE) word *tere-, to overcome, pass through or cross over.
*Tere- is the source of many English words. Through & thorough appeared in English in the 1300s. Initially, both meant from end to end & side to side. It wasn’t until the 1500s that through took on the meaning in one side & out the other & thorough began to mean exhaustively complete. And because air passes through the holes in the nose, we have the word nostril, which came through Old English from a PIE root meaning nose combined with the PIE root *tere-, to pass through. Another word that came from that same Old English word initially meant to pierce or penetrate. By the 1590s this word picked up the meaning a shivering exciting feeling, & became our modern world thrill. Because the Greek gods gained their immortality from drinking the nectar of the gods, the word nectar translates to overcoming death. In this word, *tere- became -tar, added to the PIE root *nek- (death), which also gave us necromancy & many of its kin. And nectar gave birth to the word nectarine. *Tere- also made its way through Latin to become the combining form trans-, which gave us transparent, transcontinental, treason, transition, transcend, transcribe, transect, transient, transaction, transgender, & many more. All this adds up to the fact that the root *tere- is responsible for 75% of the words in the sentence Her avatar’s nostrils thrilled as the treasonous necromancer thoroughly transfixed the nectarine. Life is funny. Please let me know which words or transformations in this post surprised you most. My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  This time of year in America involves many different sorts of mixing, let’s celebrate mix — more specifically, *meik-, the Proto-Indo-European root of the word mix.
This root word’s progeny have landed all over the world & appear in: Sanskrit — misrah — mixed Welsh — mysgu — to mix Old Church Slavonic — meso — to mix Russian — meshat — mix Lithuanian — maišau — to mix or mingle Greek — misgein - to mix or mingle And, of course, *meik- is responsible for heaps of English words: mash — soft mixture from Old English meddle — to interfere — from Old French medley — assortment or mixture (originally, hand to hand combat) from Old French melange — collection of various things — from Old French miscellaneous — collection of difficult-to-classify things— from Latin mestizo/mestiza — person of mixed parentage — from Spanish mustang — half-wild horse of the American prairie — from Mexican Spanish pell-mell — confusedly — from Old French promiscuous — having or involving many sexual partners, but initially a disorderly mix — from Latin melee — confused fight or brawl — from Old French May this season find you mixing it up when it comes to food, to the folks with whom you spend your time, & possibly even the ways you think. Thoughts or comments? You know what to do. My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  Great sounding words, eh? I’ve no idea what it is about that short U sound in snuggle, cuddle, & hug that somehow speaks of coziness & comfort, but it does. Where did we get these comfy words, anyway?
Back in the 1560s when hug made its way into English it was spelled hugge. As it does today, it meant embrace. Though we’re not sure what its original source was, here are the two primary contenders: -the German word hegen, to foster or cherish -the Old Norse word hugga, to comfort. Snuggle appeared in English in the 1680s. It came from the word snug. Like hug, snug has a questionable background. Some contenders for snug’s roots include: -the Old Norse word snoggr, short-haired -the Old Danish word, snog, neat & tidy -the Old Swedish word, snygg, trim & dapper Which brings us to the British slang word snog -- to cuddle or kiss, which, of course, grew out of the word snuggle. When snug appeared on the scene in the 1590s, it was used primarily to refer to a ship, & meant trim or compact. In time, snug added the meanings in a state of ease or comfort, & fit closely. It seems snuggle was born of these two meanings. Cuddle is another word of questionable origin. The Oxford English Dictionary refers to cuddle as “a dialectical or nursery word” & some etymologists suggest it may have come from a now-defunct English word meaning embrace. That word was cull (which is the root of the word collar). Meaning to lie close or snug in a warm embrace, cuddle appeared first in English in the 1520s. May November find you engaged in just the right quantity & quality of snuggles, cuddles & hugs. My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  Most all of us have heard that the word hippopotamus means river horse, & it does. What most of us don’t know is that -potamus (the part that means river) comes from a word meaning rushing water which came from a root word meaning to rush or fly.
From the meaning to rush or fly feather was born, as was pinnate (feather-shaped), pinion (wing joint), & pterodactyl (wing-finger). Stretch your imagination a bit further (imagine someone swaggering with a fancy feather on his/her hat), & the word panache makes sense. Imagine the pointy part of a feather pen, & you see why pin & pen share a root This meaning also gave us pinnacle (pointed peak),& pinniped (fin or pin-footed sea mammal). Some of this root’s progeny include ornithopter & helicopter. But along with meaning to fly, this root meant to rush, which morphed into words meaning to rush in, to grasp, to desire. From these we get the words: petition, appetite, centripetal, compete, perpetual, impetus & impetuous. Because what goes up must come down, & this root is all about flying, it also gave us the words symptom, & ptomaine. Who knew? Please be kind enough to use the comments section to let me know what was most surprising in all this. My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  Wouldn’t you think the words farm & ranch would have pretty simple etymologies? I did, & I was dead wrong.
Ranch showed up in English in 1808 meaning country house. By 1831 ranch also referred to a stock-farm & herding establishment. What I find interesting, though, is the long, twisted road back to this word’s roots. Ranch’s great grandmother-word was a Proto-Germanic word meaning something curved. Its next incarnation was in the Frankish language, where it meant row or line. From there it moved to French to mean install in position, and from there it became a Spanish verb meaning to lodge or station. From there, different forms of that Spanish verb were born, first meaning group of people who eat together, then mess hall, then small group of farm huts. It was this last one, rancho, that became the English word ranch in 1808. Wild, eh? The same goes for the word farm, which started out as a Proto-Indo-European verb meaning to hold firmly. From there it moved into Latin, meaning constant, firm, strong, stable. That form gave birth to a Latin verb meaning to fix, settle, confirm, or strengthen. And when Medieval Latin came along, a form meaning fixed payment was born. This word moved into Old French to mean a rental or lease agreement, & when farm finally made it into English in the 1200s, it meant fixed payment or fixed rent. By the 1300s, farm meant a tract of leased land, & it wasn’t until the 1400s that farm came to mean cultivated land. What a long, strange trip our simple four-letter word farm has had. Who knew? Thanks for coming by, & feel free to leave a comment about these long, strange trips. . My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, fineartamerica.com, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  We are ramping up toward a big event -- October 23 -- mole day. The creators of mole day had a very particular mole in mind, but I’m not one for mole restraint, so here are the etymologies of a healthy variety of moles.
The mole being celebrated on October 23 was born of the word molecule, & was coined by German chemist Wilhelm Ostwald in 1900. This particular mole establishes a unit of measurement helpful to chemists. It reflects Avogadro’s Number (6.02×10^23), the number of molecules or particles in one mole. A mole can also be a structure of stones, earth, or concrete creating a breakwater or pier. This mole comes through Middle French & Latin from a Greek word meaning effort, & appeared in English in the 1500s. A mole can also be the small, burrowing mammal, Talpa, europea. This mole came to English in the 1300s, most likely from the word moldwarp, which translates to earth-thrower. In the last century, this sort of mole can also be a large machine that tunnels through rock. From this same shade of meaning came the sort of mole that is a spy that operates secretly within an organization (another sort of burrowing altogether). And coming to us during the long, darkish time of Old English, another mole meant spot, mark, or blemish. This mole originally applied to spots & blemishes on fabric, & comes from a Proto-Indo-European verb meaning to stain, soil, or defile. And let’s not forget the amazingly tasty chocolate/chile condiment, molé. Molé appears to have made its way into English in 1900s. For decades, historians have been engaged in academic knock-down-dragouts regarding the birth of the sauce itself, but at least linguists are sure about its etymology. Molé comes from a Spanish root meaning sauce. It’s the same root that added to the Nahuatl word for avocado, gives us the word guacamole. Thanks for coming by & celebrating all things mole (& molé) with me. Please leave any comments, whether for mole or for mole, in the comments section. . My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, vexels.com, Mexonline, National Day Calendar, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  These days we’re hearing a lot about privilege.
The word privilege showed up in English in the 1200s. It came through Old French from the Latin term privus legis, private law — a law applying to or giving favor to one individual — a law that by design did not apply equally to everyone. The term was used in France to apply to a privileged class that was exempt from taxes. Peggy McIntosh, a Wellesley scholar who spent years studying the darker side of privilege found this way to help root out her own privileged thinking: I asked myself, on a daily basis, what do I have that I didn’t earn? It was like a prayer. Over the years, other wise women have had things to say about privilege: No privileged order ever did see the wrongs of its own victims. -Elizabeth Cady Stanton Privilege is the greatest enemy of right. Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach It is natural anywhere that people might like their own kind, but it is not necessarily natural that their fondness for for their own kind should lead them to the subjection of whole groups of other people not like them. -Pearl S. Buck Privilege, almost by definition, requires that someone else pay the price for its enjoyment. -Paula Ross I’ll close off with a tribute to the spelling mnemonic method of Mrs. Fern Byrne of Capistrano Elementary School. To remember how to spell privilege, just remember that within it is a four-letter word starting with v. Comments? Comment away! My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, The New Beacon Book of Quotations by Women. Washington Post, Merriam-Webster.com, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED.  So often, words that look similar have no etymological ties at all. But wreak, wrack, wretch, rack, & wreck are similar-looking words that actually are kissing cousins.
In the late 1300s, wrack referred to the bits that float onto shore after a shipwreck. It probably came from the Old English word wræc, which meant misery or punishment. By the 1500s, wrack could be anything washed up on shore, including seaweed. This gave us the term wrack line. The oft-combined words wrack & ruin appeared together in the 1400s. Though this term seems to have come from the original Old English word wræc, the spelling from the shipwreck meaning infiltrated people’s thinking, and voila! wrack & ruin. These days shipwrecks aren’t so common. Car wrecks are another matter. The word wreck comes from that same Old English term meaning shipwreck. And when it comes to wreaking havoc, what a surprise — that old word wræc, meaning misery or punishment, had a verb form which meant to avenge or punish. And that form morphed to become our modern word wreak. Those unfortunate souls who were the targets of all that havoc-wreaking got their title from the same Old English root, & were known as wretches. Another Old English form of wræc gave us the word rack (which initially referred to an instrument which stretched leather (think punish). By the 1400s that leather-stretcher had found another use: a device of torture. Probably because this device was a series of connected bars, rack also means a device to support or hold items, antlers, to achieve or add up (rack up), a framework for displaying clothing, (off the rack), & a bed or cot (hit the rack). And many of you might remember one of the many scourges of 1960s home fashion known as rickrack. As it happens, rickrack came to English in the 1880s as a reduplication of the word rack — the sort of rack used to stretch leather or torture people. So, we were correct back in the ‘60s when we claimed rickrack was a torturous fashion concept. Sorry for all the torture & punishment in this post — if you’ve got comments, leave them in the comment section. . My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, Merriam-Webster.com, Sue's Beach art, Wordnik, Collins Dictionary, & the OED. |
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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