 I’ve always had a fondness for the verb ogle -- not the act of ogling as much as the sound of it. Little did I know that ogle can also be a noun (as in "That was not an affectionate glance, Mr., that was an ogle.") And oddly, back when we spoke Middle English, we used the noun ogle to refer to a cannonball. To my complete delight, ogle is related to heaps upon heaps of other words, all progeny of the Proto-Indo-European root *okw- (to see). So this week’s post is a listworthy appreciation of ogle’s unlikely family members. I hope you’ll enjoy seeing them all together, & making the “to see” connection to their meanings. monocle myopia ocular oculus optics optician optometry panopticon synopsis autopsy binocular cyclops triceratops wall-eyed presbyopia inoculate inveigle biopsy daisy eyelet antique antler atrocity necropsy window eye hyperopia ferocity Thanks for coming by. Thanks to this week’s sources: The OED, Etymonline, Merriam Webster, & Let’s Draw Today.
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 Whether we’re using the beginning of a new year as an opportunity to set goals, make resolutions, establish plans, or not, it’s still the start of a new year. I’m hoping you’ll consider these many synonyms and near-synonyms for start, & perhaps let one flavor your year. launch open start commence dawn kickoff opening outset embark initiate enter lead off birth takeoff countdown commencement ignite Tss (from the sound of opening a beer) I imagine that if I were launching into a new year it might look & feel a little different from commencing a new year, embarking upon a new year or igniting a new year. Or for that matter, kicking off a new year or tssing a new year. May you begin your new year exactly as you’d like to. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, thesaurus.com, mavink.com, & Urban Dictionary.  We English speakers have been using various forms of the word together since we spoke Old English fifteen centuries ago. The word together came through Germanic languages from the Proto-Indo-European word *ghedh-, meaning to unite, join, or fit. This same root also gave us gather and good. I’m quite enamored with the idea that gather, good, & together share a source. Though folk etymology has suggested that good and God share a root, this isn’t true. God appears to have come from another Proto-Indo-European root *ghu-to-, which meant to pour, offer, or sacrifice. May all your gatherings involve togetherness & goodness. Big thanks to this week’s sources: the Oxford English Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Safestock, & Etymonline.  Who would imagine that the words reindeer & cheer would be related? Certainly not me. However, they most likely are.
Reindeer showed up in English about 1400 meaning exactly what you’d think from a Scandinavian language. The deer part meant animal, and the rein part referred to that particular animal (so at some level reindeer translates to reindeer-animal). The Scandinavian languages appear to have adopted the rein- part of the word from *krei-, a Proto-Indo-European root meaning horn or head. Some fun historic English spellings of reindeer include: rayne-dere, reynder, & raindere. The word cheer appeared in English in 1200, meaning the face or countenance. It came through Anglo-French, French, & Late latin, & most likely originated in that same Proto-Indo-European root, *krei-, meaning horn or head. It took a couple centuries for the meaning to shift from face, to state of mind as indicated by expression, and another century or two for cheer to mean a state of gladness or joy. May all your horns, heads, countenances, & reindeer be cheery. Big thanks to this week’s sources: Collins Dictionary, the OED, Etymonline, & ClipArt Library.  This time of year the word joy gets a lot of play. And why not? We could all use a little joy. So here’s a brief post about joy.
The noun Joy arrived in English about a thousand years ago, meaning a feeling of pleasure & delight. It came from the Proto-Indo-European word *gau- through Latin & French, with meanings along the way that included bliss, joyfulness, sensual delight, pleasure, & gladness. Joy is also a verb, though we don’t use the verb much these days. It has several meanings, including to feel gladness or pleasure; to be happy, to express joy openly, to exult, to boast or brag. Relatives of joy include rejoice, enjoy, joyless, overjoyed, joy-ride, joy-stick, & possibly jolly, gaudy, gaudily, gaudiness, & gaudery. May the season find you joying with the best of them. Thanks to this week’s sources: Collins Dictionary, the OED, Etymonline, & Adobe Stock.   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.  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. |
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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