Back in 897, the English word that applied to any kind of dog was hundas, which soon changed to hund, & later to hound. Hound reined supreme as the overall word for canines, until it was usurped by an unlikely candidate, a word with no known origin, a word which in 1050 referred to a powerful, unspecified, large breed of dog. This mysterious usurper was dog. In a mere three centuries, hound had been relegated to mean only dogs used for hunting, while dog took its place as the generic term for canines. Though the word dog takes up a full three pages in the OED, nobody is sure of its origin. 

And wouldn’t you think the Latin synonym would pre-date most of the others? Not so. Canine came to English in the 1500s from Latin, through French, but acted for over three hundred years exclusively as an adjective meaning doglike. It wasn’t until 1869 that canine made its way into the world of English nouns.

Mutt offers more mystery. Though mutt first entered American English in 1901 meaning stupid or foolish person, it gained the meaning of mongrel dog by 1904. Etymologists can’t find a connection between them, but it’s assumed the first meaning may have come from the contemptuous word muttonhead, which made a brief appearance in the early 1800s referring to a dim person. This usage has sadly disappeared, though it’s such a lovely word, I’d be pleased to see it re-appear on the linguistic scene.

Oddly, the English word pooch & the Spanish word perro, are also of unknown origin. Thank heavens for cur & puppy, whose origins are clear. Puppy came to English meaning a woman’s small pet dog. It came from the Middle French word poupée, meaning doll. Though the word cur now clearly eschews the nobility of the dog in question, cur originally was attached to no such prejudice. Cur first arrived in English in the 1300s & is onomatopoeic, mirroring the growl of a dog. 
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Followers, what have you to say about all these dog-related mysteries? Also, are you with me in my hopes of reviving the word muttonhead?

My thanks go out to this week’s sources  Merriam Webster Online, The OED & Etymonline.

For a change of pace, I’d like to celebrate a writer, generally fascinating chap & certifiable mensch.

Isaac Bashevis Singer once wrote, “When I was a little boy, they called me a liar, but now that I am grown up, they call me a writer.”

He wrote countless short stories & any number of novels, some arguably memoir. Many of his stories featured holocaust survivors &/or the struggles & joys of the lives of Jews & searchers. Miraculously, Singer spent all those years pondering sadness, disappointment, torture, inequity & cruelty, yet managed to hold onto hope. He won the 1978 Nobel Prize in Literature, two National Book Awards, countless other awards, & the love of many readers.

A smattering of Singer wit & wisdom follows:
“If you keep on saying things are going to be bad, you have a good chance of being a prophet.” 

“The waste basket is the writer's best friend.” 

“There will be no justice as long as man will stand with a knife or with a gun and destroy those who are weaker than he is.” 

“For those who are willing to make an effort, great miracles and wonderful treasures are in store.” 
​
“Kindness, I've discovered, is everything in life.” 

​On that last note, followers, please chime in with one kind thing someone has done for you lately.

My thanks go out to this week’s sources, The Library of America & Goodreads

I must admit, I find humor in the fact that last week’s post covered demons & devils, & this week’s post moves to politics. 

The word Election came to English in the late 1200s, from the French word elecion, meaning choice, election or selection. This term came from the Latin word electionem, whose root meant to choose, or read. I’m inclined to think that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to get a truly good read on candidates.

Vote entered English in the mid-1400s, & comes from the Latin word votum, a vow, wish, promise or dedication. Imagine the difference in mindset if we all envisioned each vote as a promise or vow.

The term suffrage, has always intrigued me. Suffrage came to English in the 1300s and meant prayers or pleas on behalf of another. It comes from the Latin word suffragium, which refers to the right to vote or to lend support. Prayers, pleas, & support seem to reflect a different understanding of voting, again, an understanding closer to the idea of a promise or vow. Interestingly, suffrage also suggests the elections of the past weren’t entirely sweet & light, as the word parts that add up to suffragium are sub- & -frangere, which respectively mean under & shouting.

Then there's the word ballot, which comes from the Italian word pallotte, or small ball, due to the Venetian practice of voting by casting a particular colored ball into a bowl or basket. From this we have the term to blackball.

Dear followers, please have something to say about all these election-related words. Here on Wordmonger, you can feel safe, free from shouting & blackballing. 


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymonline.com, The OED & The Ottawa Citizen.

The previous Wordmonger post  got me thinking about devils & such.

The word devil, has always referred to something bad – or at least something dangerous. Deofol was an Old English word meaning evil spirit, false god, or diabolical person. It came from Late Latin’s diabolus, a term used both in Christianity & Judaism to mean Satan, accuser or slanderer. By 1600, English speakers had added the meaning clever rogue, as in “you devil, you.” By 1835 in American English the word devil also referred to sand spouts & dust storms.

Demon, on the other hand, went from good to bad over time.Demon entered English as early as 1200. It came from the Latin word daemon, meaning spirit. The Latin came from the Greek, daimon, which meant deity, divine power, lesser god, guiding spirit, tutelary deity, or souls of the dead. Daimon also had an intriguing secondary meaning: one’s genius, lot, or fortune. The Greek and Latin meanings are a far cry from demon’s negative meaning today. This “demonizing” of the word demon occurred about the time of the establishment of Christianity. Though Socrates wrote of his demon as the divine principle or inward oracle, over time, the grandmothers of our modern word demon were perceived as idols, fiends, devils and hellknights, How different would our world be today if demon had maintained its Socratic flavor, & had been equated with that still small voice within?

Dear followers, what are your thoughts on the demonizing of demon? Might that etymology have inspired series like Pullman’s His Dark Materials? Would any of you care to grab some presently evil word & propose a glowing past for it?


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymoniline.com, The OED & Wordnik.

Since the  news is haunting me these days, why not a post on ghosts?

Ghost was spelled gast in Old English, and meant soul, spirit, life, breath, angel or demon (yes, both good & bad spirits). It made it to English through various Germanic languages, all beginning with the Proto-Indo-European root gheis-, to be excited, amazed or frightened.

Spook showed up in the language in 1801 from the Dutch word, spooc, meaning spook or ghost. Its sister words include: from Danish, spØg, meaning joke, from German, spuk, meaning ghost or apparition, from Swedish spoc, meaning scarecrow. It may have relatives in Lithuanian, Lettish, & Prussian, where the root words in question meant respectively to shine, dragon or witch, & spark. Spook didn’t move into the world of verbs (meaning to unnerve) until 1935.

Spirit showed up in English in the 1200s, meaning animating principle in man & animals. It came from the Latin word spiritus, meaning soul, courage, vigor, or breath, from the verb spirare, which meant to breathe, to blow, or to play the flute. By the 1300s, spirit also referred to supernatural beings, by 1610 it picked up the meaning volatile substance, by the 1670s it began to mean strong alcoholic liquor, & by the 1690s spirit also meant the essential principle of something.

The Scots gave us the word wraith. Its roots may be in the Old Norse word vorðr, meaning guardian, or the Gaelic word arrach, meaning apparition or spirit. Even as I type, intrepid & dedicated etymologists are duking it out over wraith’s true origin.

Good followers, what have you to say about flute-playing spirits, angelic ghosts, Scottish wraiths, or other topics in this ghostly vein?


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymoniline.com, The OED & Wordnik.

Facial hair is an admittedly odd thing, as are the etymologies of the words we use to refer to facial hair.

The Latin word for beard, barba, is also the root for barber, & though it seems logical that the mostly clean-shaven Romans would have labeled those bearded, pillaging tribes barbaric because of their beards, I can find no evidence. Sources connect barbarianism with foreignness, rudeness, strangeness & a lack of culture, but to my surprise, the beards of the attacking Goths, Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Huns & Picts never enter the discussion.

The word mustache heralds from the French word of the same spelling & meaning. It entered English during the 1400s after making its way to French via Greek and Doric (moustakion & mystax respectively), all coming from mastax, meaning jaws, mouth, or that with which one chews. Having worn one for years, I can attest that, no matter what the Doric & Greek say, the mustache is not a very good chewing tool, but if allowed to grow long enough it can function like a whale’s baleen.

The noun goatee came to English in 1844 & was derived from the adjective goaty, meaning like a goat. Goatee is a direct comparison to the hairs on the chin of a goat.

The word sideburns was born of the unfortunate shaving decision of General Ambrose Burnsides, and appeared in English in 1887. Sideburns were called burnsides during & directly after the Civil War & mysteriously switched themselves around into sideburns twenty-some years later.

The bristles on an unshaven face were referred to as stubble in English as early as 1600, but the term stubble had previously been used in English to refer to stumps of grain stalks left in the ground after reaping. The word came from the French word estuble. Its great grandmother was a Latin word meaning stick or trunk.

Recently, the word scruff is being applied to facial hair. In the late 1700s scruff referred to the nape of the neck & came from Dutch, North Frisian & Norse terms referring the withers of a horse. Those terms seem to have their source in the Old Norse word skopt, which comes back around, oddly landing closer to today’s meaning. Skopt meant the hair of the head.

Any thoughts on facial hair etymologies? Please leave a comment.


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymoniline.com, The OED & Wordnik.

This week we’ll continue our look at things worn on the face.

The verb smile showed up in English about 1300, from Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, or possibly Middle Low German. It eclipsed smearcian, the Old English word for smile, forcing smearcian’s unfortunate progeny to become the unpleasant word, smirk. Smile didn’t enter the realm of nounliness until 1560, and all along it has meant exactly the same thing.

Frown has been an English word since the early 1500s, and came from the Old French word frognier, to frown, scowl, snort, or turn one’s nose up. It appears to have entered French from the Gaulish word for nostril, frogna. Frown became a noun in the 1580s.

Blush also entered the language as a verb, appearing in the mid-1300s, from the Old English word blyscan, to glow, blush, or become red. Blush is related to a Germanic word for torch, a Danish word for blaze, and a Proto-Indo-European word meaning to shine, flash or burn, which is the grandmother of the word bleach. In the mid 1300s, the noun form of blush meant a look or glance. This understanding of the word shows up today in the phrase, at first blush. It wasn’t until the 1590s that these two noun meanings of blush started competing, with the redness in the face meaning quickly eclipsing the look or glance meaning. By 1818 the noun blush became something one could apply manually to one’s face.

Friend & follower S.K. Figler has asked about the origin of the word zit (along with some arguably less judicious terms). Zit is a word of unknown origin which showed up in English in 1966, introduced by American teens. Interestingly, zit’s synonym, pimple, also has no confirmed linguistic source, though it’s been around singe 1400. Some etymologists have suggested pimple may have come from pipligende, an Old English word meaning to have shingles.

Next week we’ll move into the etymologies of styles of facial hair, unless, of course, one of you suggests something more fun to consider. Please leave a comment.


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymoniline.com, The OED & Wordnik.

Last week’s post took a look at the etymologies of headwear, so this week we’ll move south a tiny bit to take a look at three things worn on the face.

Lately, the veil has received a lot of attention. The noun veilcame into English in the late 1300s from the Anglo-French word veil, which meant both head-covering & sail. This came from the Latin velum, sail, curtain or covering (which, intriguingly is not related to the English word vellum).

Both mask & mascara have their roots in the Middle French word masque, a covering to hide or guard the face. This came from a Middle Latin word, masca, meaning specter or nightmare. Nobody’s certain where the Middle Latin came from, but it may have its roots in the Arabic word maskhara, buffoon or mockery, or possibly from Catalan, maskarar to blacken the face. It may even have come from the Old Occitan word masco, which means both witch & dark cloud before the rain comes.

Grin showed up in Old English as grennian, to show the teeth in pain or anger. Many Germanic languages had/have related roots: Dutch, grienan, to whine; Old Norse, grenja, to howl; German,greinen, to cry. It wasn’t until the late 1500s that the word grin began to be the sort of thing one might want to see on a friend.


Dear followers, please contribute to next week’s post by using the comments section to suggest other items, treatments or expressions that might be worn on a face.


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymoniline.com, Merriam Webster, The OED,

​

​Hat comes from the Old English word haet, head covering, which came from a Proto Indo-European word meaning cover or protect.

Cap is also came from Old English. It started as caeppe, a hood covering or cape. This word came from the Latin word caput, head.  In English it only referred to women’s head coverings until the late 1300s, & is, not surprisingly, related to the French word chapeau.

Though most modern Americans associate the fedora with noirish characters of the 1930s, the term initially referred to a hat worn by a woman – Sarah Bernhardt -- who in 1882 at the time of her fascination with soft-brimmed, center-creased hats, was playing the part of a Russian princess in a Victorien Sardou play, Fedora. Bernhardt’s fashion choice inspired a rash of fedora-wearing women’s rights activists. Some years later, those 1930s noirish hoods liked the look, too.

Though the derby was being manufactured in the US as early as 1850, it didn’t earn its name until twenty years later, when that particular style caught on across the pond at the Derby horse races.

Sombrero entered English in 1770 from Spanish sombrero, a broad-brimmed hat. It heralds from sombra, or shade, & initially described a parasol or umbrella.

Beret entered English in 1827, from the French word béret. Before landing in the French language, beret travelled through Bearn, Old Gascon, Late Latin, & Middle Latin. Its Middle Latin form is the diminutive form of birrus, a large, hooded cape. 

Etymologists don’t agree on the beginnings of the bowler. Some claim it was named after J. Bowler, a popular London hat maker of the 1800s. Others trace it back to the Old English grandmother of the word bowl, heafodbolla, meaning brainpan or skull. Those Old English folks really had a way with syllables, didn’t they?

Dear followers, did any hat word histories surprise you or cause a wrinkled brow? Please leave your thoughts in the comments section.


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymoniline.com, The OED,

As we climb the long, slippery slope toward the 2020 elections, news stories become increasingly easy to confuse with political advertisements. Though I’m generally a huge fan of fiction, when it comes to political reporting, I find myself in the Joe Friday camp. 

That’s right Ma’am, just the facts. 

When a news story involves a candidate’s claims of past successes, I expect the claims will be confirmed by the news source, and the results of this fact-checking will be included in the story. By definition, news sources should be involved in verifying their sources, in substantiating claims, in authenticating, & corroborating.

This brings me to celebrate once more, the synonyms entries found in any decent, grown-up dictionary. My 1959 Webster’s New World Dictionary offers these synonyms & definitions for verify. These words, I submit, provide a healthy mantra for reporters, readers, listeners & viewers during this election season. 

confirm is to establish as true, that which was doubtful or uncertain

substantiate suggests the producing of evidence that proves or tends to prove the validity of a previous assertion or claim

corroborate suggests the strengthening of one statement or testimony by another

to verify is to prove to be true or correct by investigation, comparison with a standard, or reference to ascertainable facts

authenticate provides proof of genuineness by an authority or expert

validate implies official confirmation of the validity of something

Dear followers, please respond by either complimenting news sources you’ve found that seem to see the above as part of the day’s work, or mentioning those sources that flagrantly ignore the above responsibilities. You might also suggest other mantras that might help us in these politically polarized times.  


My thanks go out to this week’s sources, Etymoniline.com, The OED, & Webster’s New World Dictionary of the American Language, 1959.