The Sesquipedalian

A bit of Scottish History, Duct tape, and Velvet Gowns

2011-01-12T11:47:00.000-08:00

It's alive!!

After a hiatus of nearly a year, this blog is being re-born. Life got a little crazy for a bit, but I have vowed to breathe new life into this, my long neglected cyber-offspring. For future posts, I've decided to make an effort to post shorter, more frequent offerings, in order to make things less intimidating, both for the writer (me) and the reader (you). But to make up for the long spell of silence, I offer you the following ramble:

Have I mentioned that my current WIP (that's work-in-progress in writer-speak) takes place in 10th century Scotland?

So tell me, what was I thinking? Really?

Before I started this endeavor I knew nothing about medieval Scotland (or Alba in the Scottish Gàidhlig). Nothing. I may have thought I knew something but I was wrong, tremendously wrong. So, to rectify¹ the colossal² holes in my grasp of Scottish history, I’ve been doing research on Medieval Scotland. I’ve checked out various books from our local library system’s limited resources and I’ve delved³ into the contents of countless websites, printing and sorting and filing reams of documents describing everything from the typical diet, to local flora and fauna, to the most popular medieval Gàidhlig names.

In support of my hobby (okay, obsession) my husband recently gifted me with the digital copy of a 1909 publication entitled The History of Scotland: Its Highlands, Regiments and Clans by one James Browne, LL.D (which signifies⁴ a Doctor of Law - I Googled it). It looks like it’s going to be a fantastic resource, although I confess that I haven’t gotten very far into it. In fact, I’m still working my way through the foreword. And speaking of the foreword, if you’ll bear with me I’d like to give you a little taste of it. Here are the first three sentences of said foreword:

Notwithstanding⁵ the researches of the learned to trace the origin of nations and the descent and progress of the different branches of the great human family, as found at the dawn of history, it must be confessed that the result has been far from satisfactory, and that many of the systems which have been proposed are built upon the most gratuitous⁶ and chimerical⁷ hypotheses. By a comparison of languages, however, considerable light has been thrown upon the affinities⁸ of nations; but beyond these philological⁹ investigations, everything becomes vague and uncertain. Some modern writers, particularly amongst the Germans, with that unfortunate latitudinarianisms¹⁰ of interpretation which distinguishes...

What? Oh, sorry, I dozed off there.

What’s wrong with me? I mean, look at all the big, beautiful words in there! You would think that reading this would be the highlight of my week, or at least my day. In fact, as much as I adore such sumptuous¹¹ vocabulary, you’d think I’d be ready to get down on one knee and propose marriage to Mr. James Browne, LL.D. (Let’s ignore, for the moment, the certain likelihood that Mr. Browne is moldering in a grave somewhere, not to mention the fact that I’m already happily married and I’m not sure where on earth polyandry¹² might actually be legal.) I mean really, a word like latitudinarianism alone is enough to send shivers of pleasure down my spine.

So what’s the problem? Well, I hate to give him too much credit, but I think my younger brother put it rather succinctly¹³ in a bit of email correspondence: “Personally, I think offering a reader a rich vocabulary is rather like serving-up tofu for dinner. It's good for them - definitely. They really will find it tasty, too, if properly prepared. The trick is avoiding those big, obvious bites: often a bit awkward going down.”

Simply put, the passage above (and the rest of the foreword I’ve waded through thus far - there are 90 pages of foreword, for heavens sake) doesn’t just offer you the tofu (or choice vocabulary) in little, savory¹⁴ bites. No, it shoves big chunks down your throat until you feel as if you might choke on it.

Granted, the work in question is non-fiction, which often invites a certain degree of highfalutin language. Fair enough. But I’d argue that even for non-fiction this tome¹⁵ is going to take a bit of chewing to get it down.

Lesson of the day: Go ahead and spice up your writing with some robust, succulent¹⁶ words, but for heaven’s sake, don’t force your poor readers to choke down an entire meal’s worth with every bite.

¹Rectify. Problem? Never fear, there’s nothing that a good word, a little hard work, a bandaid, or some duct tape can’t fix. I am not going to mention that this word sounds vaguely naughty, like something that would make a middle-schooler giggle. I will take the high road here.

²Colossal. Are any of you comic book fans? Well, I confess only a mild interest in the Marvel universe or the worlds described in DC Comics, but both my husband and youngest son are comic book geeks. As a result, I’ve watched a number of the recent films based on the exploits of various comic book heroes, including both Fantastic Four movies. Before the second Fantastic Four movie came out, my husband took it upon himself to provide me a detailed account of the Silver Surfer’s arrival on earth, which heralded the impending arrival of Galactus. For those of you who didn’t see the movie, or read the comics, let me tell you that you do not want Galactus to stop in for a visit. This guy is huge; so huge, in fact, that it challenges the mind’s ability to grasp the pure immensity of him. And what do you feed a fellow like Galactus? Steak and Potatoes? Nope. Planets. Yep, he’s that big.

³Delve. Moles are really good at this. And gravediggers. And detectives. It helps to have a shovel, or a talent for unearthing secrets.

⁴Signify. Just stick a hyphen in the middle of this one, like so: Sign-ify. Tells you all you need to know. Want to explain what something means or why it’s important? Just stick a sign on it. Okay, so these signs aren’t usually the sort you can actually touch, they’re more like the idea of a sign, but they still do the job.

⁵Notwithstanding. Well, that might be true, but still...

⁶Gratuitous. What’s that? It’s free? I don’t have to work for it, or even deserve it? It’s just mine for the taking? Sounds good to me.

⁷Chimerical. I saw a goat with a lion’s head the other day. Really. Okay, I only caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye, but I know I saw it.

⁸Affinity. There are different ways of looking at this one. On the one hand, it could express the passion I feel for my husband. Or it could describe my fondness for the color green and the music of Matchbox 20. Or, alternatively, it could be summed up by a conversation: “So, your mother is my husband’s second cousin? Does that mean we’re related?” Suffice it to say that this word really gets around; it even makes appearances in the field of chemistry, describing an attractive force between atoms. I guess you could sum it up by saying it portrays an attraction, or bond, of some sort.

⁹Philological. Once upon a time there was a certain word, and it spent its youth in the bounteous land of Latin before wandering through the Indo-European realms and then dwelling for a time in French, before finally settling down in a cozy little English verb. And there are so many other words, big and little, whose beginnings, both humble and grand, can be traced back through a string of languages and dialects to the misty beginnings of human speech. This word makes it its business to know all about the history of those other words.

¹⁰Latitudinarianism. Don’t let this word’s imposing presence fool you; this big fellow is everyone’s buddy. Regardless of your religious beliefs, sexual orientation, hair color, skin color, shoe size, or political view, he’s going to pull up another stool at the bar and buy you a drink. Yeah, he’s just that kind of guy.

¹¹Sumptuous. This word is like a velvet gown, hand-embroidered with silk flowers and beaded with fresh water pearls. It hangs in supple, shimmering waves to the floor and flows out behind the wearer in an opulent tide. This is the kind of gown a queen would wear, or a Hollywood starlet at the Academy Awards.

¹²Polyandry. Meet the Polygamy twins: Polyandry and Polygyny. They might share many common traits, but these two are by no means identical. Although both encourage large households with more than the traditional parenting duo, Polyandry’s habit of collecting multiple husbands tends to earn her more disapproving looks than Polygyny’s penchant for marrying more than one woman. And while Polygyny has been widely popular through the ages, poor Polyandry has been largely ignored by all save a few, mostly fringe groups. I could make some sort of comment about this disparity probably having something to do with the fact that no woman should ever have to clean up after more than one man, but that would be bad, and probably sexist, and...bad. So, I won’t say anything of the sort, especially since I am married to a man (yes, just one) who is quite good at cleaning up after himself.

¹³Succinctly. What, you want me to get to the point? No circuitous verbal ramblings? No tangential asides? Um...I don’t think I can do that.

¹⁴Savory. Imagine a serving of salmon, seasoned with a little lemon, along with some garlic, pepper and rosemary. Throw in a side of roasted baby red potatoes, brushed with olive oil and seasoned with garlic and rosemary. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it. And while it may not be sweet, it sure is tasty.

¹⁵Tome. I have many, many of these. They perch on shelves, sometimes two or three deep, in my living room, family room, even dining room. They’re heavy, they take up a lot of space and they collect an inordinate amount of dust, but when you crack them open the whole universe comes spilling out.

¹⁶Succulent. See that wedge of fresh pineapple there? Yeah, that’s right, take a bite, you know you want one. Oh, you might want to have a napkin handy, unless you like the feeling of pineapple juice in your navel.

An Award, Lime Green Shoes, Young Frankenstein and some maps.

2010-02-04T11:17:00.000-08:00

Well, I’m back from my overly long Blog holiday. Let’s see if I can post a little more regularly now. That would be spiffy, wouldn’t it?

First off I’m going to say thanks for the awards I’ve received from some fantastic fellow bloggers. Awards make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. However, I’m not always on the ball as far as passing along these awards to other bloggers (as per the terms of the award) as I should be. I will endeavor to do better in the future, starting with the following:

Ailsa (gapyeargirl123) at The Book Bundle nominated me for the 'Honest Scrap' Award, which is for bloggers who write from the heart. Thanks Ailsa!

The rules are to list 10 honest things about yourself, and pass it on to other bloggers (okay, the rules say 10 other bloggers, but I don’t read that many blogs, other than the big hitters like Nathan Bransford who certainly don’t need an award from me).

Well, this is a bit of a departure from my usual posts (which have been shockingly scarce of late), but here are my 10 things--both trivial and significant. And maybe I’ll manage to squeeze in a few choice lexical¹ morsels so I can include some footnotes.

1) I like big words - a lot. Well, nowhere does it does it say I can only list new things about myself - it just says honest things.

2) I have many, many hobbies (read obsessions), including writing (this one is currently number one on my list of obsessions), reading, gardening, quilting and scrapbooking. If I had more time, I’d have more hobbies.

3) My favorite color is green, pretty much any shade of green--sage, forest, emerald, celery, avocado, lime…

4) I can say without reservation that my husband really is my best friend. I never tire of his company, even after all the years we’ve spent together. He treats me like a goddess and he is the most honorable man I’ve ever known. That may sound sappy, but this is my blog and I’ll get as much sap on it as I want.

5) And while I’m laying down the sap, I’m going to add that my three children, Z, R, and W, and my little grandson, Z2, are at the top of my list of Amazing People I’m Thrilled to Know. They really keep life interesting, and if sometimes that means weeks pass between blog posts and my poor novel languishes² on my laptop for days, then so be it. Sometimes reading Harry Potter with your 10-year old, or going to lunch with your 18-year old, or talking about paintball tournaments with your 20-year old, or playing with the stacking buckets on the floor with your 9-month old grandson is all that really matters.

6) I love traveling. Love it! Last year was an exceptionally good year for traveling, too. Over the course of the year I took the following trips: a cruise with my sister, from LA down to Catalina Island and parts of Mexico; an almost two-week trip to Washington, D.C., part of which I spent at a conference for work and part of which I spent touring the sites of the city with a group of friends (before the conference) and my husband (during and after the conference); a trip to Chicago to visit a friend and go to a concert; a trip to Seaside, Oregon, for a family vacation at a friend’s beach house; a trip to Disneyland with my youngest son, one of my sisters, and my sister’s oldest granddaughter; and a trip to Atlantic City and Pennsylvania to visit a friend and go to a concert (which was sadly rescheduled - see my last post). I’d like to say every year was as filled with adventure as this year has been, but the truth is I typically don’t put quite as many miles on my suitcase, though I certainly would if I had the means or, most importantly, an inexhaustible bank of vacation hours from my day job.

7) Speaking of my day job, I guess I’ll mention that I spend most weekdays in front of a computer from 8 to 5 (minus an hour at lunchtime spent at the gym--if I’m being diligent³) performing astounding feats of cartography⁴ and spatial⁵ legerdemain⁶. In other words, I work in GIS⁷. More precisely, I manage a GIS office, which means I actually have a staff, so at times I can put on my imperious⁸ dictator hat and direct my minions ⁹(all two of them) to do my bidding--or to make a map, as the case may be.

8) I live in a small town in Eastern Washington, which is the self-proclaimed “Birthplace of the Washington Wine Industry.” Since I really appreciate a good bottle of wine, I’d consider that serendipitous¹⁰. And no, it doesn’t rain all of the time here. That’s Western Washington - think Seattle. I live in a desert. It’s quite arid¹¹, and as our little town’s website proclaims, this area “boasts 300 sunny days annually.” That’s a lot of sunshine, which is fine by me.

9) I grew up in a small (at least it was when I was young), unassuming¹² town in Western Washington, about a half hour northeast of Seattle. It rains a lot there (see #8) and there are vast numbers of people and cars and confusing highways, and… Let’s just say it’s a nice place to visit.

10) I am a very slow writer, largely due to the fact that I am overly critical of my own writing. I try to tell myself that I’ll just write a rough draft and smooth it out later, but I agonize over each and every word. And I can’t seem to do short answers, which is why my blog posts end up being ridiculously long and far too infrequent. And which is why this simple list of 10 things has burgeoned¹³ into a mini autobiography. Brevity¹⁴, what’s that?

Bloggers I nominate:
Alisha at *MoVing HoMe*
Aubrey at We’re Going to a Party
Carrie at Heim Binas Fiction
Diana at Writing Roller Coasters
Emily at The Chronicles of Emily Cross
Jenna at As the Plot Thickens
Wendy at Where Ladybugs Roar

I know some of these fine bloggers have already received this award, but them’s the breaks. I only have time to read so many blogs.

¹Lexical. A word that’s all about words. Cool.

²Languish. I know some people (I’d hate to say women because that might be stereotyping) who love shoes. They collect shoes like some people collect stamps, or like I tend to collect big words. And really, how many times can you wear that pair of lime green stiletto heels? Really? If you ask me, most of those pretty, expensive shoes will spend the majority of their existence collecting dust on the closet floor, untouched and so very lonely.

³Diligent. I visited the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery a few months ago. Wow. I must say I was wholly impressed by the men who guard this monument. Their intense focus and dedication to duty is truly awe inspiring. I can’t think of a better example of diligence.

⁴Cartography. Ooh, look I made a pretty picture of my town. It has some intersecting lines with names like Court St and 6th Ave printed along them. There are some big green shapes, which are supposed to be parks (at least according to a little box titled Legend), some blue squiggles and all kinds of little symbols scattered across the paper with names like City Hall and Library printed over them. It’s like my whole town laid flat on a piece of paper, although in reality the parks aren’t quite so green, the river not as blue, and the library isn’t actually shaped like a book.

⁵Spatial. Okay, let’s start with pronunciation, because I’ve heard far too many go astray on this one. Spatial does not begin with a ‘Spat’ as in a big loogey. If it makes it easier, just pretend that the ‘t’ in the middle is a ‘c’ as in Spacial, because it sounds just like ‘Special’ but with a long ‘a’ in place of the ‘e.’ Wow, that’s far more time spent on pronunciation than is warranted; can you tell this one is a pet peeve of mine? Oh, you want to know what it means? Well, fine. If you’re looking for a definition, it just means something to do with space. In other words, like Real Estate it’s all about Location, Location, Location. And Spatial’s job is to describe that location: Where is it? What is next to it? What lies underneath it? What’s on top of it?

⁶Legerdemain. This word is the domain of the magician whose hands can move with such speed and dexterity that they can fool the human eye. Now you see it, now you don’t. Now that’s a spiffy word.

⁷GIS. My first footnoted acronym, which stands for Geographic Information Systems. The definitions of GIS are many, but perhaps the simplest way to explain it is to break it down into its separate parts. So, you’ve got the Geographic part, which basically means anything that has a physical location; in other words, if you can stand on it or put your finger on it or fly a plane over it, it has geography. Then there’s the Information part, which is pretty straight forward; you take that something that you’ve stood upon or touched or flown over and you gather facts—ownership, color, size, age, height—about it. And when you have those facts and those physical locations, you need something with which to track, organize, analyze and display them. That’s where the System part comes in, which usually involves a lot of data, a computer, some rather expensive software and someone who knows how to make some sense of it all. Now, I’m sure this is all as clear as glass. Right. Maybe I should have my husband read this footnote; he still isn’t quite sure what I do, although he agrees that I sure know how to make a pretty map.

⁸Imperious. Everyone must do as I say! Any questions?

⁹Minion. Think of Marty Feldman’s Igor to Gene Wilder’s Dr. Frankenstein. Igor is the classic minion; he comes when he’s called and does what he’s told (even if it’s not always done well). You gotta love those minions. After all who else would collect those body parts and clean up after misunderstood monsters?

¹⁰Serendipitous. Sounds like the name of a dinosaur to me: Diplodocus; Carcharodontosaurus; Deinonychus; Serendipitous. Only this wouldn’t be some kind of sharp-toothed, flesh-eating beast. This would be the kind of dinosaur you’d want for a pet; the kind that brings you pleasant little treats or treasures that he drops at your feet when you least expect it (not to be confused with the gruesome little tidbits that cats present to their owners). Aw, isn’t he sweet. Look what he’s bringing this time. Here Serendiptious! Here boy!

¹¹Arid. Picture those desert scenes in the Road Runner cartoons: vast expanses of rock and dirt; sparse vegetation, consisting primarily of scattered cacti; and a single, vacant riverbed that wends its way through the thirsty landscape. Dry, dry, dry. Makes me thirsty just thinking about it.

¹²Unassuming. This is a perfectly adequate word, although it doesn’t think too highly of itself. It’s not flashy, not an attention-seeker, and not one to toot its own horn; it just does its own thing, at its own pace, whether you notice it or not.

¹³Burgeon. This is what happens to my waistline when I get to attend those week-long conferences for work where every meal is a buffet offering far too many choices and each evening’s activities involves numerous excursions to the open bar.

¹⁴Brevity. The opposite of The Sesquipedalian’s ramblings. Yep, that pretty much says it all.

'tis the season...

2009-12-22T11:29:00.000-08:00

Just a quick post to let my readers know I am still alive. So is my blog, although it has been in hibernation the past few weeks. I've been smacked by a big helping of life and all it has to offer--both good and bad--but I am determined to resurrect this slumbering beast once the holidays have gone their merry way once again.

Merry Christmas, everyone!!

Margaritas, Slot Machines and Raisins, but no concert

2009-11-19T14:08:00.000-08:00

Alas, another vast gap in the Annals¹ of The Sesquipedalian.

I was sidetracked, once again, by the frenetic² diversions of yet another vacation. This time I traveled to the very edge of the known world (or at least my known world) to a distant land known as New England, or, more specifically to Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

I traveled all the way across the width of the country for two reasons:

1) To visit an incredible friend who lives in Pennsylvania and who I see, tragically, only on rare occasions.
2) To go to a concert in Atlantic City, New Jersey, with the aforementioned³ friend.

As far as the first objective was concerned, the trip was an unequivocal⁴ success. I had a truly enjoyable visit with my friend and finally met her wonderful, wholly genial⁵ family. Too bad they live all the way on the other side of the country.

And as for the second motive for the trip? Well that, my dear readers, is a story fraught⁶ with deep sadness and profound disappointment, which was salvageable⁷ only by applying heavy doses of unrestrained laughter, several hours of meandering strolls along a sunlit boardwalk, a generous helping of animated conversation, a smattering⁸ of judicious⁹ gambling, and some rather liberal consumption of alcohol. For even as I was winging my way across the country my friend was receiving an email announcing that the concert in Atlantic City had been postponed until December.

The funny thing is, this same musician was in my area just weeks before and I would have gone to see him then, except at that point I was hundreds of miles away on vacation in Disneyland. Ironic¹⁰? Well, no, that probably doesn’t qualify as irony, but it could certainly be considered bad timing.

So, that’s my tale—the good and the bad. I was really looking forward to that concert, but I don’t think I can justify another trip across country next month. Although it would mean another visit with my friend…

Annals.¹ “Come and listen to a story about a man named Jed…” Ah, those zany Clampetts. As a child I played witness to their mad escapades thanks to the magic of TV re-runs, watching as the chronicles (or annals, if you will) of this hillbilly family unfolded before my very eyes. Oh, and for my orthographically challenged readers, please, please remember that this word is spelled with TWO n’s.

Frenetic². Picture yourself as a pinball. One moment you’re just sitting there, minding your own business, and then, “Wham!” without so much as a “Watch out, here it comes!” something hits you from behind and you’re thrust out into a whirlwind of lights, sounds, and dizzying motion. And you’re off! Ding!—you hit that flashing 100 point bumper and then go glancing off in another direction. Pow!—you slam against an obstacle in the middle of the machine—200 points, well done there—but now you’re sent blasting off on an entirely new bearing. You somehow manage to squeeze through a tiny opening, race along a chute so tight you’re afraid you might just end up wedged there forever, and then Ka-ching!—a spinning door and a hefty 500 points—and next thing you know you’re ricocheting back and forth from one goal on to the next—Ding! Ding! Ding! There’s no pausing, no stopping, and most of the time there’s no controlling where you’re going as you pelt along, although you might get an occasional shove from time to time if you start to fall. Whew, I’m exhausted just writing about it. And believe me, some days My Life=The Pinball Machine.

Aforementioned.³ I’m quite sure I already told you about that.

Unequivocal.⁴ This is like Johnny Cash. No matter how you feel about country music (and I definitely have mixed feelings about it), I don’t think you can question the power of Johnny’s music. Nothing else quite compares to it and nothing you say will lessen its appeal, at not least for me. Oh, and while I may have missed the concert in Atlantic City, I did get to see Johnny in concert—twice.

Genial.⁵ I might be tempted to say that Ronald McDonald is a great example of genial—always grinning widely and eager to strike up a friendship with anyone, especially the innocent child—but, on second thought, I think it would be more appropriate to use him as an example of creepy.

Fraught.⁶ So I ate breakfast this morning (a habit I highly recommend). Dispensing a serving of cereal, I shook the brown, fiber-packed flakes into the expectant void of a bone-white bowl and sent a wholesome stream of ice cold milk cascading down into its midst. Hoisting a spoonful of the crunchy, soon-to-be-soggy, mixture to my lips, I eagerly took my first bite. But wait! What’s this chewy, sweet, dark nugget nestled in the middle of my milk-moistened flakes? Another bite—this time there are two little nuggets—a third bite—two more nuggets! Bite after bite yields nugget after nugget. There’s seemingly no end to them. But then, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find that my Raisin Bran is fraught with raisins.

Salvageable.⁷ What a mess! It’s broken and mangled and probably unusable—but wait! This part looks pretty good. And this piece—see, right here—is actually in perfect condition. Actually that section doesn’t look too bad. Maybe with a little tape and glue, and perhaps a little paint, my mom won’t even notice…

Smattering.⁸ This sounds an awful lot like spattering and maybe that’s not a bad way to look at it. If you think of spattering paint on a wall—that’s it, just a little bit on the brush and let it fly—you can sort of get a visual picture. Because with spattering, you just get a few flecks of paint, but the wall is still mostly blank, and with smattering you just get a little bit of this or that, yet you haven’t even begun to explore the possibilities (or cover the wall).

Judicious.⁹ You might be more familiar with this fellow’s older brother, Judge. Born of the same mother, a Latin beauty by the name of Iūdicem, they share many of the same characteristics, including a shrewd eye for details and a rather sober personality. They’re fairly easy to tell apart, however. While Judge can be seen observing and evaluating others with a cool, calculating glint in his eye, Judicious turns this appraisal inward and examines his own actions with a keen gaze. He is always asking himself such piercing questions as: “Am I doing the right thing?” or “How much is too much, or too little?” All in all, probably not a pair likely to liven up your New Year’s Eve party, but they carry a certain influence in more solemn climates.

Ironic.¹⁰ Now this is a hard one to get a hold of—kind of slippery and a bit larger and more robust than you expected—rather like a Moray Eel (not that I’d recommend trying to grab hold of one of those bad boys). So often I hear people say something like, “Wow, we both like the same kind of cookies. Isn’t that ironic?”—okay, maybe that’s a silly example, but I’ve heard some pretty silly ones, believe me—and I think, “Well, no, actually that’s merely coincidental.” And in truth it’s often easier to think of what is not ironic, rather than what is. But I’m going to try to give some examples from my favorite space opera (ignoring the three most recent installments, because they do not warrant consideration in my world). So, here goes. 1) After a series of mishaps, in which they part company and then are miraculously reunited, C3PO and R2D2 both happen to end up in Luke Skywalker’s possession. Irony? No, but I believe you could call that Destiny. 2) Luke and Obi Wan Kenobi are introduced to Han Solo and Chewbacca—two individuals who become pivotal players in their rescue and who are eventually instrumental in bringing victory to the Rebel Alliance—in a sleazy cantina. Irony? Nope, but it was really, really fortuitous. 3) Han Solo parks the Millennium Falcon on perhaps the only asteroid in the universe inhabited by a giant space worm? Irony? Actually, I’d chalk that one up as a freakishly improbable coincidence. 4) Luke Skywalker finds out that Darth Vader, his worst nightmare of an enemy (at least until he meets Emperor Palpatine), is really his father. Irony? Yes, I think that could qualify as irony—in fact such an epic, mind freaking irony that it might make one want to howl, “That’s Impossible!” Well, I’m sure that’s as clear as the carbonite in which Han Solo was encased. Thank you for visiting my geekdom. Please come again.

Curses! Also, a little something on Mozart and pungent cheese.

2009-10-27T20:25:00.000-07:00

They say there is a time and a place for everything. For the most part, I’ve found this to be true, and I firmly believe that a fair portion of the wisdom you acquire as you meander through life involves learning the whys and whens and wheres of what is considered suitable within a given situation.

Take swearing, for example.

No, seriously, just think about it.

Although it might not seem obvious at first, proper swearing requires a modicum¹ of dexterity² and finesse³. Well, unless you don’t mind coming off as an ass in front of family, friends, or complete strangers.

Over the years I’ve found that successful swearing can be measured in degrees, depending upon the current audience and the specific situation.

For starters, I never swear in front of my children.

Okay, okay. There are a few caveats⁴ with regards to the above statement. They are as follows:
1) When reading books aloud with my children I generally read the actual swear word if it is in the book (except to my youngest, who will chastise me soundly if I forget to substitute the “Bloody Hell” remarks in Harry Potter with the more acceptable “Bloody Heck”). Sorry, W, sometimes I forget.
2) If they overhear me in a phone conversation they may catch the occasional lapse in verbal purity. Sometimes I forget that little people have big ears. Bad mom.
3) Since my two older children have passed the tender age of 18, I have relaxed my guard and allowed a few mild expletives⁵ to slip out. After all, they are pseudo adults now, right?

But we’re just getting started. I could list all of the rules, or maybe I should say guidelines, I’ve refined over the years, but perhaps it would be easier and more succinct to express it in a table, like so:

To get a better idea of the degrees involved here, think of “0” as language that would make your Sunday School Teacher proud, while “11” approaches levels of verbal depravity⁶ that would make a pirate blush. And none of this has anything to do with trying to act cool or worldly, it’s simply a matter of letting your inner chameleon match its colors to your surroundings.

Well, you say, that’s all very interesting but do you have a point here?

Yes, as a matter of fact I do.

You see, I’ve noticed that a similar set of guidelines should be applied when employing the unique and/or grandiose⁷ words that I love so much. That’s right. Remember those swear words that should only be pulled out for special occasions with those who can really appreciate them? Sadly, the same is true for the lavish, weighty gems of our lexicon⁸ that make my heart go all aflutter. Because the simple truth is that some people fear, or even resent, the use of “high fallutin’ words.”

Trust me, I’ve seen the looks. Unintentionally savor an intensely scrumptious⁹ adjective or inadvertently liberate¹⁰ an overly energetic verb and you might find yourself facing a listener whose eyes have suddenly glazed over with that “I have no idea what she’s talking about but I’m going to pretend that I do” look. Or, worse still, your listener’s eyebrows furrow until they almost meet in the middle and the corners of his mouth twist down towards his shoes, and you know he’s thinking, “Who does she think she’s trying to impress with all that fancy, schmancy talk.”

And the answer is, no one. I do not use “fancy” words to obfuscate¹¹ the unwary; nor do I use them because I want to come across as an erudite¹² snob. I use them because I love them. I cherish them. I would caress them if they had corporeal¹³ forms.

I eventually learned to be more discrete with my passion. I keep my pretties in a drawer and only bring them out on display in those special moments when their magnificence can be fully appreciated. Kind of like the ring my mother-in-law gave me, which is beautiful, but too fancy and too expensive for everyday wear, or like Gorgonzola¹⁴ cheese.

¹Modicum. Ooh, I’d like just a bit of that. Oh, not that much, really. Just a smidge. Ah, just right.

²Dexterity. Think of a tennis player as he deftly returns each of his opponent’s volleys. Now try applying that sort of agility in a conversation or a battle of wits.

³Finesse. Think of ballet dancers pirouetting across the stage. Now imagine such a demonstration of grace executed in a verbal or mental fashion.

⁴Caveat. This is always true. Always. Except for this time, or under these circumstances, or when the moon is full and in a month starting with the letter J.

⁵Expletive. The punctuation marks favored by many a teenager. When I was young I had a friend who kept a particularly expansive string of profanity reserved for special occasions. It went something like this:%^##@&!+ }!$$ =@>+ =*(\ My mouth used to drop, slack with awe, when she pulled out that little jewel.

⁶Depravity. Oh, the horrors. Have you no shame? How can you show your face in public when you’ve allowed yourself to wallow in the grimy depths of the darkest basement of morality?

⁷Grandiose. This is one of those words that you’d like to visit some day and then photograph and, of course, utter the appropriate number of oohs and aahs as you gaze upon its vast splendor, but it’s not really one to call home. Rather like the Taj Mahal or Buckingham Palace.

⁸Lexicon. Imagine a cupboard, nay an entire warehouse, full of words. Big words, little words, fancy words, simple words, words that inspire hope, words that inflict pain, words that make love blossom. All the words you can imagine, each ripe for the picking, there to add to your verbal arsenal or to a spoken bouquet.

⁹Scrumptious. Cheesecake. Need I say more?

¹⁰Liberate. I found a little box filled with hoards of tiny whatsits. They were jammed so tightly within the walls of their miniature cell that they could hardly move. Moved by their plight, I opened the lid of their prison and released them into the world. “Fly, be free,” I chanted as I sent them on their way. Little buggers scurried into every crack or cranny they could find, including the little air vent on my laptop, and then they gnawed holes in my hard drive and left tiny droppings all over my keyboard. Lesson of the day: Some things are locked up for a reason.

¹¹Obfuscate. Oh look, someone left behind a nice, pristine trail of truth. Hmmm… I’m not really thrilled with where this track leads; it’s ends uncomfortably near my front door. Perhaps I’ll sprinkle a few contradictory details along the edges and scatter some misleading statistics down the middle in order to hide the path’s actual destination.

¹²Erudite. Well now, according to Bromage, et al, the cranial capacity of Australopithecus afarensis is 438 cc… Ah yes, well if you’ll remember Fibonacci himself, in his book Liber Abaci, introduced Arabic numerals to Europe… Of course, Mozart composed all five of his violin concertos while employed as a court musician in Salzburg… Please keep in mind that Erudite and Pompous are not in fact married, although the two may sometimes be seen, arm in arm, enjoying an extravagant night on the town. For a perfect glimpse of what their love child might resemble, look here or here.

¹³Corporeal. Here’s a simple test to determine whether something is corporeal or not. Take two separate somethings, say Thing 1 and Thing 2. Now, try shoving your fist as hard as you can at each of these somethings. Say it goes through Thing 1 without encountering any resistance whatsoever; there is a distinct possibility that Thing 1 is not in a corporeal state. Or perhaps it is jello. If, however, it meets Thing 2 and stops abruptly with a jarring or excruciating sensation, then you can be assured that Thing 1 is corporeal. Now go bandage your knuckles before you bleed all over my blog.

¹⁴Gorgonzola. Rapture delivered in the form of creamy, blue-veined morsels. But be forewarned, a little goes a long ways.

Mouse Ears and Tired Feet

2009-10-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

Obviously I’ve been rather remiss¹ in posting lately. I do have an excuse, however. Honestly I do.

Last week I took my youngest son to Disneyland. We had a blast, and I’d go back next week if I could swing it. But after a day of traveling there, 3 long days of walking around and standing in line (not friendly to the feet, I assure you), followed by another day of travel, followed by a few piles of catch-up-right-now items at work, I’m afraid my brain is a bit overtaxed². So, my blog goes hungry and my poor novel gathers dust (sorry Eòin, I really do miss you). Alas.

¹Remiss. I should have done that, but I forgot. I meant to do that other thing, but I didn’t. And I really have to do something else, but I probably won’t.

²Overtax. For those of you who have children, remember those first few weeks after bringing that new baby home. Well that period in your life, although certainly a wonderful experience, epitomizes what it means to be overtaxed. Another way of expressing this:
New Baby = Overtaxed (Body + Mind) + Happiness.

See, even my footnotes are tired and flaccid³ this time. Next time will be better. Really.

³Flaccid. I'm not going to touch this one with a 10-foot pole. Nope. Not even a limp, droopy 10-foot pole.

A celebrity stops by. Plus, a little something on Champagne and Darth Vader.

2009-10-11T14:47:00.000-07:00

My town played host to a rather famous—some might say infamous¹—visitor last night.
Now, he’s a capricious² sort—seems he rather enjoys keeping people guessing and has a tendency to disappear for months at a time and then suddenly reappear at some of the most inopportune³ moments—but this time his arrival caught very few townspeople by surprise. After all he’d already paid us a brief visit a couple of nights ago on what I suppose you might consider a publicity stop. Truth be told, I didn’t actually see him during this earlier visit, but I knew he’d passed through because he left his calling card on the windshields of cars all over town.

Last night, however, was no publicity stop. This time he pulled out all the stops and gave the entire town a taste of his unique skills. And it was quite the show.

Granted, not everyone appreciates his artistry. His detractors⁴—who might very well outnumber his admirers—consider him a nuisance at his best, and downright destructive at his worst. There’s no denying they present a good case—after all he has been known to wreak a little havoc from time to time—but I can’t help but admire his artistry. I mean, this fellow has talent on a grand scale.

I’m sure you’ve heard of him and, unless you live in the far-flung reaches of the world that seldom or never serve as stopping points on his widespread peregrinations⁵, you’ve seen his work. His monochromatic⁶ paintings—executed in broad, bold strokes embellished by delicate whorls and filigrees—are impossible to mistake for the work of another. And, lest there be any doubt as to their origin, he signs each piece with a flourish, Jack Frost.

¹Infamous. Probably not the kind of fame you were hoping to attain. Unless you want to join the ranks of such individuals as Jack the Ripper, Benedict Arnold, or Darth Vader.

²Capricious. One of my children’s favorite books when they were young was a collection of Native American tales featuring Coyote, The Trickster. Ah, Coyote. Inevitably motivated by unpredictable, ever-changing whims. Not the sort to rely upon, although you might say you can rely on him to be unreliable. But even that’s no guarantee because every once in a while he catches you off guard by committing an act of surprising heroism. If ever there was a character that embodies the meaning of capricious, Old Man Coyote would be the one.

³Inopportune. Kids are gone for the evening. Hooray! Candles are flickering. Ooh la la, romance is in the air. Champagne is chilled and ready to pour. Two bottles, mind you. The doorbell rings. What the…? Now, if ever there was an inopportune time for a surprise visit from your mother-in-law, this would be it.

⁴Detractor. Remember that snotty girl on the bus who called you names and made fun of your clothes? Well, she just might have claimed the dubious honor of being your very first detractor.

⁵Peregrination. This word measures a perfect 10 on my spiff-o-meter. Yes, it’s that magnificent. Weighing in at a hefty 13 characters, it’s hard to ignore it when it muscles its way into a sentence. Yet this seemingly ponderous word has a lighter side. It loves long, meandering walks on the beach at sunset or ambling strolls amongst the bright wildflowers in a sun-washed meadow. You see, for peregrination it’s all about the journey, not the destination.

⁶Monochromatic. And today’s color is: red. Yes, red. Such a versatile color, too, it’s as comfortable making an appearance in blushing rose as it is hitting the runways in shocking crimson. What, you want to talk about blue? Absolutely not. Everyone knows red is all the rage and blue is just so yesterday's rags. Remember, there’s more to monochromatic than just shades of grey.

Snails, Wood Pulp and Bacon

2009-10-05T20:31:00.000-07:00

Newsflash: I actually used the word Sesquipedalian¹ in a real-world, non-internet-y, setting.

How cool is that?

Okay, I have to admit it was my husband’s idea. We were filling out the latest in a steady stream of forms/checklists that seem to spring from the very air when you have a child with special needs. Seriously, every specialist has a new pile of paperwork that looks remarkably like the last pile, with some subtle changes in format or wording to make you think you’re filling out something new and amazingly insightful. I’m quite certain that these stacks of cellulose² somehow breed and reproduce pale, fibrous offspring in the shadowy depths of their progenitors’³ filing cabinets.

Wait, I’ve momentarily lost my train of thought here. Where was this heading? Oh, now I remember.

So we were scribbling answers on yet another stack of pressed wood pulp when we ran across the inevitable question: Does your child have any unique interests? I’ve seen this question, or variations thereof, a hundred times. At least a hundred. Because when you’re talking about an individual with High Functioning Autism or Aspergers, you can bet your sweet bippy (don’t ask me what that means; I just know my grandpa loved to say it) that they’re going to perseverate⁴ on something.

So I jotted down the by-now-standard response, “He has a fascination with snails.” Yes, snails. Want to know about snails? Just ask me; I live with a 10-year old malacologist⁵.

I know, I still haven’t completely explained the fortuitous⁶ event that allowed me to suitably (that’s the tricky part, after all) employ⁷ my favorite word, but trust me, I’ll get there. Really.

Once I finished writing the typical snail comment I stared down at the big white space stretched out beneath my chicken scratches. Hmm…that’s a lot of white space. Seems like we should be able to fill at least a little more of it. But with what? So I posed⁸ that very question to my husband. The rest of our conversation went something like this:

“Write down that he’s a Sesquipedalian.”
“Really?”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Indeed it is. Our son collects words like some boys his age might collect Pokemon Cards or Matchbox cars. I wonder where he got that particular interest…
“Do you think she’ll know what it means?”
“She can look it up.” I should have guessed he would say that.

So I wrote it down, taking care to do it neatly because it’s far too special a word to inscribe with my customarily chaotic scrawl. It was such an exciting moment. I leaned back and surveyed my work, admiring the beauty of it, feeling as giddy as the proverbial schoolgirl.

¹Sesquipedalian. If this word were liquid I would bathe in it. That’s right. I would fill a huge tub with warm, silken Sesquipedalian and completely immerse myself in it. Whew, is it getting warm in here? What, you want to know what it means! You can look it up; I’m a little busy right now.

²Cellulose. No, I’m not talking about the stuff that gives your legs that lovely textured look--that’s cellulite. This stuff makes up the better part of most plants. Our libraries are filled with stacks and stacks of tree cellulose, all mashed, pressed into tidy rectangles, and neatly bound. Good stuff!

³Progenitor. Sounds like an awesome name for a super hero, doesn’t it? The Progenitor. I can picture him now, in a dark green, form-fitting outfit emblazoned with a large, glossy black P. His black cape billows out behind him and he stands poised on the edge of the tallest building, surveying the city he champions. In a voice that rings like the bell of justice, he declares, “It is I, The Progenitor, he who came before and from whose mighty loins did spring all things both good and pure. Look upon me and witness your beginnings!”

⁴Perseverate. If I were to perseverate on something, say bacon, a typical day might go something like this: Upon waking in the morning, I slip out from under the bacon-patterned sheets on my bed, throw on a lovely robe with bacon embroidered along the collar, and shuffle into my kitchen, throwing open the bacon-print curtains to let in some sunlight. After a magnificent breakfast of bacon and scrambled eggs with bits of bacon, I head off to work where I proceed to enlighten all those around me about bacon and its many unique and amazing attributes (because I’ve learned new facts since yesterday or perhaps they’ve forgotten some of the many fascinating details I related on earlier occasions). Then I have a lovely BLT sandwich for lunch and get back to work, scribbling little pictures of bacon on the scratchpad on my desk while I try to think through a solution for a current project. At the end of the day I head back home in the only car in the courthouse parking lot that sports a “Honk if you love bacon” bumper sticker. After a nice dinner of potato bacon casserole, I curl up in front of the TV and watch a riveting documentary on the history of bacon and then, just before nodding off to sleep, I flip through the worn pages of a much-loved copy of “The Joy of Bacon.” And, if that’s not enough of a taste of both bacon and perseverate, check this out.

⁵Malacologist. These are the guys or gals who know what that funny little door on a water snail’s shell is called (according to my son, it’s called an operculum), how an octopus changes color, and the average number of tentacles on a nautilus. Want to know more about mollusks? Ask a malacologist.

⁶Fortuitous. Ooh, how did that happen? I didn’t mean for it to happen--in fact I hadn’t even considered that it might happen--but now that it’s happened, I’d have to say that it worked out rather well. In fact, I’m not sure it would have worked out better if I’d planned it.

⁷Employ. Yep, you can put a word to work just as you might a person.

⁸Posed. Picture a mannequin in a department store window. It’s all dressed in the latest finery, neatly coifed and positioned just so. Perfectly posed, right? Now try that with a question--except you might have to skip the coif since questions typically don’t have hair.

The Crush, and a few balloons

2009-09-29T14:20:00.000-07:00

There was a hint of something special in the air this weekend. It was the smell of The Crush, a fragrance that somehow manages to simultaneously encapsulate¹ the innocence of youth and the hedonistic² excesses of adulthood.

Ah, The Crush. It happens every year as the warm days of summer wane and the nights begin to nibble at your fingers and the tips of your ears with frosty little teeth. Well, at least it happens here in Wine Country. During this narrow window of time, vineyards throughout our valley become the foci³ of much frenzied activity as workers rush to harvest the year’s bounty of wine grapes. And for a few days the entire valley is permeated with the heady aroma of freshly-crushed grapes.

While I realize that the vast majority of these juicy little globes are destined to end up gracing the wine glass of someone over the tender age of twenty-one (I’m making assumptions here, I know), that smell nonetheless transports me back to my childhood. You see, crushed grapes don’t smell like wine (I know this may come as a surprise to some of you here). No, they smell like grape juice and purple mustaches and that stain on your best Sunday dress when you tipped your glass just a little too far and let the sweet, dark liquid dribble down your front.

There’s just something magical about The Crush. And balloons.

That’s right, if you’ll remember I promised you a few balloons. And this weekend offered a veritable plethora ⁴ of those as well, for my little town played host to dozens of vibrant hot air balloons and their crews for the annual Balloon Rally.

In the early hours of dawn on Saturday morning (the rally also takes place on Sunday, but it’s asking a bit much to expect me to drag myself out of bed that early on both days of the weekend), I pedaled my pretty green bicycle down to the bridge spanning the river that wends its way through our sleepy (especially at that hour) town. I was rewarded for my efforts by a dazzling show as, one after one, each brilliant, graceful giant rose aloft from behind the trees bordering the river. And, joy upon joy, the weather was absolutely ideal--blue sky with barely the hint of a breeze--which meant several of the balloons were able to position themselves just so over the glassy surface of the river and gently touch down on the water. They call it “kissing the river” and it’s a beautiful thing to see. Well worth a bike ride on a chilly September morning.

¹Encapsulate. Think of those clear, cylindrical capsules full of mysterious powder, which your doctor and the pharmaceutical companies insist will make you feel so much better. Then expand this to include capsules filled with all manner of stuff. For instance, stir together a moonlit vista, a few lilting snippets of song, some tantalizing aromas, a mouth-watering array of delectable morsels, and some tender caresses. Pour it all into a minute cylinder and, Voila!, you’ve encapsulated the memory of a romantic dinner date.

² Hedonistic. Oh yeah, that’s good. I’ll have some of that. Ooh, and a little more while I’m at it. And some of that, too. After all, if it feels good or tastes good, why say no?

³ Foci. Come on people, I’ve seen far too many references to indexes, octopuses, and vertexes these days. I know, I know, some would say it’s part of an effort to modernize the English language, but I’m not buying into that. I’m sticking to my guns on this one. So, as I see it, the plural of index is indices; the plural of octopus is octopi; the plural of vertex is vertices; and (here’s where we come full circle to where this footnote started) the plural of focus is foci.

⁴ Plethora. Picture stacks and stacks of something, Piñatas for example. Piñatas of every color, shape, and size. You’ve got an entire storeroom filled with Piñatas, each one stuffed with shiny little trinkets. Then, my friend, you can safely say you have a Plethora of Piñatas. Now I must hang my head in shame. I swore I would refrain from making obscure movie references, but I couldn’t stop myself. If you’ve seen The Three Amigos you know why I had to do it. And look, there’s a t-shirt!

Distractions, Or Where not to spend your Summer Vacation

2009-09-23T10:32:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve been slipping into what can best be described as a general state of malaise¹. It crept up upon me gradually; in fact I didn’t even notice it was drawing near until I found myself firmly entrenched within its walls.

So what brought that on? It wasn’t any particular stress over job, family, health, or finances; it’s all good there. Nope, I know what was, pure and simple; I miss Eòin.

For the past few months, Eòin has been my steadfast companion. He’s tagged along with me and my little dog on our morning walks. We’ve spent countless hours together during evenings and weekends. I’ve even spent a couple of weekends with him in a hotel room, just he and I.

Now, before you jump to any conclusions, I’m going to tell you it’s not what you think. I just crave his company. We spend hours talking--well, to be precise Eòin talks and I listen. He tells me about his life, his hopes, and his fears. I just can’t get enough of hearing all about him.

My family, especially my husband, have been amazingly understanding about the unique relationship that Eòin and I share, though it has certainly occupied a great deal of my time over the past year. In fact, the first weekend that I went away with Eòin it was my husband’s idea. Actually it was an anniversary present. A little weird, I admit, sending your wife away for your anniversary, but it really was amazing gift. It was there that I first began to understand what makes Eòin tick, though he continues to surprise me.

Lately, though, my time with Eòin has been distressingly sparse. Life and its multifarious² distractions have conspired to keep us apart far too much over the past few weeks. As our lamentable separation stretches on, I’m finding myself increasingly immersed in ennui³. And Eòin, no doubt resentful over my lack of attention, is growing rather distant and downright reticent⁴.

I can’t bear his silence. So, to make it up to him, I’ve made a promise to spend most of Saturday and at least two evenings with Eòin this week. I owe him that. After all, my novel would be nothing without him.

Oh, I neglected to mention one little detail. Eòin is the main character in the novel I’m currently writing. I first met him in a dream when I was 19 years old and, though I caught only glimpses of him over subsequent (no, I'll not say how many) years, I never forgot that first meeting. About a year and a half ago I began to make a concerted effort to get to know him better, but it wasn’t until my husband sent me away for our 11^th wedding anniversary that I finally began to hear Eòin’s voice. I wrote only 7 pages about Eòin over that entire weekend, but it was the beginning of a wonderful relationship. I’m learning that Eòin is a pretty amazing individual, though not quite as amazing as my husband.

¹Malaise. Such a charming word. Sounds like a lovely village on the coast of France; somewhere you’d like to spend your summer vacation. But let me tell you, “YOU DON’T WANT TO GO THERE. EVER.” It’s not nearly as idyllic as it sounds. It’s dreary and grey and smells like hope gone sour. And once you’re there it’s sometimes hard to find your way back out. Trust me; I once found myself trapped there for a couple of dismal years, during an unfortunate period I refer to as “My First Marriage.” No, this is the place where the doldrums and melancholy were born. So, if you’re looking for a place to spend your holidays, I’d recommend Euphoria or Felicity.

²Multifarious. This may mean simply a bunch of various things, but it sounds like so much more. There’s a hint of something sinister about it, like it’s the spawn of an unholy union between Multitude and Nefarious. Ooh, Nefarious is a wickedly wonderful word (nice alliteration, there). Must. Not. Footnote. A. Footnote. And since we’re talking about distractions here, I’d say that perhaps this isn’t too far off. After all, a good share of distractions in life are at best bothersome, and at their worst downright malevolent.

³Ennui. Malaise’s sister city; also not a vacation destination.

⁴Reticent. It’s funny how a single word can say everything and nothing about someone, depending on the situation. If you were to meet me in a large group of unfamiliar people, you could certainly call me reticent. Too many strangers and the words have to be pried from my lips with a crowbar. But stick me in the middle of a small group of friends and perhaps you’d be better find a different descriptor; loquacious (drat, see above note about not footnoting a footnote) comes to mind. Yeah, good luck getting in a word edgewise.

How can you fight it if it's in your blood?

2009-09-14T10:49:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I don’t think I even stood a chance.

After all, virtually everyone in my family succumbs to logophilia¹, many before they even reach puberty². And when a condition like this spreads across your family tree like moss in Seattle, you might as well face the inevitable, learn to accept it, and get on with your life.

But how much of it can be blamed on heredity? There’s the question of nature versus nurture to consider, after all. And I can think of one person in particular who nurtured this irrepressible penchant³: dear old mom.

She must have realized how it would affect me, all those hours with Dr. Seuss and Richard Scarry, not to mention the weekly treks to the library. With a childhood like that, it should have come as no surprise when the terrible teen reared its ugly head and she would find me hiding in my closet, reading yet another book rather than doing as I was told and cleaning the ghastly hellhole that I inhabited.

Seriously, how was that my fault? After all, I learned it by watching her.

¹Logophilia. This word fills me with rapture. It really does. I know, I know, earlier I made it out to be some kind of affliction, but once you accept it as a part of yourself and learn to embrace it, you can begin to recognize its magnificence. And magnificent it is. I mean, what isn’t beautiful about a word that means, literally, an appetite for words? What better way to describe this irresistible craving for the finer elements of expression, this urge to savor the most delectable morsels offered up by the English language?

²Puberty. No, not an exciting or particularly interesting word other than the fact that the mere mention of it tends to inspire feelings of embarrassment or at least vague discomfort. My mother, whenever she felt compelled to refer to this unfortunate period in her children’s lives, would always drop her voice into a half-whisper when she said it, as if that term stepped dangerously close to the line between decent conversation and all things unmentionable. And heaven knows, with 5 children spanning 11 years she witnessed more than her share of the train-wreck that is puberty.

³Penchant. Ooh, now that’s a rather nice word. It starts off with a P, which of course puts it high on my spiff-o-meter; it can be pronounced with a light accent (päⁿ-shäⁿ) if you want to sound cosmopolitan (or maybe just a tad snooty); and it adds a little spice with its slightly naughty connotations--that “Ooh, I want it so much, but maybe it’s a sin for me to want it at all” sort of thing. Other rather nice words that could be dressed up penchant’s clothes to stand in its place are proclivity and predilection; both are pleasantly ample, roll off the tongue with a lovely rhythm and, as a bonus, also start with a P. I suppose fondness or obsession would have sufficed in a pinch, but they’re not nearly as sexy.

They say the first step is admitting you have a problem

2009-09-10T11:52:00.000-07:00

Did I mention that I have a certain...well, um...addiction?

No, I suppose not.

For starters, it’s not exactly something that comes up in polite conversation. “So, Sally, let’s talk about my fetish¹...”

Secondly--and probably more germane since I haven’t had the pleasure of actually conversing with most of you--this is my first blog post, so I haven’t yet had the opportunity to tell you all of my dirty little secrets.

I would guess that the title of my blog might have given you a glimpse of the little skeleton lurking in my cupboard, but here it is, in black and white: I, M M Phillips, profess an unnatural love affair with words.

Well, it’s actually dark green on green. I’m also exceedingly fond of (read fixated on) the color green, so of course I had to choose a green background. But I suppose that’s neither here nor there.

But how does one become a Sesquipedalian, you ask? Now that’s a very good question.

I don’t know how it works for everyone (maybe I should conduct a scientific study or poll a random sample of people on the street someday), but in my case this condition goes all the way back to my childhood--no I won’t say how many years ago that was. In fact, some of my earliest, and fondest, memories involve words.

Sure, it started off innocently enough with the occasional “mama” and “blankie,” but I quickly learned that these simple sounds garnered a great deal of positive feedback. Instant gratification²; I was hooked.

But all too soon I found that the easy fix was no longer enough. I needed more words, bigger words, increasingly potent words, to make me feel good. No longer content to wait for the words to come to me, I began to seek them out, wandering through the tattered pages of sundry paperbacks and even venturing into the depths of such dusty tomes as dictionaries and thesauri.

And thus an obsession was born.

¹Fetish. No, it’s not that sort of thing--get your mind out of the gutter. It can mean a fixation of any sort, you know.

²Gratification. I like this word; it’s all about those wonderful feelings that come from getting what you want. It conjures up images of creamy slices of cheesecake dripping with mango sauce, romantic moonlit trysts, or shopping bags overflowing with the latest trendy fashions. For me it’s a toss up at any given moment which of these luxuries offers the most gratification: the first or the second. And the third? Eh. I’m not much of a trendsetter.