Word of the week – Page 3 – Richmond Writing

Word of the Week! Apricate

Thanks to George Hiller, on the faculty of our School of Professional and Continuing Studies, for tipping me off, back when it was still summer. Professor Hiller noted six forgotten summertime words defined in a short BBC video.

Of all six, I find apricate most interesting. I’m no sun-lover or summer-lover. My year begins when the heat breaks. That said, a little time in the sun proves healthy for your body’s levels of Vitamin D. Cats must know this. My pair love to apricate. Aprication for me begins on Fall afternoons, though begrudgingly I apricate in summer, usually when doing farmwork in the morning.

From Wiktoniary, we have the definition “to bask in the sun,” but what’s the etymology of our word? The Latin apricus, or as defined in this online source, “warmed by the sun.”

We can use sun-bathing, basking, tanning, or the casual “lie out” as synonyms. I suppose others exist.

Savor a bit of apricity (the light or warmth of the sun), moderately, while you can, all fall and winter. It’s good for you mentally and physically, and most likely you won’t get a sunburn.

Send in useful words or metaphors, by e-mailing me (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image Source: Kitty apricating, from the Wiktonary page about our word.

Word of the Week! Ennui

Some time back, I picked up a copy of Thomas Jefferson: Travels, Anthony Brandt’s edited collection of Jefferson’s correspondence from 1784-1789, his years working in Paris. I find the “American Sphinx,” to use Joseph Ellis’ term, endlessly fascinating in all his complexities, obscurities, and patent hypocrisy. In some ways, his is the story of the state of Virginia, even the entire South. Partly my interest stems from Deism, a spiritual path I share with the Founding Father, partly the long shadow cast by my alma mater, The University of Virginia.

Jefferson, with his many flaws, lacked one: idleness. That brings us to our word, one he saw as the emotional outcome of doing nothing. Here, in a letter to Martha Jefferson from 1787, “guard you at all times against ennui, the most dangerous poison of life. A mind always employed is alway happy. . . .it is our own fault if we ever know what ennui is. . .” In an earlier letter from the same month, he finds the cause of such poison to be “want of industry which I had begun to fear would be the rock on which you would split.”

Ennui, as befits Jefferson’s experience, come to us from French. In its modern sense, it only dates to 1758, during Jefferson’s own lifetime. Thus, we have a ‘Modern Problem”! On the other hand, The OED dates an older sense to the 13th century, meaning “weariness.” Often the word “annoy” got employed in the same sense.

The modern loan word implies an annoyance or torpor of the soul, a lassitude. it’s that waiting-for-Godot state of mind. I’ve covered the words malaise and doldrum here before. They both can be used as near synonyms for our week’s word.

I fear we turn to dopamine-dispensers called smart phones and social media for quick bandages to slap over ennui, when instead we might find uses for our time that leave us with something tangible. If you experience ennui, get some exercise. Do some useful work. Improve your mind (and yes, you can find such content via a phone). As Jefferson advises Martha, “it is wonderful how much can be done, if we are always doing.”

Spend your time well! Send us a word or metaphor and I will feature it here. Let me know by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or by leaving a comment below. Also let us know if you would like to write a guest column.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image Source: Ennui by Robert Seymour, courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.

Word of the Week! Halcyon

A break in the tropical, oppressive weather of late made move-in day at the university a pleasant event for our first-year students. I hope they’ll recall it later as part of a four-year halcyon time in their lives.

Students face a great deal more anxiety than I did, 45 years ago (!) when I arrived as a clueless but hopeful freshman on the UVA campus (I mean Grounds–sorry for that near slip, Virginia Cavaliers). I regard those four years, especially the last two after I found my way academically and socially, to be a tranquil, happy time in my life. I recall those years, as do a few UVA friends I still see, quite fondly.

I’ve not covered this word, which seems a pity. It’s common in Humanities texts, especially literary works. We might use “idyll” as a near synonym. The etymology interests me a great deal; I didn’t know it before writing this post. We get our word thanks to Ancient Greeks and Romans; the OED tells us that our “halcyon” descends from the Latin “alcyōn. . . a mythical bird identified by the ancients with the kingfisher, believed to nest on the sea < ancient Greek ἀλκυών, in the same sense, of unknown origin; perhaps a Mediterranean loanword.”

How did a bird come to signify a lovely, even blissful period of life, when the cares of the world seem far away? The halcyon of myth would brood on her nest for days, The OED etymology tells us. It would “charm the wind and waves into calm.”

That’s sense of calm serves as our currently common definition. Again, the OED has it, as noun or adjective, to denote “A period of calm, happiness, or prosperity; (as a mass noun) calm, tranquillity. Also: a period of calm or pleasant weather.” The dictionary notes the phrase “halcyon days” as well.

Usage of our word has declined from its peak of popularity in the 19th Century. Perhaps the nastiness and breakneck pace of the century that followed put “halcyon” into my category of “endangered words.” I’d like to think that when our current troubles–and they are multiple–pass, we might again enjoy some halcyon days.

Meanwhile, students, slow down enough to at least savor Fall in Central Virginia. It can be a wistful, lovely time that will pass quickly but that you will recall forever.

This blog will not pass on but instead continue all year, so send words and metaphors of interest by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image “Move-in Day, Tulane University, 2009” courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.

Word of the Week! Quine

I really enjoy the New York Time‘s five-letter-word game, Wordle. Today I guessed “quine” on my third guess of six. The correct answer, that I got on try five, was “penne,” but I won’t digress about pasta, despite the great basil from our garden, waiting to be turned into pesto.

The Wordle got me to wonder where I had heard “quine,” a word I never use. Now, after doing some reading, I plan to use it a great deal. It describes perfectly an action we encounter daily. While the OED gives many antique definitions, the free site Wikionary provides a modern definition, to “deny the existence or significance of something obviously real or important.” The etymology interests me:

Named after philosopher and logician Willard Van Orman Quine. Senses related to self-reference are coined by Douglas Hofstadter in 1979 in his book Gödel, Escher, Bach (referencing the paradox named after him), while the verb sense of “to deny the importance or significance of something” was independently coined by Daniel Dennett in 1978 in The Philosophical Lexicon.

Now we have a verb for what climate-change deniers, flat-earth believers, and conspiracy theorists do. With hearsay “evidence” and pretzel logic (more than a Steely Dan album) they quine when presented with facts and reason.

Thank you, social media, for enabling these quiners in our midst. We might call social media a “Quine Engine.” I’d prefer a world where the quiners acted like Grandpa in the Simpsons, for all the evil it would do.

Yell all you wish, even quine if that makes you happy, but this blog will continue in the summer months, so send words and metaphors of interest by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image Source: Wikipedia Commons for “angry”

Word of the Week! Session

Session at University of Limerick Scholars Club Pub

Beannachtaí ó Luimneach, or greetings from Limerick!

I alluded to one Irish entry while on holiday, so here it is.

I have been at the the EWCA Conference, my second visit to the University of Limerick on the banks of the River Shannon. While here, I presented data from my and research assistant Cady Cummins’ second year of surveying students about their use of generative AI for writing assignments.

The Irish have more than lived up to their reputation as welcoming folks, hosting us in comfort and catering to our needs while on the campus. We closed out our second day with a delightful “barbecue” at a campus pub, where over pints of Guinness and hard cider, local musicians and a step-dancer held a proper “session” for academics who arrived from as far as South Africa.

You see posters in every Irish city for traditional Irish music sessions, called seisiún in Irish, so I wondered about the origin of this common word. The Etymology Dictionary Online provides an interesting history, starting with sitting down, which is what the audience does during a seisiún, though an Irish colleague who dances did join in the fun for a while.

You may have heard of a Cèilidh, pronounced kay-lee, which I had understood to mean an informal and spontaneous jam-session in a pub. This word can also embrace other sorts of informal meetings for social visits, including in a home. Sessions, on the other hand, appear to be public events that are planned ahead.

The word “session” dates back to the 14th Century, “from Old French session ‘act or state of sitting; assembly,’ ” with far older roots, “from Latin sessionem (nominative sessio) ‘act of sitting; a seat; loitering; a session, ‘ ” which makes our Irish and English words both borrowings from the Romans.

Sessions happen concurrently at conferences, Congress and other legislators are “in session,” and you can probably add dozens of other contemporary uses of the word, including “bull session” and more. So put down your phones, have one of those bull sessions in person, and decide where to go to hear some live music this summer. It’s probably closer than Limerick, though perhaps not quite as fun.

This blog continues all summer after a hiatus (a 2022 WOTW) for the rest of June, while I finish holidays and plan the next long journey to Ireland; Donegal and the North next time, on a driving tour into the backcountry, like our first one in the Southwest back in 2011.

As you enjoy your holidays, send words and metaphors to me by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Word of the Week! Autodidact

What do David Bowie and Jane Austen have in common, other than being English? They both were self-taught in their professions.

We have a nomination this week from Sarah Spencer, a junior majoring in psychology. Sarah picks a fine word. I thought I had covered this before, but no. And like me, Sarah must have met her share of autodidacts.

My late friend Gary Braswell, who earned a GED, exemplified the self-taught person who defines autodidacts. Gary possessed the sort of math skills I’d have died for (or finished Engineering School with) in the 1980s. He read books about theoretical physics and could talk about String Theory, Dark Matter, and Special Relativity.

We seem to have an uptick in auto-didacticism, if the OED’s usage chart proves correct. The portal is acting up today, though I’ve signed in through the university account, but the snapshot shown here reveals a steep rise in usage since World War II. Are all those garage geniuses from Silicon Valley, many of them drop-outs, responsible? Bill Gates and Steve jobs make the list, as do Leonardo da Vinci, Elon Musk, Jane Austen, Abraham Lincoln, Ben Franklin, Maya Angelou, Thomas Edison, Malcolm X, The Wright Brothers, and (Have you ever been experienced?) Jimi Hendrix and my favorite musician, David Bowie.

Seeing the paucity of women on that quick search I dug in more to discover Jane Jacobs, who wrote one of the best works about urbanism. Then Charlotte Perkins Gilman, famous for her story “The Yellow Wallpaper,” and whose early 20th Century utopian novel Herland remains a key landmark in the history of feminist literature.

Autodidacts fascinate me as they do Sarah. The best I’ve done as an autodidact has been to teach myself automotive repair, and I’m proud of my work getting one classic car back on the road and two more running well. I can do most minor repairs and a few major ones, though I leave brake-work to experts. If a car won’t start, I can call for help. If it won’t stop, on the other hand. . . YouTube certainly helped, but a lot involved trial and error. I can build fences, stone walls, even small buildings for our farm, too, but I got hands-on training with two expert builders. That training would not qualify me as an autodidactic carpenter.

Except for a hiatus for a while in June, this blog will continue in the summer months, so send words and metaphors of interest by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Word of the Week! Fickle

Oh, the “Flying Fickle Finger of Fate,” which is where I first heard our word, as a wee lad, back when “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In” was the hottest show on television in 1968. Their FFFF was an award of dubious distinction given for a poor performance. The US Congress was the first recipient. Makes sense. They have earned a lifetime award.

So there. That’s where I learned how fickle fate can be. But I never learned the origin or currency of our word. So let’s have a look, shall we?

Our word has multiple origins but all point to something changeable, unusally not in a good way. Some of fickleness relates to dishonesty, though the OED gives both that original meaning and a newer one meaning “puzzling.” Often fickle behavior, from a person or even the weather, puzzles us even if it does not hurt us.

From about the year 1200, we have “false, treacherous, deceptive, deceitful, crafty” (obsolete), probably from Old English ficol “deceitful, cunning, tricky,” related to befician “deceive,” and to facen “deceit, treachery; blemish, fault.” Common Germanic (compare Old Saxon fekan “deceit,” Old High German feihhan “deceit, fraud, treachery”), from the same source as “foe.” This all comes from the The Online Etymology Dictionary. Fickleness, then, antagonizes the predictable.

We live in fickle times. It seems that anything can happen, which could explain why since Rowan and Martin’s day, usage of the word has doubled from 1968 to 2014, attested by the entry cited above. The OED also records a more gradual uptick.

There are other words I would rather see gain popularity. Wouldn’t you? I hope no fickle fingers point your way this summer, but this blog will continue in the summer months, and I hope in some form in 2025, when I retire from full-time teaching on our faculty.

So until they carry me out feet-first after some fickle fate finds me, send words and metaphors of interest by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image Source: from a site selling an original FFFF award!

Word of the Week! Nostrum

My students training to be Writing Consultants recently conducted an experiment in class. They traded papers with a partner and held a writing conference. Then they employed both Grammarly and Chat GPT 4.0 to see what sort of commentary these pieces of software would provide.

Results varied but one commonality emerged: software tends to dispense generally positive-sounding but generic advice such as “be sure you integrate all the sources well” or “check the first sentence of each paragraph to be certain it connects to the final idea in the paragraph before.”

Well, duh. Teaching students to prompt-engineer their questions to an AI helps, but meanwhile, thanks for the nostrums, ChatGPT. I gave one student that word, one I knew but have rarely have used. I suspect that soon I’ll be using this word too much.

What is a nostrum? Where did it come from? And why is it related to our photo of “polite soothing syrups”?

Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary quotes a famous writer for a usage example, “Whether there was real efficacy in these nostrums, and whether their author himself had faith in them, is more than can safely be said,” wrote 19th-century American writer Nathaniel Hawthorne, “but, at all events, the public believed in them.”

A nostrum in our modern sense can still mean a dubious medical cure; several nostrums were hyped at the highest levels of government as preventatives for COVID-`19, with a few fatal and un-prosecuted outcomes. Typically, we instead call these sorts of pharmaceutical scams “snake oil” or just “quackery.” Yet a soothing word or phrase that means little of substance can still go by “nostrum,” especially if otherwise they do not harm a patient.

In terms of origins, our obviously Latin word has an interesting backstory. From my favorite online etymology source, I leaned that current usage dates to about 1600, so again we have a Renaissance term from that era’s renewal of interest in Classical texts for secular learning. You’ll also find many good synonyms for our word at this site, so I highly recommend it. I think I found the origin of the Spanish cura, meaning priest or a cure, there. We have a link to the historically medical (as well as their typically spiritual) cures that clergy brought to folks in earlier times.

I’d heard of the Roman name for the Mediterranean, Mare Nostrum, our sea. And so it was for centuries. That fact must have been soothing to Romans who could live near the coast without fear of dark enemy sails appearing on the horizon!

If you have a word or metaphor you enjoy, send them by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image Source: public domain image from Picryl

Word of the Week! Phantabulating

Professor Joe Hoyle in our Business School, a frequent nominator of words here, writes “I was reading today’s Washington Post and came across this sentence, ‘The reason Elon Musk frequently escapes account from other judges is because they don’t see through his phantabulating?’ I turned to my wife once I read, “phantabulating” and said, ‘That sounds like a Joe Essid word.’ Which mystified my wife.” You can read the Post story here, about a ruling against Musk in a Delaware court.

Joe, I don’t use “phantabulating” but I like that word a great deal.

Let’s stop mystifying your wife about our word. An abstract from a medical publication notes that “Phantabulation is characterized by frequent and purposeful interactions with contextually appropriate imagined objects. We suggest that this phenomenon results from confusion between real and imagined objects.”

That definition seems to vary from hallucination. If I see a banana on the countertop when no banana is present, I have hallucinated. If, however, I see a banana where a tomato sits on the counter, yes, we have no banana but I have phantabulated.

Some of you have may have read Oliver Sacks’ excellent book, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat. It has been a few years, but the title itself suggests phantabulating, though a bit of re-reading reveals something very different. I recall that the patient Sacks describes, Dr. P., grabs his spouse’s head for a moment, confusing her for his nearby hat. Technically, however, as the Wikipedia entry for the book notes, Sacks’ patient “has visual agnosia. He perceives separate features of objects, but cannot correctly identify them or the whole objects that they are part of.”

Now back to Elon Musk. He recently announced that SpaceX’s Starship reusable rocket would be enlarged and updated for missions to the stars. Not Mars, 49 millions miles from us (give or take) but, say, to our nearest stellar neighbor, Proxima Centauri. I found in Brittanica Online that the star-system lies “4.24 light-years away. A light-year is 9.44 trillion km, or 5.88 trillion miles. That is an incredibly large distance. Walking to Proxima Centauri would take 950 million years.”

Wear your best hiking boots and pack a good lunch.

Humans have difficulty with such speeds and distances, but imagine traveling 30,000 km each second, or 1/10 the speed of light. We’d reach the Moon in 13 seconds from Earth. In four decades, we’d arrive at Proxima.

Mr. Musk has a gift not simply for overstatement but also a remarkable ability to project his vision on technology that does not yet exist, though it’s contextually relevant. Looking at his current interplanetary tomato called Starship, Mr. Musk envisions a future interstellar banana Starship.

So I’d not buy a ticket on a SpaceX interstellar vacation, if I were you. Elon is phantabulating again.

If you have a word or metaphor you enjoy, send them by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or by leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image: Phantabulated from here and there.

Word of the Week! Trove

I use this word a bit but have never covered it before. Or uncovered it: that may be closer to its meaning.

As someone who follows space-related news regularly, if not obsessively, I came across “trove” in this story about the comet Ryugu. The example from the piece shows common usage: “These samples are proving to be a veritable trove of information, not just about Ryugu but about broader solar system processes.”

I figured there would be a link to the French verb trouver meaning “to find,” since one thinks of treasure-hunters finding a trove of ancient gold or artifacts. The older use of our word got paired always with “treasure,” predating the solitary use of “trove” by several centuries.

The OED entry on this week’s word does not trace the link to trouver, but a page at the Linguistics stack-exchange does, going back even further, “The French verb. . . can trace its ancestry back to the Greek word τρόπος, which means a turn, manner, style, or figure of speech.” So we turn things up in a trove.

Our little comet doesn’t look like it would turn up much, does it? We are not looking at solid gold. Ryugu’s real trove, however, is knowledge: we may have found a means by which early life emerged on our planet, through cometary bombardment with materials essential to, well, creating us and all life around us. Sobering thoughts for late winter, as plant-life begins to re-emerge from its nap?

Update: I made a few changes today, armed with coffee, to differentiate “trove” from “treasure trove.”

If you have a word or metaphor you enjoy, send them by e-mail (jessid -at- richmond -dot- edu) or leaving a comment below.

See all of our Metaphors of the Month here and Words of the Week here.

Image credits: Treasure trove from Bad Sassendorf-Herringsen and comet Ryugu courtesy of Wikipedia.