Traverse City Record-Eagle

Life

November 22, 2009

View From Sunnybank: Word candy or cannons

All my life words have delighted me; they radiate interesting colors, promise adventure, or simply make me laugh. Some vowel-rich words seem tailored, in a mysterious way, to what they define; others, with mostly consonants, appear perpetually awkward in their own skins ...

Anyway, today I've decided to have a verbal fling.

Take, for example, "gnat." Now, that one has two faces. On the one hand it makes me scratch absentmindedly and snarl under my breath, and on the other hand, it's fascinating -- as unlikely as fast tortoises. G? When first letters are duly written, then speak-ignored, questions emerge. WHY? (Pneumonia? Gnaw?)

"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" rolls off my tongue. When Julie Andrews unveiled it in a London movie theater, I cheered. It's a super word (14 syllables) ! I unwrap it only seldom, preferring to save its magic for infrequent down times.

"Discombobulated," beautifully describing "muddled," seems exactly tailored to how I am, too often. I envy the soul who first penned it.

"Scintillating" is a skinny word, packed with motion -- though, for me, it lacks -- color.

Ann Landers re-defined "boing." She declared that couples initially "fall in boing" (the shallow, bouncy beginning of a nascent relationship), then marry before giving themselves time to explore the higher levels, friendship and love.

"Falling in boing" ... I wish I'd thought of it.

"Asinine" succinctly describes idiotic. I think -- "nine times an ass" -- and chuckle. (It wants another "s," though ...)

"Rough" on the other hand, is weird. Why not "ruff?" Every time I write it, I grimace. Don't forget "tough," and "laugh;" "gh" danglers give children and foreigners fits.

"Hour." We say "our." But "our" is light-years different from "hour." It's "hotel," not "otel." Teaching English drove me nuts. When trying to enlighten second-graders about its complexities, I'd apologize. "School," class, is an "is-ness." It simply IS. Just accept, and accommodate, spellings that don't make sense. Thereafter, when we'd encounter other outrageously grouped letters, they'd chorus: "We've found another 'is-ness' word, Mrs. Blair!"

"Mississippi" possesses a perfect body; by that I mean it's gorgeous. Just look at it. Feel the rhythm. It's made for mouths and pencils. Nobody in my class ever got it wrong on quizzes. This is the word kids who thought they couldn't spell anything, ever, spelled. Initially they'd look at it on the big chalkboard, panic, and shut down. "Too long -- too many 'S's -- no way!" whispered one little guy, intimidated even by baby-words, like "the"; "I'm only 7!" We chanted it, banged our desks, and "s"d it to death.

The blissful, stunned look on his face when he spelled it right was simply priceless.

"Mississippi" makes me smile. Every time.

Oh, yeah: "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" was the second word those children learned, after chopping it up, then reassembling it successfully. Anything I put before them was pounced on triumphantly; they never looked back.

Mastering monsters instills self-respect.

Once, when I was 12, I finally decided to respond to an intimidating nun who liked to lob countless obscure, multifaceted catechism questions my way, while suggesting that I, a pigtailed ninny, was too quiet, unimaginative and not terribly clever.

I stood up and said, carefully: "Not being fully cognizant of all the aspects of the situation I hesitate to hazard a supposition I cannot conscientiously substantiate."

(In other words -- I dunno.)

I sat down. (I'd spent the evening before memorizing these beauties.) Nobody -- there were 60 of us -- moved. She stared, adjusted her wimple, and said ..."Well."

Lordy, I felt good!

After that, she left me alone.

It was the first time I'd shot a verbal cannon; I'm still gleeful.

Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are closed for the season. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.

Text Only