Meanings

Long ago*, and far away†, D and I found‡ The Meaning of Liff. We have, over the years, used a few of the words, made them part of our vocabulary, and added a few of our own obscure placenames to cover experiences for which there is no adequate word in English.

For many of Douglas Adams & John Lloyd's definitions, we have expanded meanings to cover additional, but analogous, situations. Some blogger (no profile offered) is putting up a word a day from that wonderful book. I wish I'd thought of this. So, I will, as applicable, link and add our tweaks.

We already own both books. The original British edition we found (and kept) and bought the Further Meaning of Liff new, when that came out. If you have not bought either, send John Lloyd a little something. Douglas Adams probably doesn't care these days. Although he might be pleased that some people have his words in their daily vocabulary.


Scethrog is perfect by itself, although we sometimes use it for any intentionally odd-shaved-shaped facial hair.

We got rather clathy about all the halogen and fluorescent light bulbs we had to dispose of when we moved in here.

A scopwick is not just a smoking related injury, but happens during anesthetic induction quite often, as the dry lip sticks to the breathing tube, catches when it's put in, and bleeds a bit.

The grayling (after a small town in Michigan, named after a variety of trout - to which they erected a large concrete statue) is the food in the cafeteria that is not particularly delicious, but is reliably edible and safe. (This is one of ours.)

Got any of your own? Or a favorite from Liff?


*1990.
†Saudi Arabia.
‡Among the makeshift library of books donated for military folks.

Contradictory

On the metal slide, skin sticking instead of gliding, I scoot and squeak my way down. Finding myself with more time than I have things I CAN do. Still stuff that must be done, but can't be done yet. Two weeks. I will at least fill a box or two today.


So, when I found this, my writin' fingers itched. Contradictory adages, in a neat little list. I shall add commentary. Most are not so much contradictions as setting bounds from one extreme or the other.

Look before you leap.
-Take measurements, know how far you can leap, that there is a place to leap to, or you'll wind up a long way down.
He who hesitates is lost.
-Once you've made your plans, don't balk at the last moment, half jumping, or you'll wind up a long way down.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
-We miss what we don't have, glorifying it in our minds when we don't have to do any work on it.
Out of sight, out of mind.
-But we also don't take care of what we don't see, neglecting the work.

You’re never too old to learn.
-Quite true. It's all a matter of the attitude of the learner. We learn differently as adults than we did as children.
You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
-A defensive laziness, but it is harder to change long held habits. If the old dog refuses to learn, then you can't.

A word to the wise is sufficient.
-If someone is paying attention, open to hints, all they need is a suggestion.
Talk is cheap.
-Some very charming people can say exactly the right things. - doesn't cost them anything. But you have to judge them by their follow-through.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
-Fools don't even bother to check for the bottomless pit on the other side of the door. They don't think ahead or consider consequences.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
-Once you have taken a good look, know the risks, have a good idea of what you'll gain, then - go for it, be brave.

Actions speak louder than words.
-What you actually do will either reinforce your words, or undercut them, exposing your integrity or lack thereof.
The pen is mightier than the sword.
-Ideas are more enduring than violence, although not so powerful in the short run. Unless your pen is actually a little gun.

Many hands make light work.
-Enough people lifting together makes heavy work possible, even easy. Especially when moving.
Too many cooks spoil the broth.
-But too many people who all think they are in charge bossing each other around makes a mess.

Seek and ye shall find.
-Ask all the weird questions, gather data, formulate theory, test, test, test, ask again. This is the heart of science.
Curiosity killed the cat.
-Know when to curb, or at least conceal your nosiness into other people's lives. Let people have some privacy, know when not to ask too much.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
-If it's free, be gracious and make of it what you will, don't complain that it's not perfect.
Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.
-Understand that every gift has a price, and know the giver's intentions.


The best things in life are free.
-You can't buy a soul, or love, those have to be grown and earned and shared freely.
There’s no such thing as a free lunch.
-Everything is a trade, everything comes at a cost. Ignoring that, not paying upfront, will leave you in debts and troubles.


It's worth really thinking about the sayings that pervade our thoughts, understanding how context changes them, when they are true, and when misapplied.

Bibimbap

Stopped over at Language Hat, a marvelous site that often goes right over my head. I like being reminded of just how smart people can be, reading about subjects beyond my ken. I consider myself pretty bright, which means to me having a sense of how much I don't understand. Among very smart folks, I happily sit at their feet, and try to ask intelligent questions.


Hat noted the addition of bibimbap to the OED, a wonderful sounding word, for a dish that sounds rather lovely. I hope someday to taste it. Never could manage kimchee, can't get it anywhere near my nose. Bibimbap, though, a word that tastes good all by itself.


D's parents called to meet us for lunch for our anniversary yesterday, apologetic about being two days late, not that we minded. Especially since they got us flan. I've really come to love them both, over the years. But then, I always love those most that I take longest to appreciate and trust. FIL wondering how we could pack with no room to put boxes. Well, I've done it before.

Books into boxes, boxes into the bookshelves, with shelves removed. Over-organizing for a move is a kind of reflex at this point. Fifteenth move coming up. If the gods of annoyance are kind, it will be the last one. I may have to rattle some drawers in praise of the Goddess Anoia. Fifteen boxes so far, books, careful not to over pack and make them too heavy, filled in with lighter objects like shoes. We're going to need quite a few more, yet. But not as many as if I had to pack everything to be shipped off in one go, taped and padded for a long journey. Despite reminding myself of this, the ramping up seems to be happening anyway. Best to just flow with it.

Favorite

Been doing a lot of crosswords, a frequent going-to-bed routine with D these days. Plus the one in the paper at work, and online at the WP, unless it's a Bob Klahn. (I won't play with him. He cheats.)

I've been mentally working on what I call "crossword words." Or, Crossword compiler's favorite word list. Variation on this post. D has more or less gotten used to this convention, but he's not happy about it.


Favorite cookie, Oreo.
Favorite director, Elia Kazan.
Favorite plant/cosmetic ingredient, Aloe.
Favorite state, Ohio or Iowa.
Favorite lake, Erie.
Favorite emotional state, Eerie.
Favorite aircraft, SST.
Favorite spread, Oleo.
Favorite cereal, Oats.
Favorite color, Ecru.
Favorite animal, Ewe.


Not a comprehensive list. Not even close.

Monkey

This little pot is a survivor. Not a pretty one, an early effort. But for some reason it has survived. The whole phrase on it says, You get what everyone gets. You get a lifetime.

A few weeks ago, a rep was standing in the core with a look on his face that I get working with the surgeon he was working with that day. He was stressed and exasperated, being brave. I stopped, patted his shoulder, commiserated. Looked at him again, and decided he needed a hug. He was very touched, and it seemed to help a bit.

"I'm not usually a hugger, but you really looked like you needed it."

He agreed. He made a point to thank me later in the week when he was back (with a less frustrating surgeon.)

I'm not averse to hugs, I like hugs, but I don't like them forced on me. At all. Nor do I make a big deal of hugging other people. But once in a while, I give in to my instincts to reach out.

When I started at the current job, they used a term that grated on me to describe the "resource" assignment. A scrub and a nurse, usually, were responsible for making sure everyone gets lunch relief and breaks, and are available to turn over rooms, get supplies, whatever is needed. Done well, it is wonderful to have an extra pair of hands all day. Done lazily, it's a huge waste. Thankfully, most of the folks I work with are attentive, effective people. Most ORs and PACU's keep a spare person as a resource. But the term was Co-ho. As in Core Whore. Ok, meant to be funny, but it never struck me as such. So, I would refer to myself as Lunch Lady, or Floater instead. The last few weeks I came up with Core Monkey, and this term is being picked up. My hope is that it will replace the cruder, older word.

I do think words matter. But we all knew that.

Ultimate

The signs were not good. I got an email about the tutoring, did not recognize the name, and she did not introduce herself further. Merely asked if I could teach a different day than I have available. I had to reply that, no, I could not change my work schedule. Then I find out it's for a class of about five, which was what I asked not to be put into.

Another email over the weekend with the rigid class and lesson schedule with specified word lists. Um, well, this is uncomfortable, since I'd gotten the impression in the training that we would be working on that with the individual, developing a focused set of goals for them, not using a set curriculum and a workbook*. But I decide to hear her out. I am to go out there today, and yesterday afternoon, I get an email telling me that I am to teach not one, but TWO classes (not asked, mind.) I wrote back with my increasing concerns, and she backpedals - apparently, and I agree to come out and talk with her.

The where is a big issue. It's far out to the west, an industrial area, a considerable drive for me (who prefers never to leave the downtown area, or at least the east side.) And this preference, along with my schedule and number of learners, is on her sheet on me. Anyway, I get there, and realize that the Humanitarian Center is not next to the Dominant Church Here, it is part of it's industrial complex. It is the DCH Humanitarian Center. With all the Inspirational pictures every ten feet along the walls. And the 'students' work in the thrift store warehouse and take classes. I have a deep moral distaste for the DCH mission, and the destruction of local clothing economies due to the availability of cheap second hand clothing. Among other issues. She took me to a class to see for myself, and the teacher is an older woman on a DCH mission.

Turns out the woman I am meeting is my mentor, which I have to pull out of her. She was at the training - but never identified herself as such in the emails. She is not herself a native English speaker - which complicates the issue. I expect not to be able to readily communicate with the students, but I need to clearly communicate with my mentor. She does not in any way acknowledge my discomfort, and I have to keep telling her that no, this is not going to work. I'm doing my damnedest to stay polite, but no does in fact, mean no. And she is not asking me questions, so I have to keep confronting. She goes over my preference sheet as though I had no idea what I was writing there.

I finally get through to her that while I understand there is a need here, she needs someone who is going to want to be here, and not be miserable for six months. It was all I could do not to just say, "Oh, well, just use missionaries for this." It takes a while, but I do have a very strong metaphorical spine, and will not be guilted into the wrong placement for me. If I want to crawl out of my skin the whole time, I can't do anyone any good. I did not say that part out loud. And the tutoring is, despite some half hearted assurances that she wants the teachers to be creative, very much a part of a whole class system, and is not amenable to creative interpretation and individual needs. Rather like the DCH.

I'm calming down. Taking D out for his yesterday birthday today. He is at the age of the Ultimate Answer. We did get to the Red Iguana last night, and they had pistachio mole, which was wonderfully special.

*With the awful drawings.

Plosive

Lovely day, cold in the morning, swiftly warming with bright sun. Got my permanent cap in. Feels weird, but I will adjust.

Long ago, in a classroom far, far away, I once took a speech course, with an emphasis on linguistics. I learned some of the international phonetic alphabet. Because I understood between a plosive and a fricative, I remembered them. More and more is coming back as I learn how to teach my own language.

Watching another class today, made me think about how I would teach the straightforward consonants first, then the wonky ones, then the vowels. At the same time having them memorize the alphabet in order (if they don't know it) - mostly because it is used to organize so many things. I'll use songs, mime, actor games, and most of all - the laptop. Oh, yes, I will use the laptop a lot. If I can't describe a new word in words they know, how better than to pull up an image from Oogle?

One aspect I don't think I will have any trouble with will be addressing students as the adults that they are. After all, I only have one language, and despite the cultural differences of Michigan, Boston, and Salt Lake City (which are not inconsiderable), one culture. But I do know how hard it is to enter a new world, with a different set of assumptions. I had to learn "medical" and the OR, the army and it's acronyms, and I know how it swamps one's brain.

This is all still presumption on my part. Two more weeks at the earliest before I get to meet my student or students. Hopefully, just one, at least to start. I want to start simply, go from there. I'm trying to anticipate, but I'm frustrated because I don't know who I will be paired with, and everything hinges on their needs and experience. I am rubbish at pretend scenarios. Hated the "practice" shots and IVs in nursing school, once I actually gave a shot, I was good. (Never had any job that needed me to put in IVs, so I'm no good at that, but I know it wouldn't take much.) I am much better with going for it in reality, after understanding the concept and watching others.

I tend to remember very clearly what I understand. And rote memorization lets me down more often than not. I struggle to
remember my phone number. I have two poems I learned in high school still in my head - imperfectly. Not very good ones.

Must not flood my student, whatever I do.

Solace

Attended a small tutoring class last night, observing only. And, well, I can do this. I began to realize the breadth of resources I have in my head, from history and speech training, acting, and history, casual linguistics, and a sometimes frightening vocabulary. I know the specific difference between P and B. B is voiced, P is unvoiced, for instance. Organizational skills from the military and nursing. A willingness to play it by ear. A curiosity about everything, anything, so that I can at least ask an intelligent question on most subjects. I'm halfway through the training, thinking it will be enough for me to start. Brain awhirl through the night, though.


Strong storms swept through as I was getting out of work, rain mixed with snow pellets, thunder and winds. Then it all blew out. A short day that felt very long. Not sure how that works, but it was all I could do to keep going to the end, at about two. Wanted to nap, but couldn't doze. Hot bath helped, as hot baths do. Some days just wear hard, that's all. D in much the same state of mind, so we got chinese food delivered. Solace egg rolls.

Cringe

I have been thinking about who I might be tutoring, and how to ask the Learning Center organizers about how to place me. And I wanted to ask for someone bright, of any background. I thought about having to teach my father, and the light came on, why I want to do this.

My father grew up in a French speaking family, "River Canard French," uneducated, illiterate French. He attended school in English, rural Ontario, no help at home. Even his parents were nominal, he was mostly "raised" by his older brothers - always a bad idea. Got to about sixth grade, but when I was in third or fourth grade, he was at sea with what I was learning. (Not that he ever really tried to help with my homework at any age.) He never read for pleasure, and was angry with anyone reading a book - considered it "rude." My mother only read when he was at work, and I learned to stay away from him when I had a book in my hands. I was often mocked for "thinking you're so smart." In his defense, he did pay for me to attend catholic school, mom insisted, but he could well have vetoed the tuition. Whomever he did it for, whatever his resentments, I did get a good education, and it was his hard work on a factory floor that paid for it.


Aside from a facility to keep his cars and house in decent repair - which is a considerable job, he had no real skill. He was a mean, petty, and stupid man. Unlike most kids who think their fathers stupid until their fathers get suddenly smart once the kid becomes an adult, I only lost more and more respect for him over the years. My mother got him playing Scrabble, and he did go through a phase, when I was in high school and college, where he did try to read better. Mom assured me he'd made a lot of progress, but I remain dubious, as she always overestimated him to me. The deck was stacked against him from the start, he didn't make much of what he had, making him a man to be pitied. My hatred has all evaporated.

But I need for whomever my student is, to not push all my father-buttons. I do want to give to someone what he needed, if he had just a bit of native intelligence, curiosity, will to learn. This old hurt is, I think, what moves me to do this. As soon as the realization came, it filled that question completely. I will talk with my coordinator about this weakness, and request consideration accordingly.

A woman's got to know her limitations.

Went to get my permanent tooth cap. Dentist put it in, had me bite down, "tap, tap." I tapped, then crunched. Broke the new cap before it even got in. So, they got the new one to the right dimensions, put the temporary back in, and made me a new appointment. I laughed with the dentist and his assistant, had to keep tapping and grinding on it to get the right shape for the remake. Fingernails on blackboard. I kept laughing, what else could I do?

That crunch is familiar not only from breaking my teeth, but from my work.

Sometimes I have to prep an arm or leg that is quite broken, after the patient is anesthetized, and I get that crunch of broken bone edge against broken bone edge. Crepitus is the official term. It's the one sound in my work, the one feeling, that still gets to me, viscerally. I told D about this most carefully, and it didn't take much. He knows that feeling from the inside, in all kinds of bad ways. And he needs to stop reading right here.

Really hard to have to hold a badly broken arm or leg, hold it in a sterile manner, wash it fairly vigorously with prep solution, while it is not stable, and making scrapey-crunchy noises, until it can be draped. Of all the jobs I have to do, this is the one that still makes me shudder. Doesn't stop me, but I cringe every time.

Jishin

As far as I can tell, jishin is the English approximation of the Japanese for Earthquake. Please correct this if you know better. I am bothered by the use of the word temblor instead of tremor or earthquake in the news recently. Seems like we have two very good words for this phenomena, without resorting to a word in Spanish for an event in Japan. If they needed variety, being writers, then why didn't they go for the Japanese word? They've exclusively used tsunami, the somewhat inaccurate Japanese word for the completely wrong English term 'tidal wave.'

I love that English snags words from everywhere, but this one just seems overly capricious. It sounds wrong in my ears. Tremor, earthquake, jishin,all good. But temblor - grates. Like it's being mispronounced, slurred, half swallowed. If it were an earthquake in Mexico, I could deal.

Odd, how such a little thing can set one's ears on fire.


What's the difference between and etymologist and an entomologist? Only the etymologist knows for sure.

Quixotic

I've been joshed about doing the daily paper crosswords at work. I do them rather quickly, and I do encourage others to have a go, and leave them for those who want to try. One of the Aides is getting a lot better, two of the nurses will get most of them. One of the nurses chided me for finishing it so fast, and not leaving it for them. I now hold off until after noon, then consider it fair game. All rather expect me to finish them up when they can't. When I solve them, working through without a lot of trouble, I do get comments. I try to shrug it off, explain that I've been doing them for quite a while, did several a day while taking the trains around Boston due to the couple of free papers in the morning, and leftover Globes and Heralds in the afternoon.

I've got both a love of words and puns, and a broad range of knowledge, with the exception of sports. But having seen Wordplay, I know I'm a pretty mediocre puzzler, I suck at the NYT crossword (damn Will Shortz*) and have never even tried an acrostic. So, I'm labeled as kind of brainy, but I know I'm only average among the intelligent people. I love being around people smarter than I am, so that I can learn from them. I love being the dumbest person in the room, like floating in deep water rather than splashing through a puddle.

Came across a discussion, where the question came up, what do we hide? And I hide my intellectual competence - around people who reveal a kind of disdainful awe of intelligence. Because, honestly, I'm lacking so many social skills, I know very well how many gaps‡ make cheese of my knowledge, that I get irritated at being seen as bright. So often I feel very dull, I have no other language, I'm a coward about reading classics, I flip numbers (and do the Sudoku† to counteract this failing) and my memory is fine for concepts but dithers about on details.

Imagine my quiet elation when D and I got to know each other, and found out we have identical IQs. Makes daily life so much easier. He's been listening to a recording of Don Quixote, and loves it.




*Not really, but he does do hard puzzles.
†Which I also learned to do on the T in Boston.
‡I in no way regret my professional sports gaps, though.

Scald

You can have roses,
I'll chomp on the long grass fronds.
Hork 'em up later.


We took Ofuro baths a few times, years ago, here. A very American fellow gave us a tea ceremony. Awkwardly elegant. But he also explained to us that the tea should be made with water that was not boiling, because it "burned" the tea. In my mind, I rebelled at the word. It should have been "scalded." (The hot bath itself was wonderful, by the way.) There is something about large, all-American, long haired, white guys imagining themselves as tiny and exotic. Who am I to judge?



I do love words, the right word for the right job. Not that I'm not willing to use whatever is at hand for a hammer, or to verb a noun, or sillify adverbage. But, I like to keep repeats out of a paragraph, and if there is a proper technical term, I much prefer to use it. Burn is an oxidation process, or a rating of tissue damage, or subjective sensation. Hot water causes scalds unless the matter goes black - temperature sensitive paper going dark, skin goes red and blisters. There is searing and scorching and curdling, branding and charring, browning and sunburning, to go with over-application of heat. (I've been thinking of my days in the burn ORs lately.) Or appropriate application. Japanese teas may want lower temperatures for flavor, but that doesn't make caffeine (xanthines) more soluble in water at lower temperatures than boiling. Flavor is fine, but early in the morning, I want the stimulant. He could tell I wasn't buying his insistence that the less hot temperatures were the only way to treat tea.

That is why I love my native (and, sadly, only) language. There is always another word, with a range of meaning and specificity. More to learn, more to explore. There is no end to the vocabulary, new words all the time.


"The problem with defending the purity of the English language is that the English language is as pure as a crib-house whore. It not only borrows words from other languages; it has on occasion chased other languages down dark alley-ways, clubbed them unconscious and rifled their pockets for new vocabulary. "
- James Nicoll

Grunt

There are bad days, and there are hard days. The two forces are not dependent on each other. Today was a very hard day, but in no way bad. No one crabby or angry, no long delays between cases, no huge failures or intractable messes - the bits that make for bad. Just a lot of work, having to make major changes in bed configurations, a lot of supplies needing opening, a lot of floor fluid to mop, for every single turnover in every single room. And being the resource/lunch person, I got to do them all. No one happier than me when the last case came down at precisely 1600, and I could come home.

This place is not like a trauma hospital OR, when a good day is when everyone gets out alive, and we've all had bad days. In an orthopedic hospital, there is a somewhat higher bar for a good day. This one got over, but with a grunt.

Pollen

D suffering badly with tree pollen allergies. Another day of open windows, until it got so warm in here we put on the AC for a while. Too early, too warm already. More laundry, to lessen the dust, vacuuming, ironing the linen clothes that may soon be needed. Or it could turn cold and wet again. Read a book. Took a walk. I'm no fan of hot weather, but the light and mild air seems to have energized me. My own eyes are itchy, sneezing and coughing, but not badly, mine usually hit a week or so after D's ebb.

Brought out garbage bags, recycled ones, that have what seems to be in incidental scent, powdery and flowery, that fades by the next day. I have grown more and more intolerant of perfume smells. Like my mother, who had to be careful where she sat in church to avoid the elderly ladies all powdered and scented. I now have the same distress, and at least as badly. Not the normal human odors, nor essential oils, but any artificial chemical smell just crawls up my nose, down to my stomach and bashes about my head, obnoxious and intrusive.

Thankfully, this is normally a minimal problem at work, since anyone with direct patient care is expected not to wear strong scent, and most follow that rule. Most patients don't waste perfume on the day of their surgery, and of those few who do, I rarely have to stay close to them for more than a few minutes. Once in a great while, someone will bathe in cologne sufficiently to permeate the room, a transient botheration in the grand scheme.

In Boston, many people believed in intense olfactory adornment. Men who seemed to be from Eastern Europe and Middle East often walked in a cloud of strong perfume. Not just them, but young women in leaving their mist of fashionable eau de toilette on benches, long minutes after they'd left.

Of course, those who do immerse themselves in scent have no idea how stinky they are. They seem to think it's pretty, and if they can't smell it on themselves - which they can't because their noses have shut down - they put more on. I have heard these people also express a horror of their own normal body odor. I can take clean sweat much more easily than headache inducing, nauseating chemistry.

I think of this while I sneeze my violent sneezes from all-natural pollen.

Multitask

Do you ever have one of those weeks/periods where a particular word keeps jumping into your consciousness? I often do, and this week it was "multi-tasking." In conversation, reading, news, it kept appearing, and not in a scientific way, but in a "mothers have to multitask!" and "I can text and drive, other people just can't multitask!" way. Which is, to put it mildly, fuckingbullshit. No one can multitask. Our brains just don't work that way, and it's been proven over and over. But the most distractible people I know claim they are most capable. As for those online assuring us, I have even lower expectations.

Sure, I can pull out a spoon while I pour my tea, I am not really concentrating on either very well, but it doesn't matter. Today, waiting for the light to change, I noticed the opposite direction driver looking at his lap in a way that suggested he was texting. When the light changed, and I moved out into the intersection, he didn't budge, so I did a nice Michigan turn (one car taking a left ahead of oncoming traffic at the beginning of a green was expected there.) I know better than to do so in Utah, normally. As I was in front of him, he finally looked up, and shook his finger at me. But I figured, if you're texting, I'm turning. He was so enthralled, he didn't realize how long he'd been still.

The tone of debate over the cell phone/texting while driving issue is taking on much the same key as the drunk driving issue when I was very young. The laws where mostly already there on DWI, but were winked at by some cops, and still not much of a social stigma attached to having a few drinks, then taking the wheel. Drunks were still funny, without irony or conditions. But it changed, as I grew up I felt the shift from social acceptance to calling the evil what it was. My father rarely drank, but always got (even more) belligerent when he did, and always insisted on driving (when normally he preferred my mother to drive.) My sister-in-law was hit by a drunk driver the day she found out she was pregnant for the first time, while I was visiting them, age ten. She and fetus were fine, and I never drove with alcohol in my system, in no small part because of these two examples.

We are not quite at the tipping point with those who believe they are wonderful multitaskers. Soon, I hope, but not yet. And no, women are not better at it than men. No one is good at it. Anyone who thinks they are are certainly worse, and much more dangerous. It saves no time, and costs and costs.

One thing at a time. It's a virtue.