verify

Just for the fun of it, I've started a list of the word verification 'words' that pop up. This is what I have so far:

Comegu, Comph, Graticko, Ideribe, Inedlysi, Intlyt,
Kifinsir,Manedef, Mentu, Micior, Mullar, Oboli, Relis
Tosipsyp

I'm finding these almost-words very evocative of epic poetry and wondering if there's something like Spanglish that could be concocted from these things and used to tell a coherent story of some kind . . . Blogwulf, or a Mahablogata. Maybe a Blogessey. The Canterbloggy Tales.

And, no, I haven't been drinking, though maybe I should start.

pop quiz.1

Ether buddy Katie Jane has posted a lovely photo of her home town in snow -- and the weather prognosticators here are saying we'll wake up tomorrow with snow on our ground as well . . . which, of course, got me thinking about the persistent "Eskimo words for snow" boondoggle . . . which always makes me think: I don't know why it's so remarkable to have different words for different things. Isn't it more interesting that, in American English, the eensy word "run" has more than 100 independent meanings -- and somehow we're never confused? The same word for more than 100 ideas. I think that's remarkable -- yet no one remarks on it. How come?

[image from amazon]

all together now: waes hael!

I was reading one of my favorites blogs, for the garden at the Cloisters, where they discussed making their decorations
for the Christmas season and said that they used songs, carols, and "wassails" as reference for which plants would be in keeping with the Medieval focus of the museum. That got me wondering -- what is "wassail" anyway and what does it mean to "go a-wassailing"?

Over at Wikipedia (I know, but it's so darn convenient) I learned that there are two kinds of wassailing. One is a solicitation of charity which can be benign (serfs reminding the lord of his christian duty to provide alms) or more like the kind of hardcore treat-or-treating that merges with vandalism (feed me or I'll trash your house, tra-la).

The other wassail is a ceremony of sorts that involves serenading apple trees -- yes, you heard that correctly -- serenading apple trees to drive out bad spirits and encourage a good crop. And having the Wassail Queen decorate the trees with cider-soaked toast for the robins "who represent the good spirits of the tree." And banging on pots and pans, and -- oh, yes -- the drinking of cider until the whole crowd is "merry and gay." This formal portion of the ritual ends with a bang: either a single rifle shot or a volley of rifle fire depending on which article you read. Then the cheer-full gaggle moves on to the next orchard. Rest, rinse, repeat. Clearly these folks in the cider-producing West Country of England are people who know how to mix business with pleasure. Except for the rifle part, I could really get into this.

So, this holiday season, remember to bid your neighbors waes hael (good health), feed the birds, and sing to the trees. It's traditional.

Old Apple tree, old apple tree;
We've come to wassail thee;
To bear and to bow apples enow;
Hats full, caps full, three bushel bags full;
Barn floors full and a little heap under the stairs.

[images from the Cloisters "The Medieval Garden Enclosed" blog and Wikipedia: apple]

words to live by

One of my college professors -- this was back in the early 1970s -- was famous for his rambling lectures. I was in his office one day before class and he started jotting down notes. I asked what he was doing. He said: "Making a lesson plan." And I blurted out: "What are you doing that for?" And he smiled and said:

"You can't have total chaos.
You must have something from which to depart."

God bless you, Professor Young, wherever you are.