Tag: vocabulary

Word of the Week: Biophilic

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Admittedly, this post is more like “Word of the Year” than “Word of the Week,” since I haven’t written a “Word of the Week” post in much, much longer than a week–but better late than never, as they say.

On Friday, February 7, I attended a presentation that was part of the annual Richmond

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Dr. Tim Beatley presents a plaque to the Mayor’s Office commemorating Richmond’s commitment to becoming a biophilic city.

Environmental Film Festival (it runs through this Friday, February 14, so show Mother Earth some Valentine’s Day love and attend if you’re in the area!). The presentation was called “Singapore: Biophilic City.” Two elements of it caught my attention: 1) the new, unfamiliar word “biophilic” and 2) the fact that my city, Richmond, recently committed to becoming one of 22 biophilic cities worldwide. I needed to know what the word meant in general, but also what it meant for my community–and for myself as a resident.

The program opened with Dr. Tim Beatley asking the audience, by show of hands, to indicate how many people were familiar with or had ever used the word “biophilic.” A sparse smattering of hands went up, and Dr. Beatley explained that “biophilia,” which contains the root “phil” (love) literally translates to “a love of nature” or “a love of life.” A biophilic city, then, is one that focuses on and incorporates nature into the urban environment, as opposed to isolating its citizens from the natural world. A biophilic city recognizes nature as its core. As Dr. Beatley said, “Nature is not optional,” and a biophilic city recognizes the important role nature plays in, well, everything–even as we as a species seem to be distancing ourselves from it with technology and increasingly living our lives inside.

“Biophilia,” which contains the root “phil” (love) literally translates to “a love of nature” or “a love of life.”

In addition to Richmond, Portland, Oregon, is part of the Biophilic Cities Network. In the film screening shown during the program Friday, one of Portland’s residents explained, “We share the urban landscape with wildlife,” in reference to the city’s successful efforts to reinforce and preserve a school’s old chimney to provide a roosting place for swifts. Watching the swifts fly in and prepare to roost for the night has become a major community event in Portland, helping its residents feel more in harmony with and connected to nature–more biophilic.

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Part of Richmond’s plan to become biophilic includes making sure every resident lives within a ten-minute walk to a park. Above, my littles, Nacho (left) and Soda (right) enjoy a nature hike on the Buttermilk/North Bank trail, the Richmond skyline in the background.

In Atlanta, Georgia, a biophilic charter school engages in what they call “nature-based learning.” The school’s administration said, “We have to be prepared for whatever nature brings for us.” The students keep all kinds of clothing and gear, from rain boots to winter coats, in their lockers. They don’t hide from the weather; they work with it. As one of my favorite sayings goes: “There is no bad weather, only bad clothing.”

The Atlanta charter school doesn’t stop at teaching students to work with the weather, not against it; they also aspire to teach children to appreciate all forms of nature and life. Teach children to “appreciate the life of an ant,” the administration said, and you can teach them to more deeply appreciate human life.

As the word “biophilic” indicates, pillars of a city committed to this mission include fostering a strong connection with nature and creating a sense of our place within nature. Despite our iPhones and climate-controlled classrooms and cars and laptops, we cannot get away from nature, because we are part of it. We have no choice. We are not separate from nature, and, according to Dr. Beatley, “Contact with nature is a birthright.”

At the close of the program, Dr. Beatley challenged all in attendance to find a way to use the word “biophilic” in our conversations and lives. This blog post is one of my attempts–and now, I leave you with the same charge: use the word “biophilic” and spread the word (pun intended) about our continued, inescapable connection the the natural world.

Now, go forth! You have been linguistically empowered!

 

 

 

 

Expand your Vocabulary: Read

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Recently, I got to spend some time with my niece from Florida, who, just having reached the age of five, will begin kindergarten in about two weeks. She knows my husband and I collect sea glass, and as we were walking down a sidewalk in town, she picked up a broken glass bottle and held it up, exuberant.

“Look! I found some glass for you!” she exclaimed, impressed with her find.

My sister, her mother, quickly told her to put it down.

“But she gathers glass,” my niece said, clearly confused about the difference between sea glass and any old glass you might find in the street. After we cleared up the confusion, and her protest echoed in my head, I thought, “‘Gathers?’ What five-year-old uses a word like ‘gathers?'”

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Because sunset and twilight are two of my favorite times of day, one of my favorite recently-acquired words is “crepuscular,” a word I came across in my reading, and that could be used to describe the scene in the above photograph, which I took in the Outer Banks of North Carolina earlier this week.

Other words I heard her use over the course of the next day or so included “scurry,” “scuttle,” “scamper,” and “scepter,” all of which she would casually and correctly use–just as if she were using the word “run” or “walk.” I started keeping a list. My niece knew about this list, and a few days after she returned home, I got a call from her.

“Hi, Aunt Amanda,” she said. “I have another word for you to add to your list.”

“Oh, you do?” I said, amused–and touched that my list had made such an impression on her.

“‘Glimpse,'” said my niece.

“‘Glimpse,'” I repeated. “Can you use it in a sentence?” My niece knew that in order for one of her words to qualify for the list, she had to use it correctly in a sentence. A few days prior, I had denied the inclusion of “humiliated” on the list, because although she had used it in a sentence, it hadn’t made any sense. (Though I must admit, I was impressed at her attempt, and told her as much.)

“I could barely see the bunny–I only caught a glimpse of him,” she said.

“Very good! You’re right–another one for the list.”

My sister’s voice came over the phone.

“Where does she get all these words?” I asked her.

“Well, we read to her all the time,” my sister said, matter-of-factly. And of course she’s right–the regular reading sessions every night and at various points throughout the day, as requested, no doubt play a significant role in my niece’s impressive and ever expanding vocabulary.

Read. If you want to learn, read. If you want to escape, read. If you want to relax, read. But, most especially, if you want to write, read. Words are the most powerful tools we writers wield–and we can acquire more of them simply by opening a book.

My niece’s enthusiasm for her growing vocabulary reminds me of my own experience with words. I can remember in third grade learning to use and spell the word “conservatory.” I felt so important, possessing such a large, polysyllabic word. Later, I can remember encountering the word “alabaster,” specifically in the phrase “her alabaster brow” (I think it was in an Anne of Green Gables book), and using it in my own writing every chance I got. It was exhaustive, really. The number of times you’ll find that phrase in my early writing is laughable.

When I first started this blog, I was rather good about composing a weekly Word of the Week post, and though I haven’t been very consistent with that recently, I still keep my eye out for new words, many of which I find in my reading. Currently, I’m (still) reading Roberto Bolano’s 2666, and in my last sitting alone, I became acquainted with the following new words:

  • epigones–inferior imitators
  • impecunious–habitually poor (a word I can, unfortunately, employ regarding my own circumstances!)
  • philatelic–having to do with the study of postage stamps
  • crepuscular–relating to or resembling twilight (which might be my favorite of these newly acquired words),

just to name a few.

And, as it past my bedtime (my niece might say I should have scurried to bed long ago; I might say I should have started my crepuscular routine before allowing myself to grow this tired and the night to grow this old), I’ll wrap this up simply by saying: Read. If you want to learn, read. If you want to escape, read. If you want to relax, read. But, most especially, if you want to write, read. Words are the most powerful tools we writers wield–and we can acquire more of them simply by opening a book. The stronger our individual words are, the stronger our overall writing, and the more striking our impact, will be.

 

Word of the Week: Etiolated

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pineapple-flower
Despite fewer hours of sunlight during the winter months, my pineapple plants never become etiolated, instead remaining lush and vibrant in the greenhouse.

Earlier this month, I had the privilege of acting as a juror for the Scholastic Art and Writing Award. In my reading of the dozens and dozens of phenomenal short stories and essays produced by students across the country, I came across an unfamiliar word: etiolated. Not only, then, did I have the pleasure of reading so many thought-provoking, hope-inspiring stories and essays–but I also learned a new word.

“Etiolated” falls in the bottom 40% of word popularity, and, according to Merriam-Webster, is basically an old-fashioned term for “blanched,” as in blanching vegetables (deliberately growing them to be pale by depriving them of light). Figuratively, the word can be applied to people who are weak, pale, or ill.

Dictionary.com provides some examples of “etiolated” used in various works of literature, reproduced below.

  • His voice was hollow, etiolated like a flower grown in darkness. — The Jewels of Aptor, Samuel R. Delany
  • And he had a kind of sickness very repulsive to a sensitive girl, something cunning and etiolated and degenerate. — The Rainbow,  D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence
  • Pauline surrendered, and they went across the etiolated lawn toward the entrance. — Guy and Pauline, Compton Mackenzie

Now, go forth! You have been linguistically empowered!

Recent Words of the Week:

Oneiric

Macerated

Lacuna

 

 

 

Word of the Week: Oneiric

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I am (still) reading Roberto Bolano’s 2666, and during my sofa session Friday afternoon, came across this sentence on page 323:

“The oneiric wind whipped grains of sand that stuck to their faces.”

The word “oneiric” (oh-ny-rick) was a new one for me. The “Look Up” feature on my nook told me it is an adjective that means “of or relating to dreams; dreamy.” Merriam-Webster confirmed the definition, and informed me that the word rests in the bottom 50% of word popularity (what a shame). What a whimsical word to add to my vocabulary.

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The oneiric landscape and atmosphere of this beach along the shores of the Potomac River, near its blending with the Chesapeake Bay, makes it one of my favorite places. I snapped this photograph on my smart phone Saturday, December 17, 2016, after spending an hour at the water’s edge with my husband and dogs, hunting for sea glass and watching the sun set.

In addition to its inherent whimsy, the word applies to my own writing experience: The oneiric state I find myself in just before sleeping or just before waking seems to generate my best writing ideas. The only problem? Whereas I often remember my dreams, I only rarely remember the words I wrote during the course of them.

Other contexts in which I can imagine this word:

She waited impatiently for the oneiric effects of the medication to wear off.

He thought about the oneiric nature of his earliest memories, which might be memories, but might just as likely be imaginings based on stories he’d heard from his parents and grandparents and siblings hundreds of times, his imagination indistinguishable from reality.

The sight of the couple walking arm-in-arm down the cobblestone street summoned an oneiric sense of a life he felt he had never lived, though the photographs he had not yet removed from his walls told him otherwise.

She stepped off the plane and into the oneiric landscape of paradise.

“Oneiric” is also the perfect word to describe Lana Del Ray’s “Young and Beautiful,” as featured on the soundtrack for The Great Gatsby film released in 2013, as well as for the music that corresponds to the green light.

Lastly, I am quite sure that the male protagonist of my current writing project, a novel in its seventh draft titled Goodbye For Now, feels an oneiric sensation at waking up in a stranger’s body, and viewing his life as an outsider.

Board Games for the Bookish

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My initial intent was to save this post for a blizzard, or at least a snowy day, good for cozying up inside, but then I got superstitious and started thinking that waiting for snow might jinx the weather, and no snow would ever fall this winter. In an effort to prevent that horrible eventuality, I decided to move this post up. It’s timely enough now: Lots of families gathering for Thanksgiving next week will likely play board games together, right? Here are four that are perfect for the literarily-minded among us.

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One of my favorite board games described below is LIEbrary. The die, shown here on the left, features various genres of literature, plus a wild-card option.

4. Scrabble

This one is pretty obvious,  but it had to make the list: It’s a word game. Literary types love word games. We’re walking dictionaries and thesauruses, after all. To excel at this game, one must be good at spelling, and have an impressive vocabulary. Some Word of the Week posts on this blog might prove helpful for this game!

3. Bananagrams

I like to think of this game as a sort of Scrabble,  Jr. As with Scrabble, players should possess a talent for spelling and an unlimited vocabulary. Also like Scrabble, players use letter tiles to spell words, but there is no board for this game. Instead, each player draws a certain number of tiles from the pile, determined by the number of players, and uses them to spell as many interconnected words as possible. Once a player has used all of his letters to correctly spell real words, all of which connect, he yells, “Peel!” At that point, everyone draws one tile from the leftover, face-down tiles. This continues until all tiles have been drawn, completely depleting the leftover pile. The first player to use all of his tiles to correctly spell as many interconnected words as possible once all tiles have been drawn from the leftover pile, yells “Bananas!” and wins.

2. Balderdash

When my siblings and I were children, we referred to this game as “the lying game,” because it requires players to make up fake definitions to real, though obscure, words. To play, one player draws a word card. The other players create what they believe to be plausible definitions for the word, even if they have no idea what it might mean. Any player who writes the correct definition moves ahead (if I remember correctly). The player who writes the definition that fools the most fellow players also gets to move ahead. Players who identify the correct definition, as opposed to being fooled by fake ones, move ahead, as well.

1. Liebrary

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Above is one of the genre cards The Librarian would read to his fellow players, who would then craft a fake first line to the book the card describes.

I. LOVE. THIS. GAME. It’s similar to Balderdash, but centers on literature instead of vocabulary. Players are asked to compose phony first lines of books as opposed to phony definitions of words. Not only is it an excellent and hilarious game to play around the dinner table with friends and family, but I have also played with my students in high school English classes. It is especially pertinent when we talk about how to write a hook, and the types of first lines that are most effective. In Liebrary, each player gets a game piece of a certain color. Players take turns rolling a die labeled with five genres: Classics, Horror/Mystery/Sci-Fi, Fiction/Non-Fiction, Romance, Children’s, and a wild-card option that allows the die-thrower, also known as “The Librarian,” to choose the

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Above is an example of a genre card from which The Librarian would read. The other players would use this information to compose their fake first lines.

genre. The Librarian then draws a card from the rolled genre, and, withholding the fist line, which appears at the bottom of the card, reads off of it the name of an author, the title of the work, and a synopsis of the book.  Then, the other players are given time to compose a phony first line. They turn these in to The Librarian, who reads them, along with the actual first line, aloud to the group. Players are then asked to choose which first line they believe is the real first line. The phony first line that gets the most votes wins that round, and the player that wrote it moves ahead on the game board. Players who identified the correct first line also get to move ahead.

I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving!

 

Word of the Week: Macerated

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I don’t know where I first saw this word, but three months ago, I added it to my list of potential Words of the Week, and it seemed a fitting one for Halloween. According to Merriam Webster, “macerated” falls in the bottom 40% of popular words, and means “to cause to waste away by or as if by excessive fasting.” When used with an object, Dictionary.com defines it as “to soften or separate into parts by steeping in a liquid; to soften or decompose (food) by the action of a solvent; to cause to grow thin.” Used without an object, it means to waste away, or grow thin and emaciated.

Lucy Westenra, the chaste victim of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, macerates into a shell of herself, weakening with each visit from the blood-thirsty beast, who sucks at her life force, draining her of blood, energy, soul.

Perhaps the spooky holiday is coloring my perception of the word, but, for today at least, it conjures images of vampires’ victims, rotting zombies, and werewolves gnawing on human remains.

“Macerated” is the perfect word for the likes of Lucy Westenra, the chaste victim of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Each visit from the lusty, blood-thirsty beast weakens Lucy, sucking at her life force, draining her not only of blood, but also of her vivacity, energy, and soul. Her friends watch as she macerates into a shell of herself, ultimately becoming a demon they are forced to hunt down and kill.
The word also precisely describes the disintegrating corpses of the undead, as they wander the world, decomposing–macerating.
And of course we cannot leave out the masticating jaws of the werewolf, capable of severing limbs to macerate the bones and muscle tissue with the aid of thick, dripping drool.

Word of the Week: Lacuna

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Once again, I’m early with this week’s Word of the Week post, in an effort not to miss it. Sunday, will again be a travel day for me, as I will be coming home from my last trip of summer break, which ends on Monday, making this week’s word, “lacuna,” a fairly appropriate one.

As a teacher, I often field the question: What do you do all summer?–an implication that surely, with a two-month lacuna in the demands of my job, I will get bored. I can assure you, that is never a concern.

I came across the word “lacuna” in the novel I am (still) currently reading, 2666. Merriam-Webster’s simple definition of the word is “a gap or blank space in something: a missing part.” The full definition also includes “a small cavity, pit, or discontinuity in an anatomical structure.” Dictionary.com expands the definition to a third possibility: “an air space in the cellular tissue of plants.” “Lacuna” can also be applied to music, denoting an extended silence in a piece. I think my favorite definition for the word is probably the most general: “an unfilled space or interval; a gap,” which is the result of a simple Google search of the word (another result of said search being that The Lacuna is also a novel by Barbara Kingsolver, in case you’re interested).

This definition appeals to me for two reasons. One: Its broadness allows for the word’s application to so many spheres–music, language, work, manuscripts and texts, career, romance, physical landscape, memory, sleep–there could be a “lacuna” in practically anything. Two: My summer break is a kind of lacuna–a hiatus from the harried day-to-day of late August through mid June, when my days begin at 4:45 in the morning and often don’t end until long past my point of exhaustion.

And although “lacuna” denotes a sort of emptiness, a something missing, I can honestly say that my summer days are jam-packed–just not with stress and work and duties. My summer was indeed a lacuna in the daily grind, but was in no way devoid of activity. So, to answer the question with which we began: What did I do with my summer break–how did I fill that seeming lacuna? Here’s the short list:

  1. Visited family in Florida twice.

  2. Visited family in Michigan.

  3. Traveled to Pennsylvania twice, once for a family reunion and once to see a friend.

  4. Visited family in the Outer Banks twice.

  5. Worked on my novel in various capacities.

  6. Submitted pieces of my writing to various publications.

  7. Worked on lesson plans for the upcoming school year.

  8. Completed a course to become a certified life coach.

  9. Read two novels (still working on the third).

  10. Traveled to the Northern Neck a handful of times.

  11. Took my dogs on really long walks every morning.

  12. Spent bonus time with my local family.

  13. Went to the river a few times.

  14. Laid out in the sun.

  15. Threw a Summer Solstice Potluck Party.

  16. Kept my house marginally cleaner.

  17. Continued to maintain this lovely little blog.

  18. Attended a professional development session during which I created a class website.

  19. Took naps.

  20. Grew food.

I’ll stop there. I’m quite sure you get the point: Even my lacuna was full!

Now, go forth! You have been linguistically empowered!

Recent Words of the Week:

Glebe

Otiose

Apricate

 

Word of the Week: Glebe

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I usually reserve Sundays for my Word of the Week posts, but as tomorrow will be a travel day for me, I’m posting this particular Word of the Week today, which is fitting, as I came across the word during one of the many trips I took this summer.

A few weeks ago, I drove to Washington, DC, to take a series of aptitude tests at the Johnson O’Connor Research Foundation (side note: so informative and interesting; I highly recommend the experience). The testing spanned a two-day period, so I stayed the night with my aunt and uncle who live just outside the city. After dinner, we sat in their cozy family room, discussing logistics for the next morning. They advised me to take the metro to the city the next day, parking my car in the deck on Glebe Road.

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The view from my side mirror as I left the parking garage on Glebe Road, named for the Episcopal priest’s residence that used to be nearby.

Then my aunt asked my uncle, “Did you tell her what ‘glebe’ means?”

My uncle had not, and I had never thought to ask, having assumed it was someone’s last name.

According to Merriam-Webster.com, “glebe” is a noun referring to a cultivated plot of land, usually owned by and generating revenue for a church or parish. It sits at the bottom 30% of word popularity, which explains why the only place I can recall ever having seen it in print is on the road sign near the parking deck where I did indeed park the next day.

The word is pretty archaic, but could come in handy if you are writing historical fiction, for example.

Now, go forth! You have been linguistically empowered!

Recent Words of the Week

otiose

apricate

sessile

 

Than vs. Then

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One of the reasons English is often cited as one of the most difficult languages to learn is its many homophones, one of the most infamous pairs being “than” and “then.” What follows is an extremely simplified explanation of their proper use.

“Than” with an “a” expresses comparisons. One way to remember this might be to associate the “a” in “than” with the “a” in “comparison.” An example of the proper use of “than” would be:

Ian is taller than Sally is.

The above sentence compares Ian’s height to Sally’s.

“Then” with an “e” relates to time. One way to remember this might be to associate the “e” in “then” with the “e” in “time.” An example of the proper use of “then” would be:

Ian was the taller of the two children, but then Sally grew.

The above sentence helps express when in time Ian was no longer taller than Sally–after she grew.

A sentence that uses both “than” and “then” properly would be:

Ian was taller than Sally, but then Sally grew.

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While I admit to loving the message in this Instagram post I came across a few weeks ago, I also admit I had a difficult time seeing beyond the “then” that should have been a “than.”

Word of the Week: Otiose

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Some of you might have noticed that lately, I have been a bit remiss in my Sunday Word of the Week posts. After all, three weeks have drifted by without a single new vocabulary word to satisfy your lexical cravings. I hope you’ll accept my apologies, especially because my inspiration for this week’s Word of the Week stems directly from my seemingly lax attitude.

This week’s Word of the Week is “otiose.” Dictionary.com defines the word first as “being at leisure; idle; indolent.” The second definition is “ineffective or futile.” The final is “superfluous or useless.” I certainly hope my behavior doesn’t qualify for the second or third definition, but I must admit it might be a good candidate for the first one.

Merriam-Webster.com places “otiose” in the bottom 50% of word popularity, and defines it as “producing no useful result” (guilty–at least in terms of Word of the Week posts); “being at leisure” (I plead the Fifth); and “lacking use or effect” (innocent–I’ve been doing lots of useful things… They just haven’t included my weekly vocabulary posts).

I suppose at the very least I could provide you an explanation for my otiose behavior. I am sure once you see the photographs below, you’ll not only completely understand, but also completely forgive, my slacking. (Though in all honesty, I can’t promise I won’t relapse in weeks to come, at least now and again.)

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I failed to compose a July 10 Word of the Week post because I succeeded in spending several hours playing with a friend, my sister, her husband, my niece, and my nephew in the sun, sand, and surf in Florida. So, yes–it’s safe to say I was “at leisure; idle” that day.
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I was nowhere to be found in the virtual world on July 17 because I was busy splashing around in the crisp (okay–freezing…!) waters of the Youghiogheny River Gorge in Ohiopyle (say it out loud; it’s fun) State Park in Pennsylvania with my sisters, their husbands and children, and my husband.

Now, for the first time in weeks, you have been linguistically empowered!

Recent Words of the Week

apricate

sessile

fustilarian