Enjoy Life

Last week I used the phrase joie de vivre, a French phrase that when translated literally means joy of living. Its meaning is given as a delight in being alive or a carefree enjoyment of living. Its first recorded use in English was in 1889. It is descriptive of a character trait rather than an emotion.

There is no word in English that is a synonym, so to describe someone with a joy of living or a love of life requires three words in English or in French. Ebullient comes closest, but it refers more to a transient state than a character trait.

Etymonline.com gives a couple of other French phrases along with its succinct etymology of joie de vivre: savoir-faire and feu de joie.

I have not encountered feu de joie, but then I have not been to a lot of military ceremonies. A feu de joie is a volley of gunfire beginning at one end of a line of soldiers, going down the line and returning back down the line to the first soldier. The best audio/visual example I could find was here; you can hear the sound of it, even if you can't see the shooting. I found examples of this impressive ceremony on YouTube from around the world. According to some accounts it was a sunset ceremony as a fort's gates were closed and the soldiers retreated into the security of the fort.

Savoir-faire is a far different phrase. According to etymonline.com it is "instinctive knowledge of the right course of action in any circumstance," and came into use in English in 1815. A literal translation is "to know [how] to do." Savoir means "to know" and comes from the Latin word sapere from which we get sapient. Faire comes from the Latin word facere that means to make or do and from which we get our word factitious.

I used the word transient above. It has several meaning in common use. Perhaps the most common use is as a noun, to describe a person or thing that is temporary. But is is often used in the U.S. of a homeless person and is somewhat akin to a hobo (next week's post). But its original meaning, still in use today, is of anything not durable or that is about to pass away or pass on. Transient comes from the Latin word transientem. Transient has meant "passing through without staying" since the 1680s; while the noun has existed since the 1650s its use to describe a guest or boarder has only been used since 1857.

What is the difference between transient and transitory? While the words by definition seem to be synonyms, transitory has a sense of passing away while transient more of passing on. Transitory has been used in English even longer than transient. It arrived in the 1400s from the Old French word transitoire that came from the Late Latin word transitorius that in classical Latin meant "allowing passage through." The best synonym for transitory is ephemeral (also next week's post), not transient.

In other words, something that ceases to exist is transitory. Something that continues to exist after briefly being present is transient. A circus or carnival is transient; the excitement from their presence is transitory.

But for someone with joie de vivre both are thoroughly enjoyed.

Happy Father's Day

As one who for the first time in his life is not able to say "Happy Father's Day" to his father, I am obviously at the age where one must turn his attention to the idea of "What qualities and wisdom can I leave to my children that will make them as pleased with me as a father as I have been with my father?" As I approach my senescence I reflect on what qualities I hope to imbue in my children.

I would like for them to know how to be abstemious without abjuring joie de vivre (next week's post) or needing to be a bon vivant. It would be nice, too, if they were insouciant and have perspicacity and equanimity,

I hope they would enjoy (as much as do I) badinage and a good bon mot, and become a deipnosophist. While they have a burgeoning reputation among their friends as being sagacious they are also winsome and ebullient even if not(yet) considered to be a philologue.

I would hope they will learn to avoid being captious, mendacious, obstreperous and (they knew it was coming) contumacious.

Finally, I will be pleased if in the efflorescence of their inchoate denidified adulthood they learn to be polymaths without being pedantic, can solicit without being solicitous, are voracious for knowledge without being a quidnunc, and sapient without being sappy.They don't need to be fecund as long as they are not feckless. And I hope they always supererogate and have ruth.

To the extent that I exhibit any of these qualities I am indebted to my father. And to every father out there I wish you a happy father's day.

Ensconcing a Sconce

It was during our department lunch that a discussion ensued. Was ensconced a word or not? It didn't take long for someone to ask me for my opinion.

I told them "Yes, ensconce is a word" and attempted to define it. The best I could come up with was something along the lines of being fully engulfed or inundated or installed. Then I looked it up, because it occurred to me that it likely has nothing to do with the word sconce, as in a wall sconce (I've never read of a floor sconce or table sconce.) Later I heard them discussing the word scone, which bears an eerie resemblance to sconce, as does eerie to Erie.

First, ensconce is defined (at dictionary.com) as "to settle securely or snugly" or "to cover or shelter or hide securely." So my definition wasn't far off, but apparently there's an element of security that of which I was not aware. Its etymology I checked on my phone (anyone else notice that it's a phone unless it has an office or - at home - a cord to the wall, in which case it's an office phone or land line?) and found that its etymology is uncertain, perhaps coming from the French but probably from the Dutch word schans that means "earthwork." An earthwork is certainly firmly settled and is meant to add security. Etymonline.com defines ensconce as "to cover with a fort" and dates its arrival in English to the 1580s.

Sconce, on the other hand, has been used in English since the 1300s. A sconce is a bracket for candles or other lights that is placed on a wall, frame, or mirror (or the hole that holds it). Originally it was a candle with a screen, and was shortened from the Old French word esconce that was used for both a lantern and a hiding place. (Hence the speculation about ensconce coming from French.) But the Old French got esconce from the Medieval Latin word sconsa, which developed from the Latin word absconsa, the feminine past participle form of abscondere, from which we get abscond. It wasn't until the mid-1400s that it referred to the lighting fastened to the wall.

Removing yet another letter gets us to scone. Dictionary.com defines it as a small, light, biscuitlike quick bread made of oatmeal, wheat flour, barley meal, or the like. The scones I've had have been neither small nor light, but that's probably just the American "bigger is better" mentality. Etymonline.com says they are a "thin, flat, soft cake." Again, the ones I've had have not been thin, flat or soft. Etymonline also says the word (and likely the scones) came from Scotland in the 1510s and was probably shortened from the Dutch schoon brood, which with a heavy Scottish accent probably sounded to the English like scone bread. (In Dutch schoon means bright and beautiful while broot is the word for bread.

So three words so similar in appearance have little or no relation to each other. Now you know.

In Memorium

Yesterday was a thanatopsis, as we ceremonially assisted Charon in his task.

Thanatopsis is a word formed from the Greek words for death (thanatos) and opsis (view or sight). It was also the name of an 1817 poem by William Cullen Bryant. You can read the poem here. It is more about the dying (or is it dyeing?) than about the prospect of eternal life, and while there is mention of others who have gone before it is not as if there is a reunion with them, just a joining in death. So I don't quote it here. I am convinced my father joined my mother in heaven. (In fact, my brother Bob tells the story that follows.)

A couple weeks before my Dad died, he was waiting for me at the door of his retirement home when I came in for a visit--which NEVER happened. I always had to find him. But this time, I pushed his wheelchair over to an armchair and asked him why he was waiting for me. "I want to go see Millie," he said. That was also strange, because for at least the last year, maybe two or more, he would look puzzled when I mentioned Millie (my Mom) to him. But that day, he seemed as clear as could be, as if he could just get in my car and go see Millie.

It was just curious to me at the time....but last night it dawned on me that maybe he had a sense of going to see Millie before I had any idea that he would soon leave this life. 

So yesterday much of the family gathered for a memorial service for my father. Thanatopsis, a view of or musing upon death, was a word for it, but in reality it was more of a musing on the life of someone dear to us, recounting his foibles (foremost among them the odd use of his handkerchief - you'll have a to ask me about that one) but also the reprise of some of his favorite solos - he was renowned for his vocal presentations. And the meditation was brought by my nephew David, a Greek Orthodox priest serving as a chaplain in the Navy. I particularly enjoyed the Greek portion of the meditation that included a Greek hymn sung first by David and his three sons then by all the assembled.

And so we assisted Charon, according to Greek mythology the name of the boatman who ferried the souls of the newly departed over the river Styx. (The word charon can be used of any ferryman, but should only be used ironically.)

In the opening paragraph I mused over death. Actually, I mused over the word dying. Why is the word die but the form of the word dying? (I'm not sure whether the form is present participle form or gerund or even a deverbal noun; I'm more interested in the etymology.)

While the word die, meaning to cease to live, is common and dates back in English to the mid-1100s, it also refers to one of a pair of dice or for a stamping or cutting device that forms or cuts material from cloth to metal. The process of stamping or cutting won the battle over the use of the word dieing. If you are using a stamp to form (for instance) a coin, you are dieing. While the word die (ceasing to live) probably came from a Dutch or Norse word (there are many English words with their roots in Old Norse, since the Vikings ruled England until the Battle at Stamford Bridge in 1066, as I'm sure you remember.)

The word could not be spelled dyeing lest it be confused with the process of coloring

An interesting (to me) etylological thanatopsis from etymonline.com:

Languages usually don't borrow words from abroad for central life experiences, but "die" words are an exception, because they are often hidden or changed euphemistically out of superstitious dread. A Dutch euphemism translates as "to give the pipe to Maarten." Regularly spelled dege through [the 15th century], and still pronounced "dee" by some in Lancashire and Scotland. Used figuratively (of sounds, etc.) from [the] 1580s. 

I cannot leave the Lancashire/Scottish pronunciation without mentioning (since I mentioned my younger brother, Bob, earlier) that my older brother Don's middle name is "Dee."

So why is the noun form of the act of dying called death? I would prefer to think it comes from the Old Irish word dith but etymonline.com informs us that it comes from the Old English where it was deað.

Finally, one of my favorite poems (ever since son Joe learned it as part of his presentation in high school's Rotary speech contest) has been John Donne's poem "No Man Is An Island" which contains these words: "Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind."

So I am diminished today, but joyful because, as Dad anticipated rejoining his loved ones in heaven, so I look forward to that reunion as much as I enjoyed the one that took place this weekend. Or, as it's put in Revelation 21:4,

There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. 

RIP Charles Vernon Hostetler, April 26, 1920 - March 9, 2015