Word-Wednesday for September 6, 2023

And here is the Wannaskan Almanac with Word-Wednesday for September 6, 2023, the thirty-sixth Wednesday of the year, the twelfth Wednesday of summer, and the two-hundred forty-ninth day of the year, with one-hundred sixteen days remaining.

 
Wannaska Phenology Update for September 6, 2023
Melons
/ˈmelən/, n., the large round fruit of a plant of the gourd family, with sweet pulpy flesh and many seeds, from late 14th century, meloun, "herbaceous, succulent trailing annual plant," or its sweet, edible fruit, from Old French melon (13th century) and directly from Medieval Latin melonem (nominative melo), from Latin melopeponem, a kind of pumpkin, from Greek mēlopepon "gourd-apple" (name for several kinds of gourds bearing sweet fruit), from mēlon "apple" (see malic) + pepon, a kind of gourd, which is probably a noun use of pepon "ripe" (see pumpkin). Among the earliest plants to be domesticated. In Greek, melon was used in a generic way for all foreign fruits (compare similar use of apple). The Greek plural of "melon" was used from ancient times for "a girl's breasts".

Watermelon, honeydew, muskmelon are all beginning to ripen. Did you know that Minnesota developed its own melon? The Minnesota Midget Cantaloupe, Family Cucurbitaceae was introduced in 1948 by the University of Minnesota. It produces loads of 4" fruit, sweet and juicy to the rind, and it's specially suited to our short growing season.

Aaannnd if you look up tonight…

Spot the Space Station: 5:33 AM, Visible: 6 min, Max Height: 62°, Appears: 16° above WNW, Disappears: 10° above SE 

 

September 6 Fickle Pickle Wednesday Menu Special: Potato Dumpling


September 6 Nordhem Wednesday Lunch: Updated daily by 11:00am, usually.


Earth/Moon Almanac for September 6, 2023
Sunrise: 6:47am; Sunset: 7:58pm; 3 minutes, 30 seconds less daylight today
Moonrise: 11:01pm; Moonset: 3:30pm, waning crescent, 52% illuminated.


Temperature Almanac for September 6, 2023
                Average            Record              Today
High            70                     92                     67
Low             47                     28                     44


'Twas later when the summer went
by Emily Dickinson

'Twas later when the summer went
Than when the cricket came,
And yet we knew that gentle clock
Meant nought but going home.

'T was sooner when the cricket went
Than when the winter came,
Yet that pathetic pendulum
Keeps esoteric time.

September 6 Celebrations from National Day Calendar

• National Read a Book Day
• National Coffee Ice Cream Day
• National Be Late for Something Day
• The earliest date on which the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance is performed.

September 6 Word Riddle
What does a librarian use to go fishing?*


September 6 Word Pun
Sven saw an ad for burial plots, but that’s the last thing he needs.


September 6 The Devil’s Dictionary Word-Pram
MAN, n. An animal so lost in rapturous contemplation of what he thinks he is as to overlook what he indubitably ought to be. His chief occupation is extermination of other animals and his own species, which, however, multiplies with such insistent rapidity as to infest the whole habitable earth and Canada.

When the world was young and Man was new,
     And everything was pleasant,
Distinctions Nature never drew
     'Mongst kings and priest and peasant.
     We're not that way at present,
Save here in this Republic, where
     We have that old regime,
For all are kings, however bare
     Their backs, howe'er extreme
Their hunger. And, indeed, each has a voice
To accept the tyrant of his party's choice.

A citizen who would not vote,
     And, therefore, was detested,
Was one day with a tarry coat
     (With feathers backed and breasted)
     By patriots invested.
"It is your duty," cried the crowd,
     "Your ballot true to cast
For the man o' your choice." He humbly bowed,
     And explained his wicked past:
"That's what I very gladly would have done, Dear patriots, but he has never run."

                                                                                              Apperton Duke


September 6 Etymology Word of the Week

September 6 Historic Events, Literary or Otherwise, from On This Day

• 1666 After St Paul's Cathedral and much of the city had been burned down over four days, the Great Fire of London is finally extinguished.
• 1716 First north American lighthouse built in Boston.
• 1791 Mozart's opera La Clemenza di TitoLa Clemenza di Tito premieres.
• 1839 Great fire in New York.

September 6 Author/Artist/Character Birthdays, from On This Day

• 1795 Frances Wright, Scottish writer.
• 1811 Johanna D Courtmans-Berchmans, Flemish author.
• 1860 Jane Addams, American pacifist, social activist, feminist, author, co-founder of ACLU.
• 1869 Felix Salten [Siegmund Salzmann], Austrian author of Bambi.
• 1904 Arvi Kivimaa, Finnish writer.
• 1921 Carmen Laforet, Spanish author.
• 1925 Andrea Camilleri, Italian author.
• 1928 Robert M. Pirsig, American author.
• 1938 Joan Tower, American composer.
• 1945 Petr Novák, Czech musician.
• 1963 Alice Sebold, American novelist.
• 1965 Christopher Nolan, Irish writer.
• 1971 Dolores O'Riordan, Irish muscian.
• 1972 China Miéville, English fantasy fiction writer.

Words-I-Looked-Up-This-Week Writer's Challenge
Make a single sentence (or poem or pram) from the following words:

• bombazine: /ˈbäm-bə-zēn/ n., a twilled dress fabric of worsted and silk or cotton.
• catamenial: /ˌkat-ə-ˈmē-nē-əl/ adj., relating to or associated with menstruation.
• deurmekaar: / deer-muh-KAR/ adj., confused, muddled; (also) mixed up, higgledy-piggledy.
• hooroosh: /həˈrüsh/ n., a wild, hurried, or excited state or situation; confusion.
• muzz: /məz/ n., a muddle or blur.
• nostomania: /nos-tuh-MEY-nee-uh/ n., intense homesickness; an irresistible compulsion to return home; a passion for nostalgia; from Greek “nostos” meaning homecoming + the Late Middle English suffix -mania coming from Late Latin via Greek “mania” meaning madness.
• paralipomena: /ˌpar-ə-lə̇-ˈpäm-ə-nə/ pl. n., things passed over but added as a supplement.
• qila: /KIL-ah/ n., a fort or fortress.
• scordatura: /ˌskôr-də-ˈto͝orə/ n., the technique of altering the normal tuning of a stringed instrument to produce particular effects.
• thrips: /THrips/ n., a minute black winged insect that sucks plant sap and can be a serious pest of ornamental and food plants when present in large numbers.

September 6, 2023 Word-Wednesday Feature
naming effably
/nām/ n., a word or set of words by which a person, animal, place, or thing is known, addressed, or referred to.; v., give a name to, or specify (an amount, time, or place) as something desired, suggested, or decided on, from "word by which a person or thing is denoted," Old English nama, noma "name, reputation," from Proto-Germanic naman- (source also of Old Saxon namo, Old Frisian nama, Old High German namo, German Name, Middle Dutch name, Dutch naam, Old Norse nafn, Gothic namo "name"), from Proto-Indo-European root no-men- "name."

no-men, Proto-Indo-European root meaning "name." It forms all or part of: acronym; allonym; ananym; anonymous; antonomasia; antonym; binomial; caconym; cognomen; denominate; eponym; eponymous; heteronym; homonym; homonymous; hyponymy; ignominious; ignominy; innominable; Jerome; matronymic; metonymy; metronymic; misnomer; moniker; name; nomenclature; nominal; nominate; noun; onomastic; onomatopoeia; paronomasia; paronym; patronym; patronymic; praenomen; pronoun; pseudonym; renown; synonym; synonymy; synonymous; toponym.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Sanskrit nama; Avestan nama; Greek onoma, onyma; Latin nomen; Old Church Slavonic ime, genitive imene; Russian imya; Old Irish ainm; Old Welsh anu "name;" Old English nama, noma, Old High German namo, Old Norse nafn, Gothic namo "name."

Meaning "a famous person" is from 1610s (man of name "man of distinction" is from circa 1400). Meaning "one's reputation, that which is commonly said of a person" is from circa 1300. As a modifier meaning "well-known," it is attested by 1938.

In the name of "in behalf of, by authority of," used in invocations, etc., is by late 14th century. Name-day "the day sacred to the saint whose name a person bears" is by 1721. Name brand "product made by a well-known company" is from 1944. Name-dropper "person who seeks to impress others by mentioning well-known persons in a familiar way" is by 1947. Name-child, one named out of regard for another, is attested by 1830. The name of the game "the essential thing or quality" is from 1966; to have one's name in lights "be a famous performer" is by 1908.

Arguably one of the most important word choices we ever make, it's interesting to note the ways that different cultures name their children. Ancestry seems like a noble enough reason for a child's name choice, but that emphasis so often includes stuffy or awkward elements such as honorarium and/or bequeathment. Alternatively, cultures native to this continent choose to name children based on a phenomenon from nature possessing a desirable characteristic or trait; or they engage in Naming Ceremonies — hoping to be given a child's name during a period of fasting, meditation, prayer, and/or dreaming. Certain contemporary American cultures select children's names based on the musicality of the name's pronunciation, where spelling is unconventional, and where giving voice to a child's name is meant to animate the child into adulthood.

Eventually, most of us acquire or adopt a nickname, sobriquet, epithet, tag, handle, pet name, term of endearment, nom de plume, alias, and/or code-name, often as a right of passage at various stages in our development. (Antonin, please let us know the nickname you have for your mom.)

When it comes to writing, authors like Charles Dickens and Toni Morrison take great care in naming both their characters and their books. Some names in literature live on just because the writing is so wonderful: Ishmael, Hamlet, Sherlock, Scrooge, Huckleberry, Ichabod, Alice, Ula. Acting as world therapists, writers also help their characters and readers name troubles, challenges, sins, and choices.

Naming pets? Seek your inner poet.

The Naming of Cats
T. S. Eliot

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
     It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
     Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo, or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
     All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
     Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
     But all of them sensible everyday names,
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
     A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
     Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
     Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum—
     Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
     And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
     But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
     The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
     Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
          His ineffable effable
          Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular name.

From A Year with Rilke, September 6 Entry
Orpheus, Eurydice, Hermes (IV), from New Prams

Now Eurydice walked at the hand of a god,
her steps, constricted by the winding sheets,
uncertain, meek, without impatience.
She was deep within herself like a woman full with child,
and gave no thought now to the man who walked ahead
or the path that rose toward life.
She was deep within herself, and her having died
was a fullness she carried.
Like a fruit, she was filled with the sweetness
and darkness of her huge death,
still so new she could hardly grasp it.

She had entered a new virginity,
had becomes untouchable; her sex had closed
like a wildflower toward evening,
and her hands were so estranged from marriage
that even the god's touch, infinitely light,
disturbed her as too familiar.

Chateau Noir
Paul Cézanne

Be better than yesterday,
learn a new word today,
try to stay out of trouble - at least until tomorrow,
and write when you have the time.



*A bookworm.