What’s the good word?

“Bon mot” is a French expression that came into English around 1730, according to the online version of the Merriam Webster Dictionary.

Translated literally, the phrase means “good word.” More broadly, it means a witty or clever remark.

We’ve kept the French pronunciation. In “bon” the “n” is barely pronounced, and in “mot,” the “t” is dropped.

So, the two words are uttered something like bohn MOH, with the emphasis on the second word.
 

Pancakes, anyone?

Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent begins, is so named because of the custom of shriving. (Shrove is the past tense of shrive, just as drove is the past tense of drive.)

To shrive, according to the Online Dictionary, is “to hear the confession of and give absolution to a penitent” or “to obtain absolution for (oneself) by confessing and doing penance.”

From this custom has come the term “short shrift.” Originally it meant paying scant attention to hearing someone’s confession of sins. The term has broadened to simply mean paying little attention to people, tasks or issues.

In researching Shrove Tuesday, I learned it’s also called Pancake Day in the United Kingdom. A UK custom is to serve pancakes right before the beginning of the abstemious season of Lent, in which folks often forego decadent indulgences such as foods containing fat or sugar.

To get a second source on Pancake Day, this morning I went straight to someone who was sure to know: Australian Dianne Bunt. Along with Austrian husband Werner Bunt, she owns The Kitchen, a delightful teashop in the market town of Minchinhampton, England. (Patrons sometimes even see Princess Anne ride by on her horse.)

I sent Dianne an IM around 3:15 “Minch time,” asking if they were serving pancakes. I really didn't expect an answer for at least a few hours, as The Kitchen does a brisk trade. I thought she’d be busy flipping pancakes, pouring coffee or tea or presiding over the cash register.

Dianne, however, can multitask with the best of them. Within two minutes, I had her answer: “Certainly are. Lemon and sugar or chocolate, hazelnut and whipped cream! Pancakes are selling like hotcakes.”

Loved her humor. It reminded me to never, ever give Dianne's friendship short shrift.

Photo special to the Sentinel

The proprietors and staff of The Kitchen in Minchinhampton, a cozy Cotswald town in England, dished up pancakes today in honor of Shrove Tuesday. (Taken during a celebration of the Queen’s Jubilee last summer, this photo is by Barrie Roberts, The Darkroom, Cheltenham.)
 

Swath of white slashes the sky

Dean Humphrey caught a fine moment on Grand Mesa recently. His picture of a contrail ran on 2A of today’s paper and is reproduced below.

According to the Online Dictionary, the word “contrail” is an Americanism that was formed in the 1940s out of two words: (con)densation and trail. The dictionary defines it as “a visible condensation of water droplets or ice crystals from the atmosphere, occurring in the wake of an aircraft, rocket, or missile under certain conditions.”

A physical a-n-d mental workout

If German teenagers go to a gymnasium, do they work out or attend classes?

If you guessed the latter, you’re right. In Germany the word “gymnasium” means a place of learning similar to an American high school. If Germans want to exercise in a building, they go to a training center (Schulungszentrum).

How this word split into two different meanings, depending upon one’s culture, has an interesting background.

It came from an ancient Greek word, according to Isaac Asimov in Words from History. Asimov notes that a gymnasium was originally a place in which athletes trained for the Olympic Games and other great sporting events.

In a country that valued mental acuity as much as physical prowess, Asimov continues, gymnasiums also drew men “interested in intellectual discussion.” Eventually, the word “gymnasium” came to have a dual meaning as a place in which both the body and mind were exercised.

Over the centuries the word’s meaning began to reflect different perceptions in different cultures. In America, we emphasize just the physical meaning of the word, whereas in Germany, its intellectual meaning is used to denote roughly our equivalent of high school.
 

Seeing my way clear to a word’s history

As I read this quote this morning, I comprehended the meaning of “obvious” but realized I knew nothing about its history. Some sleuthing revealed some interesting details.

In the 1580s, according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “obvious” meant “frequently met with.” The word came from “Latin obvius ‘that is in the way, presenting itself readily, open, exposed, commonplace,’ from obviam … ‘in the way,’ from ob "against" … + viam, accusative of via ‘way,’" the dictionary citation adds.

One way I remember aspects of a word is to paint a mental scene. So, to anchor this word’s history into my memory, I’m envisioning two Roman centurions frequently meeting each other at a crossroad.

One of their chariots is old. It frequently breaks down right in the middle of the junction and gets in the way of the other centurion’s passage. Perhaps their frequent meetings become a common sight -- obvious to everyone.

Is this a silly example? Probably. It does, however, work for me, so – please – your indulgence … just this once?

The quote, by the way, comes from an ancient book, On the Natural Faculties. It was written by Claudius Galenus, a physician and philosopher in Rome in the second century AD, according to Wikipedia. He became simply known as Galen.

His words remind me to remain optimistic. In the nippy grip of gray, January days, I’m wondering if the warmth and brightness of springtime will ever arrive.

I’ll also try to remember the creed in 2nd Corinthians 5:7 (King James version) – one with which Galen surely would have agreed: “For we walk by faith, not by sight.”

Lithograph of Galen by Pierre Roche Vigneron
Courtesy of Wikipedia