words

I love words. I have a fairly good vocabulary, if I do say so myself.

My vocabulary is large and sort of-- organic. It's rich, ready and available and always growing both by adding new words and by deepening the understanding of words I already have.

For instance, I was about to comment that my dogs are like recalcitrant children.

I know the word recalcitrant. I know how it feels, what it suggests and I was fairly certain I knew what it meant-- but not crisply, sharply certain.

recalcitrant: Marked by stubborn resistance to and defiance of authority or guidance.

So now I realize that Jackson is recalcitrant. What is the word for Jasper? I mean, is doofus enough?

doofus: An incompetent, foolish, or stupid person.

Maybe Jasper isn't a doofus. Maybe he just looks like doofus sounds. He isn't foolish or stupid. He's just clumsy and usually gets caught when he's up to mischief.

Maybe he's a schlemiel.

schemiel: A habitual bungler; a dolt.

That's closer, I guess.

Habitual.

We all have habitual words. I find it's hard to identify one's own habitual words, while it's easy to identify someone else's.

I am not talking about, like, I mean, the words, you know, that somehow, like, get, you know, uselessly, I mean, just, like, strewn about within, you know, sentences.

I am talking about words that we as individuals drag out and use far more often than most of the population.

For instance, my husband is fond of the word demeanor. He uses it correctly. It's simply that it comes up far more often in his speech than in most people's conversation.

Once, an entire graduate level class of mine all seemed to find it necessary to use the word visceral several times each class meeting.

I wonder what my habitual words are these days?

"When I make a word do a lot of work like that," said Humpty Dumpty, "I always pay it extra." —Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass, 1872