Super Cat Whisperer, in Honor of a Veteran

 

Because no matter how small an act of kindness or generosity or simple positivity you put out into the world, it will make a difference.

--Wonder Woman

 

Superheroes come in various forms.  They all have the power to make the world a better place by fighting injustice or crime or both.  For a writing assignment in third grade, I created the superhero, Measle Man.  I still have the story on lined paper, in pencil, complete with illustrations.  Measle Man was cast out of his town because of his red, dotted face.  When a poor girl found herself in trouble, Measle Man made everything right.  In a world with increasingly disturbing events, my own Measle Man, a veteran, swooped down to save the day on two fronts.  He helped my husband who had fallen and found our frightened Frida.

 

Rich and I left Folly Beach on a Monday morning, traveling for the first time with a cat, Frida.  I got suggestions from two different friends who have years of experience traveling with cats.  Both said they had no trouble letting the cat roam free in the car.  One suggested a harness and leash for bringing the cat from the car to the hotel and back.  At PetSmart I only found harnesses for dogs, which do not fit cats proportionally, although later I found out that PetSmart does sell harnesses for cats.  The dog XXS fit Frida’s neck but not her girth.  The dog XS fit her girth but not her neck, but I went with it.  I bought an ID tag for the harness.

 

Day 1 of our odyssey passed with no encounters with monsters.  Day 2, as we were unloading at the hotel after a very long day of travel, Rich hit his foot on a concrete parking barrier and fell.  Seemingly out of nowhere, my Measle Man, a young fellow, appeared and asked if he could help.  I asked him to help Rich up.  He squatted, linked his arms under Rich’s, and had Rich up before I could say Bob’s your uncle.  In the process, another fellow appeared.  I had Frida in my arms, restrained with harness and leash.  She got spooked and jumped out of my arms.  In only seconds, she wriggled out of the harness and fled, leaving me with what looked like one of those joke wire leashes leading to an invisible pet, except all deflated.  We checked Rich.  He suffered no significant injuries.  Then, we turned out attention to Frida, the cat on the lam.

Our Superhero took charge.  He instructed me to take Rich to the room and said he would look for Frida.  After walking with Rich to the room, I went back out to help search.  Superhero found her after about five minutes, crouching between some shrubs and the building.  I squatted towards her front.  Superhero came up behind her.  She did not spook and let him pick her up, so he became a Superhero Cat Whisperer.  Since she was solidly in his arms, I asked him to bring her to our room.  On the way, he showed me pictures on his phone of his cats.  (Yes, he managed to keep Frida secure and show me pictures.)

On the way, he told me that he is a veteran and that he was living at the hotel with his two cats because his house blew up.  As he entered our room, he left his shoes at the door.  We thanked him profusely and offered him a reward of money or a meal or something.  He thought very seriously and then turned us down.  He said his reward would be for us to treat Frida well—no problem there!

The next morning, we put Frida in her carrier to bring her to the car!

We thanked Super Cat Whisperer for his service to our country and for finding Frida, and he put on his shoes and left.  I am so very impressed and grateful at this Veteran’s actions.  He saw Rich go down and responded instinctively.  Then, he found Frida.  Evidently, his military training and experience kicked right in.  He has served the United States well, both abroad and at home.

God Bless Super Cat Whisperer!

Fiddlin' Around

         

 Recently, a friend and I were trying to arrange to meet for lunch. After we finally agreed upon a date, she said that I was too busy and asked what I do to stay so busy. I said that for one thing, I just fiddle around. She said that she knew that I did more than just sit around on my bonhunkus reading about Bat Boy in old copies of the Weekly World News. I replied that by “fiddle around,” I did not mean that I was “[acting] idly or frivolously,” as the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) defines the phrase, but I was actually playing the fiddle. I have never heard of anyone violining around, so I left off reading about Bat Boy and instead pondered the question of the difference between a fiddle and a violin.

            The situation all began in December, 2019, when my brother-in-law, Mark, initially gave me one of his spare violins. (For the story of my New Year’s resolution to re-learn the violin, see “Be-Lied.”)  He opened the case, showed it to me, and shut the case. When I got the violin home and pulled it from the case, it rattled! With some effort I teased the noisemaker out of the body of the violin—a real (dead) rattlesnake rattle. After I told Mark of this find, he told me this story. His first violin was a hand-me-down from an old fiddling family. The fiddle giver told Mark that traditionally, fiddle players find that their fiddles are in finer fettle with a rattle in the body. The sound is more interesting. Therefore, Mark put rattles in all of his violins and forgot to tell me. In this case, the rattle transformed the violin into a fiddle.

            To further explore the conundrum, I consulted the OED, which defines “violin” as “a musical instrument in common use, having four strings tuned in fifths and played with a bow; a fiddle.” According to this definition, no difference exists between a violin and a fiddle. This bowed stringed instrument is two instruments in one. The word comes from the Italian violino, which makes sense based on the history (detailed below) of the violin. The entry goes on to describe a violin: “In general structure the violin is composed of a resonant box of elaborately curved outline, and a neck or handle from the end of which the strings are stretched over a bridge to a tail-piece.” The first literary citation listed is from the works of Spenser in 1579.

The OED defines “fiddle” as “a stringed instrument of music; usually, the violin, but also . . . applied to any other instruments of the viol kind. Now only in familiar or contemptuous use.” So while a violin is also a fiddle, a fiddle is not necessarily a violin, but could be any member of a class of instruments known as bowed stringed instruments. The entry states that the origin of the word is unknown but possibly of Teutonic origin. The first literary citation come from a lay (or short poem) dated 1205. At some point which the OED does not pinpoint, “fiddle” was relegated to common (“familiar”) usage or usage of disrespect (“contemptuous use”). (See “Be-Worded” on the word vulgar.)

            This information raised the question: why is “fiddling around” considered derogatory? On one hand, “fiddle” appears in positive sayings, such as “fine or fit as a fiddle” or “to hang up one’s fiddle” (or retire). While the OED lists no negative usages of “violin,” it cites some unflattering usages of “fiddle”: “to make aimless or frivolous movements” or “to fritter away.”

            I decided to delve into the history of these two instruments for further illumination. Various sources credit the fiddle as the forerunner of the violin. Yamaha’s Musical Instrument Guide claims that “Compared to its ancestors, the violin is in a class by itself in terms of completeness. In addition, it was not improved gradually over time, but appeared in its current form around 1550.” The violin was born as a mature adult. Andre Amati and Gaspard di Bertolotti are credited with introducing the violin in northern Italy. Britannica states, “The violin is probably the best known and most widely distributed musical instrument in the world.” (I am guessing that the ukulele is not far behind!)

            None of my researches revealed why the phrase “fiddle around” developed its negative meaning. Perhaps, once the violin appeared in the mid-16^th Century, the fiddle became the lowly sibling since a fiddle can be a number of bowed string instruments and not the perfectly formed violin. Perhaps, once violin was introduced, fiddling became something that the lower classes enjoyed, relegating playing the violin to the elite. 

            Now when I get ready to embark upon a serious endeavor or practice Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, I will say that I am going to “violin around.” When I get ready to goof off or practice Celtic music or folk tunes—“Danny Boy” or “Salley Gardens”—I will say that I am going to fiddle around. That way, those around me will clearly know my intent.

 LAGNIAPPE: While Shakespeare does not mention the violin, he does mention the viol, twice in Pericles and once in Richard II.

Taking a Walk

            Recently, for my writers group, I polished an old essay on walking, “My Life of Walking.” As I wrote, I remembered a blog, “Run,” which I published on “Be-Worded” in January, 2016, inspired by running errands. In that blog, I contemplated perhaps running to town to walk errands, as opposed to walking to town to run errands. These thoughts led me to ponder the history of the word, “walk,” since I had already written about “run,” so I pulled out my trusty Oxford English Dictionary (OED).

            I was a little surprised to find almost seven full pages devoted to “walk,” its various definitions, and citations of usage. Originally in Old English (roughly 500 to 1100 A.D.), “walk” meant “to roll, toss.” In the transition to Middle English (roughly 1100 to 1500 A.D.), “walk” took on the more familiar meaning of “to move about, travel.” The OED explains this shift in meaning in that perhaps in Old English, the latter meaning was a colloquial one and “when the literary tradition was interrupted after the [Norman] Conquest, and people wrote as they spoke, the original meaning of the verb was no longer current.” (Under this original meaning, “a roll in the hay” and “taking a walk” could be euphemisms for the same bedroom activity.)

            At any rate, the meaning of “walk” as “Action or manner of walking . . . an act or spell of walking or going on foot from place to place, esp. a short journey on foot for exercise or pleasure” became current in Middle English, with the first recorded usages in the OED from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, late 1300’s. The OED lists the phrase of “to take a walk” in this first definition.

All told, the OED includes 46 unique definitions of “walk.” Two particularly caught my imagination. First, walk as “an enclosure in which poultry or other birds are allowed to run freely” piqued my curiosity. Chickens are let out into a walk so they can run. I am not sure how a chicken walk is different from a run, “an enclosure for domestic animals or fowls to range or take exercise in.” Surely, “domestic animals or fowls” can walk in a run or run in a walk or walk in a walk or run in a run! Surely, “domestic animals or fowls” can walk in a run and run in a walk or walk in a walk or run in a run!

The second definition of “walk” which caught my fancy is an obsolete one: “to take air and exercise (on horseback).” The illustrative quotation from 1541 reads, “There be many men in the town and most of them gentlemen, which walk upon their horses, and here and there talk with those ladies.” (I “translated” the quotation into Modern English.) To our modern eyes, it looks like a circus act, perhaps, men walking on horses while talking to “those ladies.” (Bearded ladies, perchance?) One might also say, “I am going to take my horse out for a walk,” meaning not that the person intends to exercise the horse but that the person means to go for a ride on the horse.

LAGNIAPPE:

As I researched “walk” in the OED, I ran across (as opposed to walking across) a word, “walklet,” which not surprisingly means “a short walk.” The OED identifies “walklet” as a nonce-word, one coined for one occasion. The OED lists two usages of the word in print, one from 1832, the other from 1896, so the word got one extra use out of its “one occasion.” Curious, I Googled “walklet” to find in modern times, “Walklet” is a surname. It is also the brand name, Walklet, of a modular system which can be used as a temporary way to adapt public space, such as sidewalks, to make more efficient use of the space. Sadly, because I think it is a cute word, I could find no modern definition or usages of the word. It would be fun to say, “I am fixing to take a walklet to run an errand.”

What Does Shakespeare Say? Birthday

            Birthdays happen. It’s a fact of life. They pile up like dirty laundry, and like dirty laundry, birthdays are going to keep on happening, regardless of how many loads you wash. Recently, I was perusing birthday cards to send to some of my numerous friends and family who have had birthdays recently when the question popped into my mind—what does Shakespeare say about birthdays?

Elf and Hermia at a basset birthday 

party.

Part 1: What does Shakespeare say about birthdays?

            Since my print concordance to the works of Shakespeare lives at Schroon Lake, I consulted the on-line Concordance of Shakespeare’s complete works. There, I found that Shakespeare mentions “birth-days” three times in his works: in Julius Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra, and Pericles.

            The earliest mention is in Julius Caesar, written around 1599 to 1600. At the beginning of Act 5, before heading into battle, Cassius says, “Messala/ This is my birth-day; as this very day/ Was Cassius born.” (5.1.74-6) After this astute definition of “birth-day,” Cassius goes on to observe that even though it is his “birth-day,” he is compelled to “set/ Upon one battle” (5.1.78-9)—not most people’s first choice of how to spend a birthday. Many workplaces grant employees a day off for their birthday, but the valiant Cassius chooses to forge ahead into battle. Unfortunately for Cassius, due to some misinformation about battle results, he dies—not the best outcome for a “birth-day.”

Little did Shakespeare know when he penned Julius Caesar that he himself would die on his birthday, April 23, 1616, at the tender age of 52. Mystery surrounds Shakespeare’s cause of death. My favorite theory involves a probable birthday celebration. Sometime around 1610, Shakespeare retired from the London theatre scene and returned to Stratford-upon-Avon. Occasionally, he would return on horseback to London, a journey of about 100 miles, to visit his friends. One theory holds that Shakespeare rode to London in April--a cold, rainy time of year— for birthday celebrations, caught a cold, and died. I like to believe that Shakespeare died from partying with his chums.

The next mention of “birth-days” comes in Antony and Cleopatra, written around1606 to 1607. Near the end of Act 3, Antony and Cleopatra are embroiled in a lover’s quarrel yet again. Antony gets over a fit of jealousy to reunite with Cleopatra. She announces, “It is my birth-day/ I had thought to have held it poor.” (3.13.188-90) However, much to her pleasant surprise, she can celebrate happily because Antony has come back to her. And celebrate they do. Yet, the end of that story is not a happy one, either.

The final mention of “birth-days” appears in Pericles, written around 1608 to 1609 near the end of Shakespeare’s career. Pericles must flee his homeland. The ship carrying him wrecks and he is cast ashore. He runs across three fishermen, who tell him he is in Pentapolis. One fisherman informs Pericles that the king is Simonides, “and I’ll tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her birth-day; and there are princes and knights come from all parts of the world to [joust] and tourney for her love.” (2.1.108-12) What a party! Ultimately, Pericles wins the girl. I will simply leave the story there, as they do not live happily ever after.

On the whole, the picture Shakespeare paints of “birth-days” is not a happy one. He depicts war and death and lovers’ quarrels during politically tenuous times. He depicts a woman held up as a prize on her birthday although the initial outcome is happy. It is too bad that Shakespeare does not portray a “birth-day” somewhere in one of his comedies. Maybe in As You Like It, in the Forest of Arden Shakespeare could throw Jacques a birth-day party to cheer him up. Or maybe in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Oberon could orchestrate a birth-day party in the woods to ease the tension among the four young lovers.

Whenever your birthday falls, I wish you a happy, healthy one, in spite of how Shakespeare presents “birth-days”!

Part 2: The word itself (brief version)

If you are not a big fan of etymology, you may want to stop reading now. However, you never know what fun-filled trivia you might pick up for when you finally make it onto Jeopardy! or for trivia night at the local pub or for enlivening boring parties or for scaring away uninteresting dates or even telemarketers. It captured my imagination to see that Shakespeare spelled “birthday” with a hyphen. I did a little digging in my Oxford English Dictionary (OED), to find that in the earliest usages, “birthday” was not a compound word but two separate words, birth day, day of birth. Shakespeare is among the first writers to use the hyphenated form, “birth-day.” Finally, around 1755 the word became the compound “birthday” that we use today.

Part 3: The word itself (if you are still reading)

            In examining the etymology of “birthday” in order to understand why Shakespeare may have hyphenated the word, I researched hyphen usage. “The Punctuation Guide” discusses three types of compound terms: open, hyphenated, and closed. Open compound terms are those such as “printing press” in which the adjective, “printing,” is necessary to convey the full meaning of the noun, “press”, denoting a press that transfers images to paper. A press in itself could be any number of items, such as a garlic press. “Birth day” in early usage was an open compound. The words were dating but not committed.

            Hyphenated compounds, such as “eye-opener,” make a stronger connection between the noun and its modifier. In this instance, the two words are cohabitating but not yet married. With “printing press,” we can take the modifier “printing” away from the noun “press.” They can date other words. In hyphenated compounds, the modifier is not going anywhere. The hyphen is a betrothal.

            In closed compounds, such as “bookstore,” the marriage is complete. Unless you come to the end of a written line and need to hyphenate onto the following line, the modifier is there. The union has been formally sanctioned.

            As an added complication in the history, William Caxton did not introduce the printing press into England until 1476. For perspective, Shakespeare was born in 1564, so he began writing less than 100 years after the printing press first appeared in England. Shakespeare wrote for the theatre. He composed all of his plays by hand. He did not write for publication. Later, others decided to print his plays. Therefore, spelling was not a major concern of his. One of the many glorious things that the printing press did for the reading public was to freeze word forms, so spelling became set, allowing for the creation of the dictionary.

For whatever reasons, writers and more likely editors decided that the closed compound form of “birthday” better fit the meaning of the word. Clearly, the word “birthday” came to denote a special event and not just any old day with a modifier stuck in front of it. It is not an occasion to be hyphenated, but a day to be celebrated, despite Shakespeare’s mostly glum depiction of “birth-days.”

Quotations from Shakespeare’s play come from The Complete Works of Shakespeare, 4^th edition, edited by David Bevington, published by Harper Collins, 1992.