A driving question

Recently, Richard and I have done some traveling.  We had the pleasure of watching the waning color of New York wave us into the vivid colors of New Jersey and parts south, foreshadowing, perhaps the holiday lights soon to come.  As I watched the color pageant parade past, I read the roadside signs and thought about--words!  With some words, the meaning is obvious, as in “thruway” or “highway.”  The New York State Thruway spans through the state to make travel more direct, as does a highway or expressway.

Turnpikes serve the same purpose, but what does the word “turnpike” mean?  Does it involve fish or pointed iron tools or weapons?  On the way south, we drove past the Mass Pike and drove on the New Jersey Turnpike.  On the way home, we drove past the Oregon Pike and on the Allentown Pike in Pennsylvania.  I figured that perhaps “turnpike” came from a different language, since various nationalities influenced the settling of the northeast, generally.  For example, in these parts “kill,” as in “Catskill,” comes from the Dutch influence and means “creek.”  Therefore, the word “catskill” does not reflect some vicious plot to eliminate cats from the area but simply means “cat creek.”

As it turns out, my hypothesis regarding a possible foreign origin of “turnpike” was wrong.  “Turnpike” comes from Middle English.  However, my associations of “pike” with a weapon or tool relate to the meaning of “turnpike” as a roadway.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines “turnpike” as “a spiked barrier fixed across a road or passage, as a defence against sudden attack, esp. of men on horseback,” with examples going back to the 15^th century.  In today’s world, similar turnpikes prevent theft of rental cars.  Technically, the turnpike that we drive on is a “turnpike road,” which the OED defines as “a road on which turnpikes are or were erected for the collection of tolls; hence, a main road or highway, formerly maintained by a toll levied on cattle and wheeled vehicles.”  (Can you imagine an E-Z Pass for cattle on cattle drives?)  The American Heritage Dictionary, 5^th edition supplies a more modern definition for “turnpike”:  “a toll road, especially an expressway with tollgates.”

Back in the day, the medieval Department of Transportation would erect iron bars, sometimes curved, across roadways for purposes of defense or to collect a road use fee.  (Perhaps strewing pike fish across the road would have been almost as effective although somewhat less practical.)  In today’s world, toll booths as opposed to turnpikes for the collection of fees are more practical, but they don’t make paying the fees any more palatable!  (Smells like fish!)

LAGNIAPPE 1:  The word “high” originally meant “main,” as in “main” road or way.

LAGNIAPPE 2:  Richard reminded me of George Carlin’s philosophical question, why do we drive on a parkway and park on a driveway?  (Sounds “fishy” to me!)

(Re)ading

The less young I get, the more I realize how many books I will never read, much less re-read.  However, from time to time, some impulse moves me to re-read a certain book.  Upon those occasions, I find it interesting how my reactions differ.  Usually, books that I first read in high school, I react to quite differently upon re-reading.  Of course, life experiences inform re-reading and form new reactions.  With books that I read in adulthood, the reaction usually does not differ much from the initial reading although the pleasure of finding new nuances grows.

For example, I first read A Separate Peace in high school and enjoyed it very much. When I began teacher certification work about 15 years ago, I re-read it.  Since I had enjoyed it in high school, I expected to enjoy it again as an adult. However, the fascination I originally felt for the book in high school eluded me.  Fortunately for me—and for the students—I rarely had to teach it.

I read Portnoy’s Complaint initially in 10^th or 11^th grade—1972-ish—and was absolutely horrified, much to my boyfriend’s amusement.  The book has received notice again of late, so I decided to re-read it.  I am about two-thirds of the way through and cannot stop laughing.

One of the joys of substitute teaching is perusing the bookshelves in the various rooms I pass through.  Last year, I ran across a book I read in high school, Mr. and Mrs. Bo Jo Jones by Ann Head, published in 1968.  I remembered reading it largely because of the unique name, Bo Jo Jones; but also I remembered vaguely that the book deals with a high school couple who end up in a shotgun marriage.  It was sobering to recall the attitudes towards teenage pregnancies in that time period and fascinating to compare the teens of the 1960’s with the teens of the early 21^st century.  The girl had to drop out of high school, while her football player husband was allowed to continue attending classes.

In this case, I found the re-reading absorbing and had the book open at every occasion.  I was re-reading one day in a faculty lounge while subbing.  A lone teacher’s aide was in the lounge, as well.  I had forgotten some events near the end of the book, and quite taken by surprise, I began softly weeping.  Embarrassed, I felt compelled to explain briefly to her the premise of the book and that certain events, which I had forgotten, moved me to tears.  We had a nice conversation about how attitudes towards unmarried pregnancies have changed and how unmarried pregnancies affected both of our lives.

Several years ago on Facebook, a challenge went around to list, on the spur of a moment, twenty books that you had found notable.  My list exists somewhere in that Cloudland.  I will close with two books that pop to mind immediately that I have re-read numerous time for pleasure: John Kennedy Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces and Jane Smiley’s A Thousand Acres.  Finally, I issue a challenge--in the face of impossibly long to-read lists, that you indulge in the pleasure of re-reading a book.

NOTE:  I considered writing about the etymology of the word “read,” but that discussion is not truly relevant to re-reading.  For those of you who care, or who want some obscure fact at hand for use at a boring party, the word “read” is a truly English word.  The English Language comes from Germanic origins, the invading Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Frisians, and other hangers-on.  “Read” comes from the language of those tribes.  (And to think that those invaders are blamed for the “Dark” Ages!)

Discombobulate--or where's Bob?

A recent blog post reflected upon two weeks of serenity recorded in a journal entry. At the end, my “serene” mood turned to “discombobulated.”  Long-time readers know I frequently muse upon prefixes and how they affect the meaning of words. Of course, I wondered if the prefix “dis-,“ meaning opposite of, was attached to the root “combobulate,” which would be a synonym of serene, to form discombobulated.  Also, I am curious as to who is Bob and why did he disturb my serenity?

Not surprisingly, I found that “combobulate” is not a word.  Chambers Slang Dictionary defines “discombobulated” as an adjective appearing in the 1950’s meaning “unsettled, out of sorts.” The word first appeared as “a nonsense word” combining “discomfit” or “discompose” with “bobbery.”  (The Oxford English Dictionary refers to “discombobulate” as “jocular,” another fun word.)  In the words “discomfit” and “discompose,” the prefix “dis-“ does come into play, so I can claim my prefix through a chain of linguistic stretching.  (Please don’t “diss” me for making that leap!)

Now it is time to look for that rogue “Bob.”  According to Chambers, “bobbery” means “an argument, a disturbance,” but also “a hoax or trick,” especially an illegal one.  (A “bobbery pack” is a mixed pack of hunting hounds, speaking of possible sources of disturbance.)

  

It makes “sound” sense that “combobulate” is not a word meaning “serene.”  The word “serene” sounds serene.  The soothing “s” calms.  One can imagine sleeping on a silent sea of serenity.  Conversely, “combobulate” provides calisthenics for the mouth, crashing and exploding around.  (See “thingamabob,” 16 June 2013.)  Somehow, I cannot imagine the “Combobulation Prayer” associated with any 12-step program.

I find it interesting that “Bob” keeps showing up in these informal, fun words.  As I was contemplating “discombobulate,” I imagined someone impatiently waiting for Bob to get ready to go to an appointment.  If the impatient person very quickly said, “justcomebobyou’relate,” it could sound a lot like “discombobulate.”  Sadly, “discombobulate” turned into an ear worm for me.  So Bob, wherever you are, get ready and go so I can stop thinking about your tardiness!