Interesting Words by Nancy L. Eady

Today, let’s continue our journey through interesting words, taking as our guide my new toy, an online subscription to the Oxford English Dictionary. I intended to make a list of interesting (to me) words and see how they originated, but I found a major detour with the first word, and now am just going to fly by the seat of my pants (something I rarely do for these posts), and see where we end up. 

The first word I thought of for my list was the word “discombobulated.” I use it when I feel a little scatter-brained, unoriented, and jolted out of my routine. It’s always nice when the official meaning of a word matches how I use it. (Have you heard the joke about the mom who was texting people about the death of someone and ended those texts with “LOL” because she thought it meant “lots of love” rather than “laughing out loud”? That’s a spot I’d rather not be in.) The OED says “discombobulate” means “to disturb, upset, disconcert, confuse.”

My guess was that an interesting word must have an interesting origin, so I checked out the etymology page next. I was wrong; the entry simply suggested that the word was perhaps a humorous alteration of “discompose,” “discomfit,” or “discomfort.” However, the entry then continued, “compare the slightly later humorous formation absquatulate v. and the possible models cited at that entry.”

The needle on the record came to a screeching halt. What? How did I ever miss encountering such a glorious-sounding word as “absquatulate”? I clicked on the link to find out about that word. It turns out absquatulate is also a humorous form of a word, probably intended to take the word “abscond” and make it sound Latin. It means “to abscond, make off.” No less than Kurt Vonnegut used the word in his book Hocus Pocus, in the sentence “some overthrown … dictator who had absquatulated to the USA with his starving nation's treasury.” 

Another word I looked up was “gesticulate.” When I was a young(er) lawyer, I was taking a deposition. When you take a deposition, the attorney for the person you are deposing is supposed to let his/her client do the talking without coaching while the session is being transcribed. The attorney for the other side at this deposition was gesturing and whispering to his client for most of the first part of the deposition. I got enough of it and objected on the record to his “whispering and gesticulating to his clients.” The man stopped the deposition and asked me what gesticulating meant. (to “gesticulate” is to “make lively or energetic motions with the limbs or body; esp. as an accompaniment or in lieu of speech.” For such a full-sounding word, its etymology is, alas, not exciting either—it is a word borrowed from Latin. 

“Serendipity” is a fun word. It means “the faculty of making happy and unexpected discoveries by accident. Also, the fact or an instance of making such a discovery.” One well-known instance of a serendipitous discovery is the discovery of penicillin by Alexander Fleming in 1928, when, coming back from vacation, he noticed that a stray penicillium mold had contaminated a petri dish in which he was growing Staphylococcus bacteria. What intrigued him was the fact that the mold spore appeared to be excreting a substance that was destroying the bacteria that surrounded it. The origin of “serendipity” is much more interesting than the other words in this column. It was coined by Horace Walpole, in a letter to a friend, based upon a fairy-tale called ‘The Three Princes of Serendip’, the heroes of which ‘were always making discoveries, by accident and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of’. Serendip is one former name for what is now Sri Lanka. Horace Walpole was a British politician and writer, the son of Robert Walpole, who was First Lord of the Treasury under King George I and King George II. 

What words do you find interesting either for their sound, meaning, or derivation? 

When the Words Don't Come by Debra H. Goldstein

 When the Words Don’t Come by Debra H. Goldstein

There are days when I don’t like blogging or adding to my work in progress. Those are the days that a random idea doesn’t pop into my head. I know I need to get words on the page, but whatever I write doesn’t feel right. In the very old days, I probably would have torn the piece of paper out of my electric Smith-Corona and thrown it on the floor, but nowadays, I simply hit delete. 

When I can’t come up with an idea that satisfies me, I have different options open to me. I can take a nap. On my computer, seated in the same position in which I would normally write, I can play card games (solitaire, canasta, or bridge), try my hand at Mah Jongg, read the news, or glance at different social media sites. Most of these don’t spur thoughts in my head, but they are fun. 

Sometimes, out of desperation, I look out the window, surf TV channels, or listen to music. Being truthful, I find these are excellent distractions, but not much fodder for writing. 

It is disappointing when my words don’t flow. Some people would call it writer’s block, but I don’t believe in that. I know that eventually something will come to me. It may not be my best writing, but hopefully with editing and revision, I will be pleased with the final product.

Do you ever live this scenario?

Different Words by Nancy L. Eady

On Monday, I wrote my blog post on “Point of View.” Originally, because I was using photographs to illustrate the idea, I wanted to call the post “Frame of Reference.” I considered the two phrases to be synonymous. But since I never like to take such things for granted, I googled the phrases and found out that the concepts are related, but different. 

According to Google, “frame of reference” in writing is the context and background that shapes a character’s understanding and interpretation of events. Something I think about every Fourth of July is fireworks. Here in the United States, the “boom” of fireworks, especially when cannons are included as part of an orchestral rendition of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, heralds a spectacular display we enjoy watching. Someone from a country or region where internecine warfare occurs on a regular basis probably reacts quite differently to the same sounds. 

The difference between the two is their “frame of reference.” “Point of view” is the perspective from which a story is told. If an American heard the sounds of a fireworks show in the distance, their memories and story about the sounds they are hearing will be very different than those of a person newly arrived from Ukraine who has been suffering constant battles since 2022. 

The close relation between the two terms stirred my inner word geekiness, and I thought of two series of single words where each word is similar, but different. The first set of words deals with groups of trees. I think of “woods” as a pleasant stand of trees with paths ambling through it, for example, Robert Frost’s “yellow wood.” A “forest” is still a group of trees, but it is a more extensive and wilder grouping. I had to return to Google to see if there is a difference between “jungle” and “rainforest.” At least according to the web page of the Mashdi Lodge in Ecuador, a jungle, while still a group of trees, has thicker undergrowth and more chaotic plant life than a rainforest. A rainforest has a “complex, layered flora structure and diverse fauna.” I think it might be enchanting to see a rainforest, at least a suitably tamed section of one, but a jungle would be more challenging. 

The second set of words deals with flattish patches of land, which include meadows, plains, prairies, veldts and savannas. I have a clear picture in my mind of an upland meadow, a rich green patch of land ringed with mountains and dotted with wildflowers. Since this meadow lives only in my imagination, it is bug free, with the exception of the butterflies that roam around. 

I think of plains and prairie interchangeably in connection with the Midwest and West before taming, when herds of buffaloes a million strong roamed freely on them. If I were to be precise, however, a prairie is a specific type of plain.  Or then again, maybe not. According to a presentation in 2012 by a professor at Hunter College, a plain is a “topographic term signifying expansive and relatively flat land.” “Prairie,” however, is defined as “a vegetation that refers to a variety of grasses.” Because most of America’s Great Plains were covered with prairie, the vegetation, they started to be called prairie, the place. 

Google’s dictionary, which is powered by Oxford Languages, defines a “veldt” as “open, uncultivated country or grassland in southern Africa.” Flippantly, I’d say that it sounds like South Africa’s version of America’s prairies, but perhaps I am mistaken. “Savanna,” also spelled “savannah,” is a marriage of plains and woods per Wikipedia. Wikipedia’s official entry states that “a savanna … is a mixed woodland-grassland (i.e. grassy woodland) biome and ecosystem characterized by the trees being sufficiently widely spaced so that the canopy does not close. The open canopy allows sufficient light to reach the ground to support an unbroken herbaceous layer consisting primarily of grasses.”

If you’re looking for a point to this post or a grand ending tying everything together, there isn’t one. But I am curious to know if there are word groupings that interest you, or am I the only word geek here? 

The Power of Words to Make Me Laugh

 The Power of Words to Make Me Laugh by Debra H. Goldstein

Writers often talk about the power of words to evoke emotions, engage readers, and share ideas. Recently, I’ve taken note of signs that make me chuckle. What could be more emotion evoking, engaging, and idea sharing than words that make one laugh?

On one of the roads I travel, there is a storage unit facility in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know its name, but I am aware of its existence because it puts up a new sign each week that always catches my eye. This week’s sign reads:

Beef Steak is not a good Password

It isn’t Stroganoff 

Did you laugh once you figured it out?

Sometimes signs that started out as one thing become iconic in their own right. For example, on Interstate 65, near Prattville, Alabama, there is one that has a metallic red devil holding a pitchfork. The devil originally was meant to remind people about the Red Devil gasoline chain (bet you’ve never heard of that!), but in the 1980’s, the devil was incorporated into a billboard, which sat on private land, where the devil took up the entire left side of the sign, with its pitchfork pointing at the words that say:

GO TO 

CHURCH

Or the DEVIL will get you. 

For years, people took comfort when they passed that sign, but it was blown down in 2016. Subsequently, people tended to mention it as an Alabama icon. In response, the owner put it back up in 2016, because he enjoyed providing a message for motorists to contemplate.

In prepping this blog, I Googled for other funny signs. Three were particularly funny. In one, a man stands outside Target holding a self-made cardboard sign that reads: “Not Homeless. Wife in Target 2+ hours. Please Help!”  In another, a man with a homemade sign also is featured. His message is simple: “It’s Not Self Checkout If I Need Help Every Time.” Perhaps the funniest, to me, is a high mountain of snow that looks like it was pushed together by a street plow. A small sign hung on it says: “FREE SNOWMAN  some assembly required.”

Are there any signs that you can remember seeing that tickled your funny bone?

Dictionaries by Nancy L. Eady

 Last week, I was writing a brief and wanted to use the definition of a particular word to prove a point. I don't quote from a dictionary with most briefs.  Judges give more weight to binding precedent, such as opinions from the appellate courts over them, than to definitions from a dictionary, even one as venerated as Black's Legal Dictionary But some words are so basic or have so many meanings that only a legal dictionary will do. If I’m lucky, the definition I want will be either the first or second definition. 

In my non-professional life, I use a regular dictionary.  While I have an extensive vocabulary, I still can encounter unfamiliar words. A few years ago, I looked up “crepuscular,” which occurs a few times in the Pern science fiction series written by Anne McCaffrey. It is an adjective, meaning “resembling or relating to twilight.” Soanes, Catherine & Stevenson, Angus, Oxford Dictionary of English, 2d Edition Revised (Oxford University Press, 2009). The sentence I read included the phrase “in the crepuscular light of dawn,” so it made sense.

I never really thought about the history of dictionaries. If asked, I had the vague idea that Noah Webster invented them, and most dictionaries in existence today, at least in America, are descended from his. I was wrong. According to Wikipedia—what, you expected me to do some type of serious research? — the first known dictionaries were written around 2300 B.C. on cuneiform tablets and were a sort of “Sumerian-Akkadian” word list, kind of like we might use an English-Spanish dictionary today. These word lists did not contain definitions, per se, but just showed the corresponding words in Sumerian and Akkadian, like listing “cat” next to “gato” on an English-Spanish word list.

Of course, that world view of dictionaries did not fit in well with the existence of the Oxford English Dictionary, an ongoing massive effort to provide the “meaning, history and usage of over 500,000 words and phrases across the English-speaking world.”   https://www.oed.com/?tl=true.  For a few years, I received emails with the OED “word of the day,” which was a great tool for expanding my vocabulary, but for some reason, I stopped getting them.  If you need to use the OED, many libraries have a subscription. If you are a really motivated lexicographer, you can buy your own subscription.  As of today, a personal annual subscription to the OED is $ 29.95 a month, or $100 a year. 

People who write dictionaries are called “lexicographers.” They have their work cut out for them. Can you imagine trying to describe the definition of such everyday words as “go,” “at” or “the”? In my limited experience, the longer the word, the more descriptive it is, such as “crepuscular” versus “dim light,” but the more likely it is that the reader won’t know the word, either, which pulls them out of the story. Tracing the history (“etymology”) of a word takes a lot of work, too. Again according to Wikipedia, Noah Webster learned 26 languages, among them Sanskrit, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Old English, and Arabic, to help him evaluate words’ etymologies.

So, while we authors play with our words, let’s give a shout out to the lexicographers of the English language who accomplish the arduous task of defining the words with which we play.

When the Words Sing by Connie Berry

 

Words, Words, Words

Words are a writer's raw material, but it's how those words are put together that makes a difference. They must make logical sense, obviously, and lead the reader's thoughts to a conclusion. But words can also sing, and that has to do with rhythm. I'm thinking of words and the rhythm of the English language now as I'm finishing an e-book novella to be published in 2023. And since I have an October 1st deadline, I'm sharing one of my posts from July of 2019.

When the Words Sing

We've all had the experience of reading along in a book when suddenly an exquisite sentence or passage zings in your brain and grabs you by the heart. Some passages are beautiful because of the images they conjure; others because of their lyricism. The best combine both qualities. Here's one of my favorites:

Miss Bellringer settled herself in the chair that Sergeant Troy drew forward and rearranged her draperies. She was a wondrous sight, festooned rather than dressed. All her clothes had a dim but vibrant sheen as if they had once, long ago, been richly embroidered. She wore several very beautiful rings, the gems dulled by dirt. Her nails were dirty too. Her eyes moved all the time, glittering in a brown seamed face. She looked like a tattered eagle.

—The Killings at Badger's Drift by Caroline Graham

Did you notice how Graham varies the pace and length of her sentences, ending on that wonderful six-word statement to deliver the final image? The rhythm and pace of language create an atmosphere. Long, smooth sentences slow the mood down. Short, punchy sentences speed things up. Here's another example. Notice how the author uses rhythm, the ebb and flow of language, to create an atmosphere.

When she opens the bedroom window, the noise of the airplanes becomes louder. Otherwise, the night is dreadfully silent: no engines, no voices, no clatter. No sirens. No footfalls on the cobbles. Not even gulls. Just a high tide, one block away and six stories below, lapping at the base of the city walls.

            And something else.

Something rattling softly, very close.

            —All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

Language Has a Natural Rhythm

The rhythm of language is part of what writers call voice.

The English language has its own natural rhythm. So does every language, which is partly why I love German with those long, drawn-out sentences that clackity-clackity-clackity to the end. The most important part of writing dialect isn't getting the words right so much as getting the rhythm right.

One of my professors in graduate school, an expert in seventeenth-century English poetry, claimed that the natural rhythm of English is iambic pentameter—the language of poetry, the language of song. Years ago I read that the most beautiful sentence ever written in English comes from the King James Bible, the book of Isaiah, chapter 6, verse 1: "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lifted up, and the train of His robe filled the temple." (NKJV) The most beautiful anything (baby, flower, sunset, landscape) is obviously a matter of personal taste, but that sentence sings to me.

I was fascinated to read an article (a bit technical) on the rhythm of language in the latest issue of Writers Digest magazine ("Poetic Thinking: Writing in Rhythm" by Barbara Baig. September 2019). When I have time, I plan to read the article again. But most of us—writers and readers—know lovely writing by ear. When the words sing to us.

Do you have a favorite sentence or passage that sings to you? How do you use rhythm in your writing?

LEXICON by Nancy L. Eady

 I began my legal career 30 years ago as a secretary.  To this day, I am convinced that I was only hired because I was the one person in the building that day who knew that the trio of $3000 machines in the center of the floor were LaserJet printers that never would work until you got computers to go with them.  It certainly wasn’t my legal acumen; I didn’t know what a plaintiff or defendant was until my third day.  Now, as an attorney, I can belt out and translate legalese with the best of them. 

I was startled when I discovered that the same learning curve exists for mystery writing.  Over time, I have compiled an assortment of writing acronyms and terms, which include the following, in no particular order.  (Yes, if you are as OCD as I am, the non-alphabetical order will drive you batty, but the self-help book I read promised it would help with my recovery.)

Backstory – Not the history of orthopedic medicine, but the stuff that happened to your characters before your story opens. 

Cozy – Not how I feel in front of a roaring fire in my fireplace during the depths of winter, but a mystery subgenre where violence is usually downplayed and the crime takes place in a small, socially intimate community. 

MS – Not a professional woman who wishes to remain neutral regarding her marital status, but “manuscript.” 

MSS – Not a bevy of belles, but “manuscripts.” 

MC – Not the master of ceremonies at an event, but the main character in your work.

POV – Point of View.  Not your opinion about politics or the chartreuse and pink dress your best friend is wearing – you might want to keep the chartreuse and pink opinion to yourself in any event - but rather the way in which you tell your story and from whose perspective. 

WIP – Not a program initiated by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt to create jobs during the Great Depression, but “work in progress.”

Swag – Not a jaunty step nor a fancy curtain top but the promotional materials authors use to encourage the public to read their book.

Pantser – Not a tailor, but a free spirit who sits down at her desk and starts writing, surprised as she sees what flows forth from her word crafting.

Plotster – Not a gardener, but a frustratingly (at least to those of us, such as myself, born without the organization gene) organized individual who plans out the plot of his novel before starting to write. 

Flash Fiction – Not a photograph of a book taken in the dark but a short story that is less than 100 words long. 

Protagonist – The Good Guy.

Antagonist – The Bad Guy. 

NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month.  Participating in National Novel Writing Month causes writers across the world to spend the 30 days of November glassy eyed, greeting each other with announcements about their word count for the day and how close they are to 50,000 words.  Over the years, it has grown into an Event, with its own website, sponsors and badges.  Participation is free.  My favorite NaNoWriMo festival is not the main event in November, but the lower key April and July spring and summer virtual writing camps where the writer gets to 1) pick his word count for the month and 2) choose whether she is going to write new material or edit existing material. 

What words and acronyms has the writing profession taught you?

The Cemetery of Lost Words by Connie Berry

                                                      Tom Gauld. Used with permission.
 

My favorite line in J. M. Barrie’s Peter Pan describes Captain Hook: “The man is not wholly evil—he has a thesaurus in his cabin.” 

I love that. Words are important. They convey meaning and create an intellectual and emotional response. Since we know words can hurt or heal, we should be certain ours are understood.

 

Some words are imprecise, flabby, and liable to misinterpretation. Other words nail the intended thought with such clarity and precision that the mind of the hearer or reader is enlightened and enlarged. I admire people—even Captain Hooks—who know interesting and beautiful words and use them with skill and artistry. That’s the job of the writer, after all.

The English language has no shortage of words. One million is the current estimate, with more added each year. In 2019, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary added almost 700 new words, phrases, and definitions, including buzzy (speculative or excited talk or attention); snowflake (someone who is overly sensitive); and unplug (temporarily refrain from using electronic devices).

 

 My interest isn’t so much in the new words being created as in the old words being lost through neglect—or downgraded in meaning. I agree with those who say, “Don’t use a fancy word when a plain one will do.” The problem is sometimes a plain word just won’t do.

With that in mind, I’ve compiled a list of eight delightful forgotten or endangered words I think we should use more often so as to preserve them for future generations.

1. Eventide: the onset of dusk or twilight; a lovely word to use when all is right with the world, and it’s time to sit on the porch with your sweetie and a glass of wine.

 

2. After-wise: the feeling of knowing exactly what you should have said or done when the opportunity to say it or do it has passed you by. Yup.

 

3. Susurration: the whispering, murmuring, or rustling of wind or water; a perfect example of onomatopoeia (another endangered word).

 

4. Bunbury: to get out of a commitment by inventing an imaginary person you must visit; from Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest, where Algernon invents a sick friend named Bunbury as an excuse to avoid his relatives. Secondary meaning: to galavant around (another word in danger of being forgotten) under a false identity. The first bunburying often leads to the second.

 

5. Slugabed: a person who stays in bed long after the usual or proper time to get up; helpful when raising teenagers.

 

6. Énoument: the bittersweetness of having arrived in the future and seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

 

7. Ephemeral: lasting for a very short time; fleeting; transitory. A word used primarily by those over fifty.

 

8. Chimerical: hoped-for but illusory and impossible to achieve; or something that exists only as the product of unchecked imagination, like Big Foot or world peace.

 

 I read a fascinating article recently on the subject of lost words by Wilfrid M. McKay in The Hedgehog Review (Fall 2019). McKay said, “Like a lover of endangered species, the lover of endangered words jumps for joy when he sees a word being rescued, and is grateful when a writer restores to currency a semantic possibility that had fallen into desuetude. It is as if a lovely antique table has been rediscovered after many years of gathering dust up in the attic, and when brought downstairs and cleaned up and polished, imparts a splendor and unbought grace to the room that no shiny new object could possibly match.”

 

Do you have some favorite old words? How about a favorite author who makes you get out your dictionary and thesaurus? What words do you hope we save for future generations?

WORDS by Nancy L. Eady

            I love the fact that English is a changing language. Based on the times we live in, recent inventions, new slang expressions and circumstances, the English language is constantly evolving, adding new words while allowing other words to become obsolete. For example, the Oxford English Dictionary, which attempts to define every word and certain phrases in the English language, has made 21 changes to its massive dictionary solely based on Covid-19—new words, sub-entries or revisions and additions to existing definitions. They moved up their normal quarterly update to catalog those changes.

            Which leads me to one of my shameful secrets—I am a hopeless word nerd and subscribe to the Oxford English Dictionary’s “word of the day” emails. The words they select to share range over a broad variety of subjects, and they don’t always mean what they sound like they should mean.  

            For example, one word was “bombogenesis.”  Looking at it, you might think the word refers to the initial stages used in manufacturing a bomb. But no, “bombogenesis” describes a sudden drop in barometric pressure in the center of an extratropical storm.

            Then there was the word “pacation.”  Since one of the earlier daily words had been “staycation,” I could be forgiven for thinking “pacation” referred to a vacation you pay for. Nope. “Pacation” is the act of calming, or pacifying someone down, or the state of being peaceful or appeasement. I’m not sure when “pacation’s” heyday was, but it is rare now.

            The word “ayuh” sounds like it was an Indian word that revolved into the English language during England’s occupation of India. Instead, it means “yes,” chiefly used in New England and especially Maine.

            Once the writers lure you into believing none of the daily words’ meanings can be deduced from the way they sound or look, they hit you with a word like “cox-combery,” which means conceitedness, vanity, pretentious affectation or [here’s another good word] foppery. That meaning is foreshadowed from the word’s spelling.

            Some words are just fun to say, like “simi-dimi,” an English word from the Caribbean, mostly Trinidad. It refers to mumbo jumbo or meaningless, elaborate rituals.

            As you will have already noticed from these words, a lot of nations contribute words to our language. For example, were you aware of “Nigerian English”?  The word “bukateria” is from Nigerian English. A bukateria is a roadside restaurant or stall with seating that sells cooked food at low prices.

            I saved the best word for last— “quank.”  A quank sounds like a confused or grumpy sub-atomic particle or a cranky duck. The cranky duck idea isn’t so far from the mark—to “quank” is to utter a harsh croaking or honking cry.

            So what are the interesting words you’ve found? 

Spider-Lilies and Serendipity by Nancy L. Eady

Spider-lilies: 

Lycoris radiata. Other common names include “British Soldiers,” “Equinox Flower,” “Guernsey Lilies” and “Surprise Lilies.”  A member of the amaryllis family that blooms in early fall in the southern United States.

Serendipity:        

n. 1. an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident; 2. good fortune; luck.

Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary, Random House (2001).

In Alabama, most of our flowers bloom in the springtime. Nothing can beat the spring explosion of color in our area of the country, especially in those rare years when the weather and climate coincide to allow everything to burst into bloom at once. After spring, the splashes of color become rare enough that the few flowers making them stand out. The most striking of these outliers is the spider-lily, which technically is neither a spider nor a lily, but a member of the amaryllis family. 

As a writer, I like words, including multi-syllabic words I can play with. “Serendipity” is one of those words. It has a happy ring to it, fitting since the ideas of good fortune and pleasant surprises are intricately intertwined with its meaning. 

You wouldn’t think that serendipity and spider-lilies have much to do with other, but they do. Spider-lilies distill the essence of serendipity. Spider-lilies pop up unexpectedly during the months of September and October wherever one of their bulbs happens to have migrated, and always in groups. Unlike most flowers, spider-lilies tend not to be planted deliberately by gardeners seeking fall color, at least not in Alabama. They just happen. 

A day or two after a good rain in early fall, the flowers spring up from nowhere at odd spots to grace a road side, the edge of a forest, an abandoned yard, a derelict building. Even the spider-lilies that have the temerity to pop up on lawns mowed regularly on Saturdays manage a few days of glory mid-week and still show up year after year after year, never quite when you expect them and never quite where you remember them being the year before.

Whether I’m driving to work or headed out on an errand, I experience a rush of joy when I pass a formerly unadorned strip of road side that has, overnight, sprouted rows or clumps of these gorgeous red flowers. I can’t predict where they’ll be or when I’ll see them, but I’m always happy when I do. 

And that’s why spider-lilies look like serendipity.