Velcro Words

I have just coined this term, if anyone else has already coined it too bad. Mine.

[ It occurs to me I'm going to get legal hate from the Velcro people.
Oh like they're going to notice. I wish. Anyway "Hook-and-Loop fastening Words" has no panache.]

Etymology: derives from "velcro tune, " another term I like to think of as mine, those little melodies that once lodged in the brain become a form of torture.

Its a small world after all, its a small world after all...

You're welcome.

Velcro words are, however, largely benign, and the associations are pleasant if distracting. They are words that stick to the brain. Little cockleburrs attracted to our mental fluff, our grey matter (so much less icky to think of it as fur)

xanthium strumarium

The generation of Velcro Words is user specific. They are attracted to whatever makes you tick: hobby, vocation, belief system, anything. If you're a word person it can be any savory word, snood, archipelago, mortician, rampart, imperative. For me its usually costume related: textiles, sewing tools and methods, archaic garments, accessories, fastenings...

No wonder I chose "velcro." A reflexive Velcro Word!

Photo from Wikipedia. Caption reads: The hairshirt of St. Joseph of Leonessa (d. 1612) in the Church of Giuseppe in Leonessa, Italy.

aka cilice [SILL-iss], hair-cloth, sackcloth....! So that's what sackcloth is.

So the word that prompted this musing was "hairshirt." [Thank you, Word Mechanic] I first encountered this word, I don't know, junior high? I ran to the dictionary. I was that kind of kid. A word nerd. Dictionaries, encyclopedias, smart people, the Bible -- these are all we had before Google and Wikipedia. For those who are not word nerds, religious fanatics, or seminary students, a hairshirt is a purposely uncomfortable garment worn in penitence for real or imagined sins. Popular in the Old Testament, and the Middle Ages, when guilt was an international sport. The Hebrews wore them publicly as part of the mourning ritual [the sackcloth and ashes thing]. In the Middle Ages you were supposed to wear them secretly, under your clothes and armor and whatnot, but I'm betting that penitents engaged in hairshirt oneupmanship.

Enough about that. Back to the velcro. Velcro Words become enmeshed because they excite the imagination and stimulate a cascade of questions. Little bolts of electricity go darting off to other word files. Smoke rises from your brain.

Mine went something like this:

Hairshirt...was it kind of like burlap? what kind of hair? human or animal? camel hair? [I preferred to think human. As it turns out, I was wrong. Usually goat hair] whose hair? did it have to be your own, or a family member's? did people sell their hair to hairshirt makers? [bzzzzt bloodbank spermbank ] did one donate it to the cause ? is that what they did with novitiates' hair when it was cut off?[bzzzzt A Nun's Story audrey hepburn romanholidaygregorypeck tokillamockingbird ...] RESET

who made hairshirts? did you have to make your own? did someone make a living selling them, and did they sell other penitiential gear? [bzzt cat-o-nine-tails, thorny crown] was the shirt woven or knitted? how thick was the yarn? how was it spun? [bzzzt drop spindle, dreidel, lap loom, pot holder] was it dyed, or was that considered frivolous? maybe they dyed it with blood? did they come in sizes? were the sizes deliberately mislabeled to maximize discomfort? did you wear it bathing, not that there was much bathing going on...did one forswear bathing to keep the shirt dry, or use hot water to make it shrink and embed itself...let's not go there/RESET wait, did anyone die from a hairshirt, like an infection or something?

I should note at this point that I'm not Catholic. Why I knew things like all that when I was 11, I have no idea. I used words like forswear in conversation. I did not get asked out a lot. A word nerd is above all else a nerd.

One of the joys of velcro words and the questions they raise is that the questions are often subliminal. Years later, one reads or sees something and BLAM you think "So that's what that was referring to..." [Note: "sackcloth" above was a BLAM].

The Him refers to these as "lightbulb moments" and did so long before Oprah sullied it with self-improvement (go wear a hairshirt and leave our words alone!). His favorite involved a Monty Python bit, "...are all your pets named Eric? ...Kamal Ataturk had an entire menagerie named Abdul..." which produced a BLAM decades later when he read an article in National Geographic that biographied Kemal Ataturk.

Yes I just used biography as a verb. Horrible but oh so satisfying. I will get hate mail for that. GOD I love English.

In closing, this is not a cockleburr [source]:

I thought it was an animal, perhaps related to this. And I was scared.

Ahoy, it's me Meme

Got this blog-tag-meme thingie from Rae --I guess the purpose of these things is random rambling fodder, right? --
The game rules are as follows : Goto photos>goto folder 6>goto photo 6>upload/ramble/post>exe.tag (6)
I am incapable of executing any set of directions (most people who know me would stop me right there) without finding multiple interpretations. This means that I am impressively analytical, or that looking for an out is a reflex. (The search for the Letter of the Law Defense is ingrained.)
Or that I'm pig-headed and contrary.
Or that I'm a youngest child.
So here are two, with their respective rationalizations.

Literal Interpretation of Rules.
6th folder "Animals" : formerly entitled "Wildlife" because that was one of the sample folders on my new laptop and it amused me to put pictures of my dogs in it next to the Wildebeests or Thompson's gazelles or whatever they were. I felt that a little hard time on the savannah would make the dogs more appreciative of their cushy life here.
6th photo: Oreo. July 2008. Oreo belongs to someone else. (Zat is net meyh ket.) This photo was taken 6 months ago (appropriate) at a friend's lake house. Not her cat either. Lake House Friend Susan and Cat Friend Loren were both members of the team (me too) that went on our Presbytery's Honduras Mission trip last June. We all gathered at Lake House in July to debrief and re-une, eat, water-ski, swim, eat, look at pictures, etc. Loren brought Oreo because we considered him our mascot, because...
In May we had all gathered at fearless leader Rev. Fred's church to pack the crates of supplies and equipment for the trip. Families and friends participated in packing and then we all sat down to dinner and then Communion, a very moving experience in such a small and informal group. After dinner the kids ran around outside and Loren's younger brother found Oreo wandering, weak, and pitiful on the church grounds. Since the kitten was dehydrated, and tiny, a search was conducted for mama cat and other kittens, but none were found. Loren's family took the kitten home, and kitty's health and prospects were of much concern to Loren during the trip (okay, us too).
All of this explains why Oreo was at the Lake House. But the reason I have a picture of him (more like 6 or 8) is that he was appallingly cute and was at that precise moment playing with a giant bug. How could I not?


OPTION 2:


Possible Interpretation of Rules:
Folder #6 AFTER the "Date Taken" folders: Family
Surprisingly, there is no "Me" folder, so this ended up here.
Photo #6: pre-haircut mugshot. January 2009. Whenever I'm contemplating a change (house or self) I take some Before photos so that when InStyle or People wants to do that photo spread I'll be ready, you betcha.
Before pictures of self must be sans-makeup, in bad light, with uninspired expression, thereby maximizing the After effect. The left side of my face truly would have created maximum Beforage since it's sporting dermatitis (again). But I decided that it was about the Hair, not the Face, so there was my out. (See what I mean? Always an Out).
This particular look (taken 2 weeks ago) is the shattered remains of my pre-missiontrip haircut in May, which was quite kicky and carefree at its inception but had been rendered much less so by the predations of overgrowth, DIY trimming, and rancid degeneration of abandoned color and highlights. I surrendered to gray about a year ago because I'm too lazy and too broke to maintain the red I like.
I am happy that this is the Before picture.
BONUS: this gives me a justification to post my little slideshow of the NEW kicky and carefree 'do. A sample at left in my ID photo.
Proper After photos are taken in good light, with working-it-girl! expressions, and as much makeup as my irritable skin will allow.

Grab Bag

Today's Shews: Teva river shoes. Drip dry, aerated, excellent traction, all-weather vehicles.

Mood Implications: Brisk Efficiency mode, vaguely techno-eco-chic

These little gems are almost bare-foot comfortable. I have big, wide feet, my Dad's genetic inheritance, and most shoes hurt, so I go without most of the time unless the temperature goes below freezing, it's snowing, or I'm in church. I often kick my shoes off in the car and put them on only when I have to go into a place of business. I take "No shirt, no shoes, no service" very personally -- though I have always wanted to see how fast I'd get served if I was shirtless, or if doing so would be worth it to get away with the barefoot thing.

Also they're so ugly they make me feel very European, which helps on some days, since I don't smoke.

OoA: Thomas' English Muffins

Dad is forgiven for the giant-feet DNA, because he is generally awesome otherwise such as bringing lovely and thoughtful gifts like this. Daddy brought me these from Town when he was last that way. [Women in the South are allowed to call their fathers "Daddy" all their lives without censure. So its a good thing i live where I do.] We don't get Thomas' here in these parts. The indigenous brand is "Bays"which are innoffensive - they do not sink to the level of, say, Hydrox -- but just not up to the gold standard. Thomas' are part of my family's birthright courtesy of Dad's brief but gloriously remembered employment at the Thomas' bakery in NYC. The Thomas' Stories are part of our holiday repertoire, like 8 part harmony hymns, Uncle Ray's jokes, and the entire score of The Music Man. Thank you, Daddy.

And I confess I kind of like the big feet, they make me feel sturdy.

Last but not least, Must Look:

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/astropix.html

[Blank] of the Day

Today's Shews: brown leather driving mocs w/shearling lining, supinate wear, paint splatters. Default shew setting.
Mood Implication: (+/-), have not yet left house at time of post.

Today's Object of Affection: [henceforth OoA]

"Bonjour" coffee bowl. 4 for .49/ea. at GoodWill. This holds more than a pint of coffee. And it has French on it.