Bird is the Word

My husband made it clear early on that he would rather build a bridge to jump off than participate in my quotidian inquisition.

My favorite morning ritual is reading the Word of the Day posts on my computer while enjoying a cup of coffee. Actually, “word” of the day is misleading. I can’t stop at one; like potato chips and chocolate chip cookies, it leads to just one more word, and then, another and another. Before having this information at the tap of a key, I used to open the dictionary at random places, do the silly circular motion with my finger in the air, and dive-bomb the page to randomly select a word. It would be defined, used in a sentence, and then, worked into conversation before the day’s end. Two words squeezed into dinner conversation was a major coup.

“Who does this for fun?” my daughter demanded when I asked her if she thought a philtrum would ever require a Botox treatment. She refused to answer on the grounds that I was annoying. I’m convinced she didn’t know that a philtrum is the little indentation between the lip and the nose and she hates that she didn’t know. I must admit, I am annoying. I’ve been doing this to her all her life and she has always refused to engage. She would not become a logophile like her mother; however, her major in college was communications so I think she was listening somewhere along the way.

The “game” started when my son (my eldest child) was a toddler. From the beginning, I wedged alphabet cards behind light switch plates and across the length of his crib. We repeated the letters’ sounds when we turned the light on and off. We repeated the process when he went to bed and when he woke up. We graduated to short words, and then, odd or funny words when he was older. I’m sure he never attributed any part of his excellent verbal score on his high school SATs with his mother’s word obsession.

Actually, my addiction to words began many years earlier when I took my own college entrance exams. I was sure I would ace the verbal portion of the test. Instead, I found myself looking at words I didn’t know–some I had never heard of. Mortified, I scribbled the words on my arm in ink so I could look up their meanings when I got home. I’ve never forgotten those words although I have never used them in everyday speech. But, I know them.

Now that my son is all grown up, he has his own game. He has corrected me a time (or two) when I’ve used a word incorrectly or fumbled a pronunciation. I didn’t find it amusing, especially when a visit to Google proved him right.

My husband made it clear early on that he would rather build a bridge to jump off than participate in my quotidian inquisition. His resistance was subtle. A combination of selective hearing and feigning sleep was very effective. He’s had years of avoidance experience.

Friends are more accommodating of my quirk than my family. In fact an old friend and I have started our own weekly quiz on Facebook. She doesn’t know I’m holding back. I could throw words at her at a rapid fire pace (I’m proud of my restraint), and I check my phone often to see if she has sent me a challenge in return.

With the onset of the pandemic, I piled all the game boxes and my stash of “to read” books on the dining room table to keep us busy. I placed Boggle, Balderdash and Scrabble, my favorite word games, on top. But, somehow, Battleship, Jenga or Clue remains our nightly entertainment.

I’ve become resigned to finding and re-reading beautifully written sentences in the books that are quickly dwindling to a short stack. Once, I emailed an author to inform her of a mistake in her character’s dialogue. She thanked me for reading her book and told me I was the five hundredth person to inform her of the error.

Recently, my husband and I made plans for a socially distanced visit with my son and his family. We were so excited. It seemed like it had been years (instead of months) that we’d seen our granddaughter.

We arrived a little early and greeted our son and daughter-in-law working in the garden. I went in search of the five-year-old red-head that I have missed so much. I found her on the back porch coloring in her coloring book. I watched her for a moment, taking in her legs that have grown long and slim. Her face, partially covered with spiraling copper curls, was losing the baby fat cheeks. I could see the stunning beauty she will become. She looked up with a start.

“Hey,” I said, resisting the urge to hug her and cover her face with kisses.

“Want some company?”

“What is company?” she asked.

“Well,” I began, “it actually has several meanings. Do you want to hear this one?”

“Sure,” she said shrugging her shoulders.

I picked up a crayon and started to doodle while I thought how to best convey the concept.

I defined the word as: being with someone for a period of time and it makes you happy.

I used it in a sentence: “It’s nice to have company when you’re feeling lonely.”

“So you’re my company today?” Addie asked. (Conversation).

“I am yours, and you are mine,” I replied as we colored, together, in sweet understanding.