or, Similar Words, Very Different Origins
*Compliments of the OED
ginger |ˈjinjər|
noun
1) a hot fragrant spice made from the rhizome of a plant. It is chopped or powdered for cooking, preserved in syrup, or candied.
2) a Southeast Asian plant, which resembles bamboo in appearance, from which this rhizome is taken. • Zingiber officinale, family Zingiberaceae.
3) a light reddish-yellow color.
adjective
(chiefly of hair or fur) of a light reddish-yellow color.
ORIGIN late Old English gingifer, conflated in Middle English with Old French gingimbre, from medieval Latin gingiber, from Greek zingiberis, from Pali siṅgivera, of Dravidian origin.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
An Encounter
[I'm tired of my NaNoWriMo story already and so procrastinating. This is the first paragraph of an old NaNo novel, heavily edited.]
Arnold’s intention had been not to step on the lowly leaf, but to avoid the left front paw of a shaggy, black-and-white Australian shepherd, who had strayed from her owner. The dog looked up at Arnold with clear, blue eyes as if to ask for directions, yet the animal’s gaze pierced the human’s soul as if to prove to both that they were not such distant relatives. The dog’s owner, a woman in her twenties of medium height and a thin, yet awkward frame, walked sternly with the indignation of a parent whose teenager had just defied her. She moved her arms briskly but made no extra effort with her legs and the effect was, thought Arnold, probably not far off from that of a windmill, although the purpose and placement of windmills always eluded Arnold. “Lily!” shouted the woman, her voice loud yet restrained. The dog looked over at its owner, and then back at Arnold, pleadingly. Arnold didn’t budge, temporarily taking guardianship of the dog, though he had the keen foresight to know that the woman’s ire was probably to befall upon both parties. And so it was. “Excuse me, sir, that’s my dog,” said the woman possessively, avoiding Arnold’s eyes. She was three inches shorter than him, and although that was rather tall for a woman, Arnold noticed that she had a rather shorter than average torso. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing Converse sneakers with blue jeans and a purple long-sleeved shirt. She had a brown purse over one shoulder, throwing her entire lanky body slightly off-balance. “I was just making sure she didn’t stray,” he said with a smile. She looked up at him. She did not smile. A few strands of hair fell in front of her face and she quickly put them in their place, just behind her right ear. “Thanks,” she mentioned quickly and then said, “Lily, come.” The dog suddenly remembered which of the two was the master and left her foster parent without even a goodbye, trotting off happily into the descending late afternoon sunset.
Arnold’s intention had been not to step on the lowly leaf, but to avoid the left front paw of a shaggy, black-and-white Australian shepherd, who had strayed from her owner. The dog looked up at Arnold with clear, blue eyes as if to ask for directions, yet the animal’s gaze pierced the human’s soul as if to prove to both that they were not such distant relatives. The dog’s owner, a woman in her twenties of medium height and a thin, yet awkward frame, walked sternly with the indignation of a parent whose teenager had just defied her. She moved her arms briskly but made no extra effort with her legs and the effect was, thought Arnold, probably not far off from that of a windmill, although the purpose and placement of windmills always eluded Arnold. “Lily!” shouted the woman, her voice loud yet restrained. The dog looked over at its owner, and then back at Arnold, pleadingly. Arnold didn’t budge, temporarily taking guardianship of the dog, though he had the keen foresight to know that the woman’s ire was probably to befall upon both parties. And so it was. “Excuse me, sir, that’s my dog,” said the woman possessively, avoiding Arnold’s eyes. She was three inches shorter than him, and although that was rather tall for a woman, Arnold noticed that she had a rather shorter than average torso. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing Converse sneakers with blue jeans and a purple long-sleeved shirt. She had a brown purse over one shoulder, throwing her entire lanky body slightly off-balance. “I was just making sure she didn’t stray,” he said with a smile. She looked up at him. She did not smile. A few strands of hair fell in front of her face and she quickly put them in their place, just behind her right ear. “Thanks,” she mentioned quickly and then said, “Lily, come.” The dog suddenly remembered which of the two was the master and left her foster parent without even a goodbye, trotting off happily into the descending late afternoon sunset.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
SD, AFT: part 3
On my final day in San Diego I met up with E, C and A. E drove down from Walnut and while C and A, who were driving up (west?) from El Centro, got a flat tire, E and I caught up. We commiserated about moving back home and dealing with parents on a daily basis for the first time in four years.
The four of us headed to Old Town and got lunch at this great Mexican place. I had a burrito bigger than my head, C got some green flautas, and A was chastised by the waiter for drinking too much water. Our bellies full, we went for a walk around this mission-type place to burn a few of the many thousands of calories we'd ingested. As we were looking around an old stable, we were suddenly hit with a conundrum. It was an age old question that had confounded Americans for generations. What was the capital of Kentucky? Seriously, we discussed this for a while, ignoring the lovely exhibits and wax horses and instead racking our geeky brains for the answer. After a little while we came to the consensus that the answer was Louisville. A quick iPhone check told us we were wrong.
It was a perfect day, not too hot, not too cool, and a light breeze ushered us along.
Next we headed to the beach for a stroll (in reality it wasn't so much a stroll as an epic trek that spanned hours and culminated in a much needed IHOP pit stop for various types of lemonade and more water for A). As the four of us walked along the soft sandy beach, we giggled. It was just one of those days. But before long we realized that it was getting very difficult to lift our feet in the sand. It was a workout and although the sidewalk was just feet away, we had an unspoken agreement that the four of us would make it to the other end of the beach in the sand. We did come across an astonishing sand castle, which was a nice distraction, but by the time we reached the end we were exhausted, sweaty, and in need of the aforementioned lemonades (in case you're wondering, I had a cherry lemonade, E had an Arnold Palmer, and C insisted that she have a strawberry lemonade even though IHOP doesn't technically have strawberry lemonades (apparently they put the strawberry goo from the Rooty Tooty Fresh N' Fruity in a regular lemonade which sounds questionable to me, but that's what she wanted and, frankly, what are you gonna do?)). While we sat at our table, giggling, discussing what "guay" meant in Uruguay and Paraguay, and alerting each other of our demises (E "accidentally" said I had died), we also cleaned out our shoes on the floor. And so we left a little part of ourselves as we walked out the door, four small sand mounds just under the table.
In need of caffeine and something chocolatey we decided we'd head to a patisserie or chocolaterie. Indeed. I remembered that N had mentioned a fantastic dessert place called Extraordinary Desserts so a quick Yelp check later and we had an address. We got there and couldn't believe our eyes. I decided right there on the spot that "extraordinary" was apt for once. First of all, the front door was huge and it was a little spectacle watching C march right up and open it by herself. Inside, the most wonderful array of sugary, chocolatey, fruity delights awaited us. It was a sit-down dessert restaurant, I'll have you know, complete with a waitress and beverages. I had the cafe viennese while I marveled at their sugar (crystalline, rather than granular). The four of us shared two pricey slices of cake. They were both chocolate but that didn't bother any of us. We dug in and had no mercy; two empty plates, four empty mugs, and the show was done.
Goodbyes are weird so I'll just say that it was nice to see E, C, and A again, and even nicer to finally visit N in her San Diego. One citrus mint hookah and a Japanese beer later, and I was back in San Jose, where the past three days felt like nothing more than a passing dream.
The four of us headed to Old Town and got lunch at this great Mexican place. I had a burrito bigger than my head, C got some green flautas, and A was chastised by the waiter for drinking too much water. Our bellies full, we went for a walk around this mission-type place to burn a few of the many thousands of calories we'd ingested. As we were looking around an old stable, we were suddenly hit with a conundrum. It was an age old question that had confounded Americans for generations. What was the capital of Kentucky? Seriously, we discussed this for a while, ignoring the lovely exhibits and wax horses and instead racking our geeky brains for the answer. After a little while we came to the consensus that the answer was Louisville. A quick iPhone check told us we were wrong.
It was a perfect day, not too hot, not too cool, and a light breeze ushered us along.
Next we headed to the beach for a stroll (in reality it wasn't so much a stroll as an epic trek that spanned hours and culminated in a much needed IHOP pit stop for various types of lemonade and more water for A). As the four of us walked along the soft sandy beach, we giggled. It was just one of those days. But before long we realized that it was getting very difficult to lift our feet in the sand. It was a workout and although the sidewalk was just feet away, we had an unspoken agreement that the four of us would make it to the other end of the beach in the sand. We did come across an astonishing sand castle, which was a nice distraction, but by the time we reached the end we were exhausted, sweaty, and in need of the aforementioned lemonades (in case you're wondering, I had a cherry lemonade, E had an Arnold Palmer, and C insisted that she have a strawberry lemonade even though IHOP doesn't technically have strawberry lemonades (apparently they put the strawberry goo from the Rooty Tooty Fresh N' Fruity in a regular lemonade which sounds questionable to me, but that's what she wanted and, frankly, what are you gonna do?)). While we sat at our table, giggling, discussing what "guay" meant in Uruguay and Paraguay, and alerting each other of our demises (E "accidentally" said I had died), we also cleaned out our shoes on the floor. And so we left a little part of ourselves as we walked out the door, four small sand mounds just under the table.
In need of caffeine and something chocolatey we decided we'd head to a patisserie or chocolaterie. Indeed. I remembered that N had mentioned a fantastic dessert place called Extraordinary Desserts so a quick Yelp check later and we had an address. We got there and couldn't believe our eyes. I decided right there on the spot that "extraordinary" was apt for once. First of all, the front door was huge and it was a little spectacle watching C march right up and open it by herself. Inside, the most wonderful array of sugary, chocolatey, fruity delights awaited us. It was a sit-down dessert restaurant, I'll have you know, complete with a waitress and beverages. I had the cafe viennese while I marveled at their sugar (crystalline, rather than granular). The four of us shared two pricey slices of cake. They were both chocolate but that didn't bother any of us. We dug in and had no mercy; two empty plates, four empty mugs, and the show was done.
Goodbyes are weird so I'll just say that it was nice to see E, C, and A again, and even nicer to finally visit N in her San Diego. One citrus mint hookah and a Japanese beer later, and I was back in San Jose, where the past three days felt like nothing more than a passing dream.
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