Regarding kennings, it's true that we don't make many of them anymore, but we are living in a boom time for portmanteaus: biopic, brunch, soundscape, workaholic, bromance, hangry, snark, etc. etc. It seems like a lot of the desire to make new words out of existing words comes out in that form, although it sounds like they don't fill precisely the same artistic niche as kennings.
My first year out of college I had a period of despair when I realized, as you did, that work just goes on and on and on. Not only did I miss the rhythm of breaks between quarters, I REALLY missed the beginning, middle and end of each term, and going from knowing relatively little about the material covered in a class to wrestling with it, and then mastering it and moving on to something else that you know little about. That sense of having a beginning, a middle and an end keeps me anchored and interested.
The rhythm I pay attention to now is the growing season, which ties in beautifully with the liturgical calendar. Epiphany-the season between the feast itself and Ash Wednesday--also reveals the coming to life of plants, as bulbs and other overwintering plants start to wake up. Lent, with its fast, reminds me that the food we put by last summer in our freezer and Mason jars, is starting to run out. On a farm, pregnant animals aren't giving milk, and it's still cold so chickens aren't producing many eggs--so if you truly are eating local, protein gets a little scarce! Easter season has a lot of new life; the season after Pentecost is one of abundance but also hard work. Michaelmas to Advent is harvest--and the end of November is when everything shuts down. Nothing blooms in November! Then in Advent the whole cycle starts over again.
I currently work at an organization with roots in the Jewish community that heavily relies on student volunteers. That means I get Jewish holidays off from work, along with workflow that ebbs and flows based on student availability. It’s… very soothing tbh! To know that every September / April / whatever there will be a predictable shift. Anyway, I sort of struggle to imagine what my next job will be like without this rhythm — it really does make a difference in my well-being and understanding of the passage of time.
One thing I love about Minnesota is the collective joy at the return of warmth. The first spotting of someone running in shorts when it gets above freezing, the first 70 degree day. The collective horror at third or fifth winter. The mumblings of 'too hot' when it gets above 75. The first summer break weekend (soon!) where kids are out of school and 'mocking' (hanging up their hammocks in clusters around trees).
Right now I wish there was a word for my joy at my garden, bursting with life, that also includes a simultaneous desire for it to be a *bit* more presentable. This word would also frequently apply to my hair, and my wrinkly mom-clothes of daily wear. If I were to name the month of May, it would reflect that joy, coupled with overwhelm - delight & so-much-to-be-done.
You've been waiting for a Thing for so long (a diploma, a child, or whatever) and you're happy to finally have this long-awaited Thing, but it's a permanent change and you're also grieving the loss of the life you had before.
Like the Florida commenter above, I grew up in a two-season climate, but in California the wet season is the cooler one and the dry season is *very* dry. In the SF Bay area, embedded within the dry season is what might be called "fog season," which occurs at the height of (astronomical) summer. That's why the warmest month in SF is actually September -- it's the time between the fog and the rain. And the fog operates on a daily as well as a seasonal cycle: it generally arrives in the evening and burns off some time in the late morning, though if you're in a place that especially exposed to the ocean it can hang around all day sometimes.
This definitely affects people's activities, especially if you're a kid. Summer play outdoors was almost never interrupted by rain, but there did tend to be a point when we headed inside because the fog would start blowing in and it would get chilly (conveniently around dinnertime). The arrival of the first rain of the rainy season was an exciting event, kind of like the first snow is in colder climates.
That's why it always made sense to me that the Jewish New Year is when it is -- the climate in Israel is similar to California, and that's when the rain starts! I've read that in the ancient Mediterranean, most societies observed three seasons rather than four. I haven't been able to find out when they were exactly (if anyone even knows), but I'm guessing that the rainy season was split into days-getting-shorter and days-getting-longer periods, which is significant to plant life. (The Mediterranean does not have fog season, since that's caused by some idiosyncrasies of California's geography.)
Now I live in North Carolina, where we're just now settling into the five-month summer. The seasons are pretty similar to those in D.C., but the proportions are totally different.
I certainly keep time by the school calendar, which is dependent on where my husband is working; and now that we’re back in Florida, I keep time by Wet and Dry season. During wet season, one can expect a nice morning of sun and an afternoon rain. It makes sense to go to the (warm, inviting) pool in the morning and keep the afternoon for indoor activities. But in the dry season, the pool and ocean are cold, the sun less hot. We can go outdoors anytime, and I shape my life more by what I want it to be, taking into account the best way to fill my son’s and my husband’s needs.
For terms, I wish there was something to describe half-orphan or abandoned one, but also a plurality of my nieces and nephews. Right now, I have to just say, “My nieces and nephews” every time I’m referring to my brother’s progeny. And for them, we are their “aunts and uncles.” I also have to describe that I was raised by my mom, but not my dad, and yet I still had a father figure. Not everyone - most in fact - fail to see that leaves me broken in ways another can’t imagine if he/she is from a nuclear family.
The one concrete thing I can say at the moment: this element of Old-Modern English language difference reminds me of a similar difference between Hebrew and Greek. I keep coming back to it as I’ve explored them in Bible study. But even in our English translations, the more concrete nature of Hebrew comes through underneath our more abstract English wordings.
For years it has fascinated me to see how God used each language to not only communicate His message to us, but also to shape it. It seems to me that there are aspects of the Gospel that needed a level of abstraction to bring them down to our level, so Greek was the perfect language for exploring these elements of God’s story that we don’t have a concrete way to get at.
On the other hand, I’ve also been noticing recently how their background in Hebrew language culture seems to have been a grounding factor for the New Testament writers (most of whom were Jews; Luke was Greek, yet he also seems to have been grounded in the concrete by other factors).
“What words are you missing?” — words to fit all the resonance these thoughts have with multiple areas of my life, haha!
Thank you for these thoughts, Leah. (And for this place to share all the though-ful and thought-provoking conversation starters you share here and invite us to share with you.)
I may pop in again to share a thought or two back if/when the words show up :)
I center life at a Catholic worker womens shelter, and over years we've learned to follow the rhythm of homelessness and poverty. There's tax return season, when people are "rich" and shelter intake calls are low; there's end of school time when families tire of being doubled up, followed by the summer surge in intake calls; there's dreaded holiday time in late November and December when our workload with well meaning givers of things is much heavier and the emotional burden of those without family support is raw and painful, there's post Christmas when the emergency assistance requests are higher because of money spent during December, and there's the very thin time of February, just before taxes. Ordinary times are April- May and September- October. We've wondered if this rhythm could be better named and held, like a liturgical year, which also seems to have roots in abundance and scarcity.
When I was growing up in northern NH, spring was “mud season” and not month-dependent. Late May (after the full moon) was safe to plant the vegetable garden. The various months of fall were all hunting season for one animal or another with one weapon or another. Winter was life as usual and summer was two beautiful weeks in August when the black flies ceased to bite so much and the silver queen corn ripened.
I still have a definite shift when a weekend arrives even though, on paper, Saturday and Sunday are just two more days -- I have no office job or demands that stop or start, only the boss in my head. I find, though, that Friday night feels like a shift and I love Monday mornings which feel new and hopeful.
Regarding kennings, it's true that we don't make many of them anymore, but we are living in a boom time for portmanteaus: biopic, brunch, soundscape, workaholic, bromance, hangry, snark, etc. etc. It seems like a lot of the desire to make new words out of existing words comes out in that form, although it sounds like they don't fill precisely the same artistic niche as kennings.
My first year out of college I had a period of despair when I realized, as you did, that work just goes on and on and on. Not only did I miss the rhythm of breaks between quarters, I REALLY missed the beginning, middle and end of each term, and going from knowing relatively little about the material covered in a class to wrestling with it, and then mastering it and moving on to something else that you know little about. That sense of having a beginning, a middle and an end keeps me anchored and interested.
The rhythm I pay attention to now is the growing season, which ties in beautifully with the liturgical calendar. Epiphany-the season between the feast itself and Ash Wednesday--also reveals the coming to life of plants, as bulbs and other overwintering plants start to wake up. Lent, with its fast, reminds me that the food we put by last summer in our freezer and Mason jars, is starting to run out. On a farm, pregnant animals aren't giving milk, and it's still cold so chickens aren't producing many eggs--so if you truly are eating local, protein gets a little scarce! Easter season has a lot of new life; the season after Pentecost is one of abundance but also hard work. Michaelmas to Advent is harvest--and the end of November is when everything shuts down. Nothing blooms in November! Then in Advent the whole cycle starts over again.
I currently work at an organization with roots in the Jewish community that heavily relies on student volunteers. That means I get Jewish holidays off from work, along with workflow that ebbs and flows based on student availability. It’s… very soothing tbh! To know that every September / April / whatever there will be a predictable shift. Anyway, I sort of struggle to imagine what my next job will be like without this rhythm — it really does make a difference in my well-being and understanding of the passage of time.
One thing I love about Minnesota is the collective joy at the return of warmth. The first spotting of someone running in shorts when it gets above freezing, the first 70 degree day. The collective horror at third or fifth winter. The mumblings of 'too hot' when it gets above 75. The first summer break weekend (soon!) where kids are out of school and 'mocking' (hanging up their hammocks in clusters around trees).
Right now I wish there was a word for my joy at my garden, bursting with life, that also includes a simultaneous desire for it to be a *bit* more presentable. This word would also frequently apply to my hair, and my wrinkly mom-clothes of daily wear. If I were to name the month of May, it would reflect that joy, coupled with overwhelm - delight & so-much-to-be-done.
You've been waiting for a Thing for so long (a diploma, a child, or whatever) and you're happy to finally have this long-awaited Thing, but it's a permanent change and you're also grieving the loss of the life you had before.
Like the Florida commenter above, I grew up in a two-season climate, but in California the wet season is the cooler one and the dry season is *very* dry. In the SF Bay area, embedded within the dry season is what might be called "fog season," which occurs at the height of (astronomical) summer. That's why the warmest month in SF is actually September -- it's the time between the fog and the rain. And the fog operates on a daily as well as a seasonal cycle: it generally arrives in the evening and burns off some time in the late morning, though if you're in a place that especially exposed to the ocean it can hang around all day sometimes.
This definitely affects people's activities, especially if you're a kid. Summer play outdoors was almost never interrupted by rain, but there did tend to be a point when we headed inside because the fog would start blowing in and it would get chilly (conveniently around dinnertime). The arrival of the first rain of the rainy season was an exciting event, kind of like the first snow is in colder climates.
That's why it always made sense to me that the Jewish New Year is when it is -- the climate in Israel is similar to California, and that's when the rain starts! I've read that in the ancient Mediterranean, most societies observed three seasons rather than four. I haven't been able to find out when they were exactly (if anyone even knows), but I'm guessing that the rainy season was split into days-getting-shorter and days-getting-longer periods, which is significant to plant life. (The Mediterranean does not have fog season, since that's caused by some idiosyncrasies of California's geography.)
Now I live in North Carolina, where we're just now settling into the five-month summer. The seasons are pretty similar to those in D.C., but the proportions are totally different.
I certainly keep time by the school calendar, which is dependent on where my husband is working; and now that we’re back in Florida, I keep time by Wet and Dry season. During wet season, one can expect a nice morning of sun and an afternoon rain. It makes sense to go to the (warm, inviting) pool in the morning and keep the afternoon for indoor activities. But in the dry season, the pool and ocean are cold, the sun less hot. We can go outdoors anytime, and I shape my life more by what I want it to be, taking into account the best way to fill my son’s and my husband’s needs.
For terms, I wish there was something to describe half-orphan or abandoned one, but also a plurality of my nieces and nephews. Right now, I have to just say, “My nieces and nephews” every time I’m referring to my brother’s progeny. And for them, we are their “aunts and uncles.” I also have to describe that I was raised by my mom, but not my dad, and yet I still had a father figure. Not everyone - most in fact - fail to see that leaves me broken in ways another can’t imagine if he/she is from a nuclear family.
The one concrete thing I can say at the moment: this element of Old-Modern English language difference reminds me of a similar difference between Hebrew and Greek. I keep coming back to it as I’ve explored them in Bible study. But even in our English translations, the more concrete nature of Hebrew comes through underneath our more abstract English wordings.
For years it has fascinated me to see how God used each language to not only communicate His message to us, but also to shape it. It seems to me that there are aspects of the Gospel that needed a level of abstraction to bring them down to our level, so Greek was the perfect language for exploring these elements of God’s story that we don’t have a concrete way to get at.
On the other hand, I’ve also been noticing recently how their background in Hebrew language culture seems to have been a grounding factor for the New Testament writers (most of whom were Jews; Luke was Greek, yet he also seems to have been grounded in the concrete by other factors).
“What words are you missing?” — words to fit all the resonance these thoughts have with multiple areas of my life, haha!
Thank you for these thoughts, Leah. (And for this place to share all the though-ful and thought-provoking conversation starters you share here and invite us to share with you.)
I may pop in again to share a thought or two back if/when the words show up :)
I center life at a Catholic worker womens shelter, and over years we've learned to follow the rhythm of homelessness and poverty. There's tax return season, when people are "rich" and shelter intake calls are low; there's end of school time when families tire of being doubled up, followed by the summer surge in intake calls; there's dreaded holiday time in late November and December when our workload with well meaning givers of things is much heavier and the emotional burden of those without family support is raw and painful, there's post Christmas when the emergency assistance requests are higher because of money spent during December, and there's the very thin time of February, just before taxes. Ordinary times are April- May and September- October. We've wondered if this rhythm could be better named and held, like a liturgical year, which also seems to have roots in abundance and scarcity.
When I was growing up in northern NH, spring was “mud season” and not month-dependent. Late May (after the full moon) was safe to plant the vegetable garden. The various months of fall were all hunting season for one animal or another with one weapon or another. Winter was life as usual and summer was two beautiful weeks in August when the black flies ceased to bite so much and the silver queen corn ripened.
I still have a definite shift when a weekend arrives even though, on paper, Saturday and Sunday are just two more days -- I have no office job or demands that stop or start, only the boss in my head. I find, though, that Friday night feels like a shift and I love Monday mornings which feel new and hopeful.