Previously, on Ever On Word – more specifically, in this post – I joined in a little weekly blog hop called Save-a-Word Saturday. To refresh your memory, the rules of the hop were these:
1) Create a post linking back to the hosts, The Feather and the Rose.
2) Pick an old word you want to save from extinction to feature in the post. (If you find yourself in want of options, Feather ‘n’ Rose recommended a site that may have some word-lovers drooling. Luciferous Logolepsy. Even its name is old and delicious!)
3) Provide a definition of your word, and use it in a sentence or short paragraph vaguely related to the particular week’s chosen theme.
4) Sign up properly on the host post’s linky list so participants can easily find each other and share their logophilistic joy.
5) Be a hero by sharing these retro words with the world!
I had such fun the first time, I determined to participate every “seventh day of the week”. …To which you may say, glancing through my blog’s archives, “So, what happened to that resolution?”
Well, I haven’t been doing it here, readers; I’ve been doing it on my “Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale” Facebook page. And to add an extra element of fun, I’ve given myself the challenge of relating every word I pick to my take on the Robin Hood legend.
So, for those of you who have been missing out – and as a wish of “Happy Birthday” to Allyn (whose otherworld date o’ birth corresponds to our March 5th) – I’ve collected below all the Save-a-Word vignettes that I’ve shared on the “Ballad” page to date. Enjoy!
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Feb. 9/13 – The theme: Dreams – The word: “Weltschmerz”, a noun meaning “sadness over the evils of the world, especially as an expression of romantic pessimism”.
Robin’s eyes tracked the path of the wagon, laden with ill-gotten gains. That was the second tax taken from the villages in as many months, and for what? The people could lose every penny they had thrice over and not make so much as a splash in the well of their oppressors’ greed. Robin shook his head in a moment of Weltschmerz, made to wonder again whether an England in which this injustice was less than routine was a dream with no chance in reality. Another shake of the head to rouse himself, and a whistle to his band mates hidden nearby. Realistic or not, it was the dream they fought for. The wagon would not get far.
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Feb. 16/13 – The theme: Traitors – The word: “Ramage”, a noun meaning “boughs of a tree”.
Allyn paused in the plucking of his lute strings; that one note had sounded rather like a muffled sneeze. Tipping his head back against the tree trunk that served as backrest to his seat among the roots, he looked up through the overhead ramage and spied a dash of red veiled in the greenery. “Will, what are you—?”
“Hush. Nothing. Hiding. Don’t let on I’m up here.”
“What have you done this time?” Allyn asked. When it came to Will Scarlet, one could hardly begin to guess.
“I may or may not have had something to do with the – ‘choo! – bucket of pepper rigged to tip over onto any particularly tall people who exited Little John’s tent.”
“God bless you.” Allyn smirked. “You’ll need it.”
“What I need is a minstrel I can count on not to turn traitor,” Will hissed. “Just keep playing like you’ve been. Anyone asks, you haven’t seen me in ages, and there’s no one in the tree.”
Lips pressed tight over silent laughter, Allyn resumed his song. It would make for lovely background music during Will’s inevitable comeuppance.
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Feb. 23/13 – The theme: Music – The word: “Simony”, a noun meaning “buying, selling, or otherwise making a profit from sacred or spiritual things”.
Gant-o’-the-Lute stood silently aside as his apprentice sang in the square. The boy looked younger than his almost twelve years, and handled his instruments, lute and voice, with the skill of one who’d trained for twice as long. Naturally, he still had leagues to go before he met his minstrel master’s lofty standard, but the sooner the lad grew accustomed to performing for crowds, the better. Besides, Lute reasoned, if he were going to engage in the simony of taking tiresome money for the priceless perfection of music, he might as well capitalize on little Allyn’s impossible cuteness, too.
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Mar. 2/13 – The theme: Unicorns – The word: “Habromania”, a noun meaning “extreme euphoria”.
“One last order of business,” said Merlin, glancing at the end of the agenda in his hand. “Due to an influx of requests in our suggestion box, we’re adding something new to Avalon Faire’s joust, this summer. Specifically…” He looked over his spectacles at the tall, blond knight drumming impatient fingers on the surface of the Round Table. “Sir Lancelot will be riding a unicorn.”
Lancelot’s chiseled jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
“A real unicorn?” Sir Gawain wondered.
“There’s no such thing as a real unicorn!” Lancelot snapped.
Sir Bedivere raised an eyebrow. “Lance. We’re undead immortal knights of legend employed by a wizard in a magical Faerie land. If the man says you’re riding a unicorn in the joust, then let the habromania in the stands commence.” He grinned at Merlin. “Will it be pink and sparkly and snort rainbows?”
“Despite Will Scarlet’s repeated contributions to the suggestion box, no,” Merlin said. “Meeting adjourned.”