Kvelling in Words

I am a word lover. A logophile. I like the way certain words sound on the ear and taste in the mouth. I like seeing them on a page and rearranging them to make new meanings or clarifications. I like the challenge of analyzing grammatical intricacies. (I tried explaining this to my 15-year-old son last night when I was looking over his English homework. He wasn't convinced that how words work together in sentence patterns was at all beguiling.)

My English-teacher parents nourished this love of words by giving me each Christmas a Word-a-Day calendar. You know the kind—you rip the pages off every day to reveal a new word. (I still get one at Christmas, only now it's from my husband.)

Often the words are somewhat lackluster. (Witness quail, belfry, and enjoin which come later this year. [I peek ahead sometimes. But that's another post.]) But yesterday's was one I'd not heard before: kvell \'kvel\ v: to be extraordinarily proud; to rejoice; from the Yiddish kveln, meaning "to  be delighted." And that word kvelled my heart.

Shakespeare and Elections and Laundry—Oh, My!

As You Like It laundry pile

The title says it all. I'm in the thick of those three big entities right now. Our non-profit Shakespeare company (Greenville Shakespeare Co.) has just finished a 16-performance run of As You Like It. My director/designer/actor husband and I just hauled 15 ginormous Rubbermaid containers full of costume pieces, jewelry, props, and paraphernalia up to the attic for storage til next spring. Now we begin full tilt toward a November production of Richard III: The Terrible Reign, a Richard of epic proportions. (See my husband's blog for more info on this fab project.)

As for elections, it's post-national convention season, and I'm having to summon all of my strength to stomach the polling, advertising, speculating, and general bloviating that accompanies this time of year. I have to remind myself that my hope lies not in man.

And last, but certainly not least, the laundry. Sometimes I believe laundry to be my profession. I am a laundress. Today has been especially laundry-ing as I added my son's bedspread (why the Southern red mud stains?), a bathroom rug, and several loads of post-AYLI (see first paragraph) stinky washing. (If you think actors don't work hard, you should smell their garments after a weekend of shows.)

In between all of that, I have been able to squeeze some editing of the October issue of Trak magazine, which is due to the printer's this week.