LEND ME YOUR EAR: OUT OF MY SKIN IN SCOTS LAND

Foot-in-mouth is a disease that afflicts everyone. As an alleged language columnist, I am among the most vulnerable. After boasting in my last column that I could write a whole essay on the pronunciations of the letter "o," I became an immediate target.

"Omogosh!" I exclaimed at the thought. With three pronunciations of "omogosh" alone? And "omogosh" is not even a word! Small comfort in reflecting that half the words in "How to Speak Southern" are not in our general vocabulary, either.

Any readers old enough to remember references to that little gem, a gift from my friend Virginia back in 1988? Written by humorist Steve Mitchell, "How to Speak Southern" was dedicated to all Yankees in the hope that it would teach them "how to talk right." Like all dictionarians, Mitchell started out with the letter A:

"Ah think Ahve somethin' in mah ah." This was followed by "Ahmoan," an expression of intent, as in "Ahmoan have a little drink." Next came "Aig," a breakfast food that may be fried, scrambled, boiled, or poached.

American accents of every stamp aside, think how many spellings and meanings could be culled from a single example. To say nothing of creations concocted by those who feel the need to add to the ones we already have. See what I mean?

In a recent column, I used the current buzz word "educant." A reader who is considered a scholar wondered why the apostrophe was omitted from the coinage. I thought he was only putting me on, but it turned out he was not familiar with the word "cant." Even the knowledgeable have gaps in their verbal acuity.

To enlighten others who may have missed the double meaning in "educant," the term "cant" denotes obscure discipline, and the impact is not always positive. Learned educators use "educant" to indicate disapproval.

Some of us wordaholics are still offended by the use of "impact" as a verb, though the usage continues despite our efforts to curb the flow. Several weeks ago, I was taken aback by "journal" used as a verb, which I encountered in "Tea Time with God." The author, Taylor Bruce, employed it in the sense of keeping a diary or journal:

"Some people journal early in the morning before the day begins, to record thoughts and dreams, or plans begun the night before. Others journal at night to put the final punctuation on the day."

Most people experience memory lapses. The older we get, the more lapses. I write in the morning, before the day becomes so scrambled that by evening I no longer know whether a request or event, or a thought worth holding onto, occurred that day or the day before.

One afternoon when I was making out a grocery list, I remembered I had run out of cookies striped with chocolate, and I could not for the life of me recall the word for the cookie base. Combing three reference books had me ready to jump out of my skin, so I realized it was time to make the tea for my daily tea time with God.

It was a gloomy day and I needed more light, and by accident I pushed a button beneath the kitchen window. Instead of the light switch, I hit the garbage disposal -- and blew out every electrical appliance within reach!

Blowing a fuse, my landlord said, is caused by a short circuit. A short -- Hey, that was the word I needed for my grocery list! "Short! Shortbread!" I wanted more of those shortbread cookies striped with chocolate that can be found wherever cookies are sold.

Bread is the staff of life in any language. Why the Scots look down their noses on Americans for calling bread "bread" defeats me. They identify themselves and their country with a special form of bread. The word "bread" is defined in every dictionary in every language known to God and man -- either singly or in combination with "short" or "corn"; in connection with money, pudding, crumbs, butter, blood, wine, you name it. Or look it up in Roget, Webster, or the Holy Bible if you think we are still short of bread.

So how could anyone whose native tongue is English have forgotten the Scots word for bread? As a columnist obsessed with meanings, I did have a plausible excuse. I was concentrating on the new meaning the 39 Hale-Bopp cometeers had just dramatized by jumping out of their skin literally. As any M.D. will tell you, skin is the overcoat that keeps our body parts together and preserves our very life.

Never mind my excuse. I was so refreshed by the tea and quiet time away from my study that I got back into my skin without having to summon help.

LORD, GRANT ME THE PATIENCE TO ENDURE MY BLESSINGS.

Aileen Lorberg is a language columnist for the Southeast Missourian.