During our Greek time a little while ago, my daughter and I translated a passage in Matthew that involved the word “tree.” Or, as it would sound in Greek, dendron. Of course, as we’re reading these words out loud, one of our primary interests–being word nerds as we are–is which words are clearly the roots of our English words.

So when we came across dendron I looked out the window at our rhododendron bush–just starting to bloom–and went, “Well, huh. That’s clearly part of that name.”

Being a West Virginia girl, rhododendrons have always been part of my world. They’re the state flower…for good reason. They are EVERYWHERE. They’ve never been my favorite bush/flowering tree, though I’m not sure why. I mean, PURPLE FLOWERS! Totally my thing. And I do love them when they’re blooming. But otherwise…they’re just kinda a big bush with waxy leaves, so “meh” other than in the spring. But regardless of my opinions, this flowering tree has been “much cultivated” for its bright blooms.

I dashed over to check the etymology, and sure enough, rhododendron combines the Greek rhodos (rose) with dendron (tree). Rose trees! That makes me like them more. 😉 The Greeks apparently had these trees or something similar, because rhododendron was a word they used and passed on to the Latin-speakers, who passed it along to the French, who passed it along to English by the 1600s.

Are there any plants whose names you’re curious about?

Have you ever wondered about the meaning of tongue-in-cheek … and perhaps where this bizarre phrase came from? Well, it dates from 1856 in that hyphenated version, taken from the less-succinct phrase “to speak with one’s tongue in one’s cheek,” which comes from 1758, meaning “to speak insincerely” with a connotation of wittiness and humor in there.

Now … why?

Well, it’s not absolutely clear, but the leading theory is that it came from a stage trick–that actors would literally put their tongue in their cheek to deliver certain lines, to make it clear that they were being amusingly insincere.

My husband and I were musing as to whether tongue-in-cheek and cheeky had any relation, which would make sense, right? The answer to that, however, is a firm “Well … yes and no.” There’s no direct correlation, but cheek has meant “insolent speech” since the 1840s, which means it makes sense that it would both turn into cheeky in 1859, right around the time actors also developed that stage trick. Coincidence? We can’t know for sure, but let’s just say they’re related. It’s more fun that way. 😉

A couple weeks ago, I had a message from a reader asking me to do a feature on arctic and antarctic, because he heard they meant “near the bear” and “away from the bear” and thought, “Nah, that can’t be right!”

I love that I’m the word nerd that people turn to for these questions. =D

And if you look strictly at the modern definition of arctic or antarctic, knowing that they refer to the areas around the poles of the planet, you may indeed scratch your head at the idea of bears. I mean, there are polar bears in the north, sure, but…is that really enough to call a whole area after them?

No…but. But it really is after “the bear.” That is THE bear, however, not just a bear. “The Bear” in the constellations–Ursa Major!

Ursa Major, you see, is seen in the northerly sector of the sky and is in fact the best known constellation that goes around the pole. And the Ancient Greek word for bear and for this constellation was arktikos. From ancient days on up, the “region of the north” was called for this constellation, and hence the far-southerly region on the opposite pole was named for being opposite. The word traveled from Ancient Greek to Latin to French and from there into English by the 1300s.

It’s interesting to note that while that “k” sound is present in the original word, it had dropped out of the Latin and French versions and hence the English version too, for centuries. The “c” was inserted for that “k” in the 1550s, though it isn’t always pronounced even today. By the 1600s, it had taken on a metaphorical meaning of “cold, frigid.”

You probably know the definition of tedious: “tiresome because of length or dullness : boring.”

But the etymology of tedious is actually a bit more interesting and made me snort-laugh when I saw it. Tedious and tedium are from the Late Latin taediosus and taedium (respectively–obviously the same root there), which didn’t just mean boring and long. They meant “wearisome, irksome.” Not just boring, annoying.

Right?? 😉 This is why I get annoyed with those long, detailed, boring tasks. I do indeed find them irksome, LOL.

Tedious has been in English since the 1400s, and tedium since the 1660s. Interestingly, tedium at that time not only carried the meaning of “boring and irksome,” but even more, “disgust.” (I personally wouldn’t go that far, ha ha.)

Are you a details person who thrives in those long tasks others may find boring or tedious?

Last week I took a look at the uses of second … which led me straight to minute. I did mention in that post that the divisions of time were once “prime minute” and “second minute” … well, along the way, “prime minute” got shortened to minute and “second minute” to second. But let’s take a look at that base minute, shall we?

It’s no great surprise that minute, which comes directly from the Latin, just means “small portion.” We do, after all, still have the adjective minute (my-noot) that means just that. Interestingly, the original Latin is actually a past participle of minuere, which means “to lessen or diminish.” Makes sense, but I’d never really thought of those small things as being a diminishing, which implies shrinking from something greater…why, I have to wonder, could it not be the seed from which the greater thing grew? But I digress, LOL.

Minute has been around in English pretty much as long as English has been around. Not a big surprise there.

Thought minutes–as in, the notes taken at a meeting–are rather interesting. They come, not from being a record of the way the minutes of a meeting were spent, which is what I would have guessed had I paused to ask where it came from, but in fact from the Latin minuta scriptura, literally “small writing” but used to mean “rough notes.”

The other day as my daughter and I were watching her pre-cal lesson, the presenter (talking about the velocity of falling objects) said, “Now, in the second second, the object will be moving at…”

Xoe looked over at me and said, “Why is it called that, anyway? Why is second the word for a measure of time?”

Being the word nerd that I am, I immediately jotted it down and looked it up as soon as the lesson was over, to see why these two very different words–one and ordinal number (first, second, third) and one a measure of time–were the same.

Sometimes things like this come from different roots or very different meanings of the same root, but in this case, the relationship is very deliberate!

Second comes from the Latin secondus, meaning “following, next in time or order.”

Well, that explains the ordinal number…but what about the measure of time? Well, as it turns out, it’s because it’s “the second division of an hour into a sixtieth.” The minute is the first division (originally called the “prime minute”), and the second is the second minute (as in, small part…come back next week for a closer look at minute)!

I had no idea. So simple, but…I had no idea, LOL.