Word of the Day (February 13, 2013): mainour

– noun:

[MEY-ner]

Definition:

1. a stolen article found on the person of or near the thief: to be taken with the mainour.

Examples:

1. Caught the thief, with the mainour, hey?

– Maria Edgeworth, the Parent’s Assistant

2. …if I be taken with the mainour, if the theft be found about me, I shall either be killed, or carted with a paper crown set upon my head, having my fault written in great text-letters.

– Fernando de Rojas, The Celestina

[From Dictionary.com]

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Word of the Day (February 5, 2013): epexegesis

– noun:

[ep-ek-si-JEE-sis]

Definition:

1. the addition of a word or words to explain a preceding word or sentence.

2. the word or words so added.

Examples:

1. But you did establish personal contact?  In epexegesis or on a point of order?

– James Joyce, Finnegan’s Wake

2. One of the most striking peculiarities of colloquial speech in Dutch, and of natural free talk in general, is what is called epexegesis.

– Jan Gonda, Selected Studies

[From Dictionary.com]

I Don’t Always Have to Say It Myself

Observations from the Kitchen Sink of Life posted on the value and catharsis of storytelling.  I’ve tried to explain this to people, but this post did it so beautifully – explaining for me why I’m here, on WordPress, and at large on the internet.

My favorite parts:

. . . Then there are events that grab you by the shoulders and shake you violently, or even pull the ground away from beneath your feet. The landscape changes rapidly and dramatically, as if by an earthquake. The flow changes course so rapidly and so fundamentally, that it transforms you all the way down to the fiber of your being. When you regain consciousness, when you reconnect with the Earth beneath your feet, you see a vastly different landscape. Familiar in some ways, but different nonetheless. You just buried a parent or close friend, you just heard a devastating diagnosis or somebody you trusted shattered that sacred bond. . . .

Some events shake harder than others.

. . . Some friends, people who have always loved you for your essence, will be able to keep walking with you in your changed landscape. Other friends will evaporate and become echoes, pictures in that scrap book. . . .

I’ve heard this about a cancer diagnosis, and although I’m deliberately holding off on making permanent decisions until at least after the ‘magic year’ is over, I can already see this in play in my life.

. . . Story telling is a powerful way of processing experiences, of transforming karma. . . .

. . . We tell our stories to process, to celebrate, to educate, to discover, to reach out. Because we choose to, because we have to. . .

Yes, that’s why I’m here, on WordPress, because I have to tell my story to survive it.

And the ending paragraph:

. . . Telling your story is a way of saying “this is who I am”, “this is the journey I traveled, this is how I got here”. Naming that journey and the most significant events on that journey opens up space, liberates and is an essential part of processing those events. The most beautiful and powerful gift somebody could give you for telling your story is saying “I see you” (in one of many ways you can say this). But even if you don’t get any feedback, just the mere act of telling your story is  healing.

All of it, but particularly the last line, yes, please, yes.

Read the rest of this great post at The Importance of Telling Your Story.

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