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October 2021 . . . .
“Not At All Resembling a Rant”
What do you do with a language that has the words compost, compute, compote, combust, combine, commune, and comport, wandering willy-nilly through sentences all at the same time? And along those same lines, don’t get me started with comport, report, purport, transport, import, support, deport, and carport. My mom and I spend a lot of time on the telephone checking in on each other to make sure that we’re each OK in the time of Covid, and wonder about such things. You see, we lose words, from time to time. She’s 93 and comes by it naturally. It doesn’t trouble her much; when she’s telling me about someone she used to know back in the day, and suddenly she can’t remember the name of the town where they met, or what it was that they did for a living. “Well, I guess that’s gone,” she says to me, and I tell her not to worry — that I put a pin in it for when she does remember. It happens to everyone.
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